a tiny möbius strip I created with a simple plugging method and foil.
Crafting and assembling this tiny möbius strip with 14 pairs of "plugging cuts" and the plugging method was quite easy - But doodling an explanation of the assembly is FAR from easy!
How the fuck do I simplify my reasoning and explain that in a simple manner?
For now I give up. That is the awful unsorted ideas I scribbled down today.
I might consider splitting it in multiple steps and rethink how I name the points. In todays scribbles its just a confusing mess and is not helpful for explaining it. (I also make it more complicated than it actually is)
Splitting into multiple steps:
1st: How to create the base strip (where the cuts go.)
2nd: assembly
2.1 (the merely simple basics) of this plugging method
2.2 möbius strip versus torus - how to assembly this strip and how NOT to.
on the aspec-y nature of Agnes Montague and Jack Barnabas's relationship:
I love Agnes a lot and thus her episode (MAG067) is one of the top three episodes I relisten to the most often!
and although I love Agnes as a character and concept just by herself, I think I also love this episode so much because of the nontraditional nature of the relationship portrayed in it. and since I view everything through an extremely aroace lens, that means I can't help but think that Jack seems aspec, and his relationship with Agnes reflects that!
the biggest piece of evidence is this part of the end of their episode
although I cannot speak from experience, I don’t think many allo people would be able to date someone for weeks/months without ever registering that they had never touched
there's also this
"I was drawn to her in a way I can't even explain" to me, does not sound like romantic attraction, a very common feeling that I think most people would be able to put into words (...I am slightly less certain on this point because I myself am not able to put into words exactly what romantic attraction is supposed to mean lol. but the most common, succinct, and understandable explanation I've heard over and over again is "you'll know it if you feel it", which makes this not that)
Jack is clearly romance favourable, considering when he realizes he's never going to see her again he asks if he can kiss her. but considering that's the first time he even THOUGHT to touch her physically, I think that makes it pretty clear that most traditionally romantic things are not particularly important to him
unfortunately, since we never hear Agnes's pov, there's no textual evidence that SHE is also aspec. although obviously she never initiates any physical contact either, that could easily just be because she doesn't want to hurt Jack and she knows her touch will burn him. but I am headcanoning her as indifferent or only favourable towards romance too because I want her to be as happy as she possibly can be :)
so in my mind they have a nice qpr and it's not conventional but neither of them care and they're as happy as they can be for the rest of time :)))))
pride and prejudice's staying power comes from a lot of places but its status as the foundations (more or less) of a tumblrish booktokish style of enemies to lovers is really funny bc what that's become is a guy who calls you names and is prejudiced against you and is also hot and then maybe stops hating you specifically bc he wants you so bad for some reason when what you're looking for is someone who's got a genuinely held and thus not easily brushed aside prejudice/flaw in their perspective but also the capacity to reflect and change and grow and also so much social anxiety and a possibly very large stick up their ass such that they express themselves horribly and pathetically and embarrassingly both with and without realizing it and are all vague and mysterious and self-sacrificing and avoidant when they finally do something good and is miles edgeworth. mr darcy is miles edgeworth that's the post
tbh if you think abt it william and gillion are different facets of br'aad to a distrubing degree. charlie slimecicle had something he wanted to work out with a character and i hardcore respect that
THE THREE TIMES YOU'VE COCKBLOCKED TOJI FUSHIGURO!
SYPNOSIS. in which you’ve continuously cockblocked frat president! toji, making him wonder if you’re intentionally doing it for his attention.
PAIRING. frat president! toji x sorority president! reader
CONTENT. MDNI. explicit sexual content. public sex/semi-public indecency. alcohol mention. dirty talk. fingering. breast play. its love and hate !
A/N. toji art by f_tality0
the first time you cockblock toji happens at your sorority’s fall mixer and it’s not even on purpose.
the downstairs bathroom’s got a line out the door so you stomp upstairs in your heels, bladder about to explode. the second-floor bathroom is supposed to be off-limits for parties. it’s also a good thing that half the girls forget it exists.
you twist the knob expecting it to open.
but it’s locked.
of course.
you bang on the door, sharp and impatient. “who the fuck is in there? open up, i’m about to piss myself.”
nothing for a second then another bang from your fist.
“hello? i’m not asking twice. move your ass or i’m kicking this door in.”
a muffled curse comes through the wood. the lock finally clicks.
the door swings open and there’s toji, jeans still unzipped, belt hanging loose. behind him some sorority girl you vaguely recognize from kappa. her cheeks flaming and mascara smudged. she shoves past you without a word, practically sprinting down the hall.
toji just stands there looking at you like you’re the one who interrupted something important.
“you mind?” you snap, crossing your arms. “some of us actually need to use the bathroom for its intended purpose.”
he lets out a low huff of a laugh, finally stepping aside but not far enough. his shoulder brushes yours as you push past. “didn’t know you were so territorial over toilets, pres.”
“didn’t know you needed an audience to get off,” you shoot back. slamming the door in his face and locking it again.
your relationship with toji is a bit complicated. it’s not that you hate him but you don’t exactly like him either. he’s arrogant, loud, always showing up where he’s not wanted with that lazy grin like the whole campus owes him something. you’re the one who has to deal with the fallout when his frat trashes a mixer or starts fights at tailgates, so yeah, you give him shit every chance you get.
the second time you cockblock him is three weeks later in the library stacks on the fourth floor.
midterms are brutal and you’re camped out in your usual spot—the back corner near the architecture journals trying to cram two chapters of econ before your brain melts. the place is dead quiet except for the occasional page turn and someone’s cough two aisles over.
you’re halfway through highlighting when you hear it.
low voices, then a stifled laugh that’s way too familiar. you pull one earbud out. it’s coming from the next row over.
you don’t even think. you stand up, heels silent on the carpet, and round the corner like you’re just looking for a book.
there he is again.
toji, back against the shelves, a girl pressed between him and the books, her legs hooked around his waist while he’s got one hand under her thigh and the other braced above her head. her skirt’s hiked up, his fly’s open, and they’re moving slow, careful, trying not to knock anything over. her face is buried in his neck, biting her lip to stay quiet.
his eyes flick up the second you appear. the asshole doesn’t even stop, mouth curving into that same smirk like this is the most normal thing in the world.
the girl notices you too, she freezes, eyes going wide. she whispers something frantic to toji and starts untangling herself. toji lets her down easy, zipping up like it’s no rush, while she smooths her skirt and bolts past you with her bag clutched to her chest, head down in embarrassment.
“really?” you say, voice low enough not to get shushed by the librarian. “in the fucking library? during midterms?”
he shrugs, leaning back against the shelf now, arms crossed to mirror you. “what, you own the stacks too, pres?”
“i own the right to study without hearing your little hookups,” you hiss. “take your dick somewhere else.”
he pushes off the shelf. “you keep showing up at the worst times. starting to think you’re doing it on purpose.”
“starting to think you’re just bad at picking spots,” you fire back. “or is your kink getting caught?”
“wouldn’t you like to know?”
you roll your eyes, walking back to your table without another word realizing that this is not worth your time, he's not worth your time.
he doesn’t follow. but later that night your phone lights up with a text from him.
toji (theta nu) yo pres
toji (theta nu) the library girl earlier left her notes in my pocket, i forgot to ask her name.
toji (theta nu) you recognize her?
you choke.
he replies with a single laughing emoji and nothing else.
the third time you cockblock toji is at the annual greek week bonfire on the quad.
it’s the last night of the week.
everyone’s half-drunk, half-exhausted from relay races and tug-of-war bullshit all day. the fire’s roaring, people scattered on blankets and lawn chairs.
you’re nursing a seltzer, talking to a couple pledges about cleanup duty tomorrow, when you spot him across the fire. toji’s posted up against a tree trunk, one foot kicked back against the bark. some girl from another house… phi mu maybe? she’s tucked under his arm, laughing too loud at whatever he’s saying, her hand already sliding under his hoodie like she’s claiming territory.
you don’t bother to stare, there’s nothing surprising about it so you turn back to your conversation, but minutes later nature calls again, wayyy too much seltzer. the portable bathrooms are lined up near the parking lot, but the line’s long and you’re not waiting. there’s a cluster of port-a-potties behind the maintenance shed, the ones nobody uses because they’re farther and smells more like shit.
you head that way, cutting through the shadows. you round the shed and hear it before you see it.
“oh my god toji—”
one of the doors is cracked way open.
toji’s got the girl pinned against the wall of the tiny stall, her legs wrapped around him again, skirt shoved up, his jeans pushed down just enough. he’s mid-thrust when he realizes there’s somebody there. his head turning slow like he already knows who it is.
the girl squeaks, tries to cover herself. it’s the same reaction everytime, what exactly do they think will happen when they fuck in a public space.
toji just looks at you over her shoulder, green eyes glinting in the harsh light, that scarred mouth pulling into the laziest, most infuriating grin yet.
“pres,” he drawls, still buried in her, not even pretending to stop. “you following me now?”
“you agai- you know what, this is a porta-potty, you disgusting animal. people need to piss here, not fuck.”
the girl’s mortified, pushing at his chest. “toji, let me down—”
he finally lowers her, steadying her when her legs wobble, fixing himself right after. she scrambles out past you, muttering apologies under her breath, disappearing into the dark.
toji stays leaned against the wall inside the stall, arms crossed now, zipper still down like he’s daring you to comment on it.
“you got a radar for this shit or what?” he asks, voice rough from whatever they were doing. “third time’s the charm, huh?”
you step closer just enough to crowd the doorway, arms crossed tight. “maybe if you stopped treating every surface like your personal bedroom i wouldn’t keep walking in on you.”
you watch his eyes dragging down your body slow, then back up. “or maybe you like the show. keep showing up, keep running your mouth. starting to feel personal.”
“it’s personal when i have to explain to the event chair why one of the bathrooms is out of order because theta nu’s president can’t keep it in his pants.”
he laughs at that. “you’re cute when you’re pissed, you know that?”
“and you’re disgusting when you’re horny,” you snap back. “zip up and get out before i call campus safety and tell them there’s a public indecency issue.”
he steps forward until he’s right in front of you, close enough that you have to tip your head back to meet his eyes. “you gonna keep cockblocking me forever, pres?” he murmurs, voice dropping. “or you gonna do something about it next time?”
your pulse slams in your throat. you hold his stare longer than you should, caught for a second too long before you snap out of it. then you shove his chest hard making him step back, and slam the porta-potty door shut behind you as you walk away.
“find a new hobby, fushiguro,” you call over your shoulder without turning around.
you hear him laugh again through the plastic wall, unbothered as ever.
three times now. three fucking times.
it's easter weekend, most people went home and some stayed. your sorority house is quiet except for the few sisters who stayed behind. you're in the living room in sweats and an oversized tee, hair in a messy bun, painting your nails while scrolling tiktok when the doorbell rings.
you pad over barefoot, expecting a delivery or maybe one of the pledges who forgot her key again.
instead it's toji.
he's leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a six-pack of some craft ipa and a flat rectangular box wrapped in cheap pastel paper with a crooked bow.
"hey, it's my favorite sorority girl around."
"what the fuck are you doing here?"
"heard your house is doing an easter brunch thing tomorrow. thought theta nu could collab. provide the beer, maybe grill some burgers after the egg hunt bullshit. keep the vibes going."
you stare at him like he's grown a second head. "we're not doing a collab with just your frat alone. last time it was just us, your guys ended up streaking across the quad at 3 a.m."
"c’mon now... admit it, that was funny. also i’m responsible now.”
"you're literally holding beer at 4 p.m. on a sunday."
"it’s a gift for you.”
you snort despite yourself, step aside. "fine, i’ll hear this out.”
he follows you inside then he drops onto the couch without asking, legs spread wide, sets the beer and the box on the coffee table.
you sit across from him in the armchair, legs tucked under you. "so what's the pitch, fushiguro? why do you actually care about collaborating?"
"maybe i just wanted an excuse to see you without you barging in on me for once."
"bold of you to assume i'd let you in the door otherwise."
"you already did."
you went silent running out of responses for him, that's when he nods at the wrapped box.
"open it."
you eye it suspiciously but reach over anyway. the paper tears easy. inside is a matte black vibrator shaped like a bullet, still in its clear plastic clamshell.
your face burns.
"are you fucking kidding me?"
"thought it was cute," he says. "matches your whole 'control freak' aesthetic. figured you'd appreciate something you can actually finish with since you keep interrupting mine."
you stare at the toy, then at him. he's watching you like a cat with a mouse, waiting.
you set the basket down hard. "you're unbelievable."
"and you're still sitting here," he points out. "not kicking me out."
three times you've cockblocked him. three times he's looked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing. just this time there's no girl between you.
you stand up slowly. "you think this is funny? showing up with beer and a sex toy like some kind of bribe?"
"i’ll call it an invitation."
your mouth goes dry. "to what?"
“see you really need to stop this act.” he stands too, taller now that he's close. "every time you walk in on me, you stay a second too long. you run your mouth, but your eyes don't leave. you like knowing what i look like when i'm fucking. im really sick of wondering when are you gonna stop watching from the doorway and come get it yourself?"
the air feels thick suddenly. you should shove him toward the door, call him a bitch, tell him to fuck off.
"again. you think you can just show up here and i'll drop my pants because you brought chocolate and a vibrator?"
his hand lifts, slow, fingers grazing your jaw, thumb dragging along your bottom lip. "nah. i think you'll drop 'em because you've been wet thinking about it since that first time you saw me.”
your breath hitches. traitor body.
"prove me wrong," he murmurs. "tell me to leave. i'll go, no hard feelings."
you don't say anything.
maybe you do want this. maybe you do want him and your pride is just too big to admit that.
the thought sits heavy in your chest, hot and uncomfortable, like swallowing something too big. you've spent months telling yourself he's just an arrogant asshole who can't keep his dick in his pants, that every time you walked in on him it was pure coincidence, that the way your thighs clenched had nothing to do with the sight of him. you told yourself it was disgust, irritation, anything but want.
but standing here now, his thumb still resting against your lip, you can't lie to yourself anymore.
you've spent so long being the responsible one. letting toji in feels like handing over the keys to something you've kept locked up tight. what if you like it too much? what if he ruins you for anyone else? what if tomorrow morning you wake up hating yourself for folding so easily?
except... he's not pushing. he's waiting. green eyes steady on yours, that lazy confidence still there, like he knows exactly how hard you're fighting this and he's willing to let you lose on your own terms.
your tongue darts out, barely brushing the rough pad of his thumb. his eyes darken instantly.
fuck it.
you close the last inch between you, grab the front of his hoodie, and pull him down into a kiss that's more teeth than anything graceful. he groans low in his throat the second your mouths meet, like he's been starving for it, and his hands are on you immediately. one fisting the back of your tee, the other sliding down to grip your ass hard enough to lift you onto your toes.
you bite his bottom lip and he growls, spins you until your back hits the nearest wall. the impact rattles the framed photos behind you, but neither of you cares. his mouth is on your neck now, sucking a bruise right under your jaw while his thigh wedges between yours.
"fuck toji–"
"there it is," he mutters against your skin, voice wrecked. "knew you'd say my name like that eventually."
he continues until you're trying to catch your breath... then you hear it. footsteps on the stairs, light and quick, one of your sisters probably coming down.
toji freezes with his mouth still on your neck. he lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes, that feral little glint still there.
"shit," you whisper, shoving at his chest.
without a word he scoops you up, one arm under your ass, the other braced across your back like you weigh nothing. your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, arms looping his neck to keep from falling. he carries you straight past the couch toward the hallway.
the coat closet by the front door is too small so he skips it.
instead he heads for the big storage closet at the end of the hall.
he shoulders it open, steps in, kicks the door shut behind him. the lock clicks, total blackout except for the thin stripe of hall light under the door.
he sets you down but doesn't let go—backs you straight into the wall of stacked chairs. your hands are already under his hoodie again, nails digging into the hard lines of his back.
"quiet," he mutters. "don't want your sister hearing how bad you want this."
you open your mouth to snap something back but he cuts you off by yanking your oversized tee up and over your head in one rough pull. you had no bra underneath.
toji makes a hungry sound in his throat. he doesn't hesitate, mouth closes over one breast, tongue flicking your nipple before he sucks hard. your head thumps back against the wall, teeth sinking into your own lip to keep the moan inside.
he switches to the other one, same brutal attention. teeth grazing just enough to sting, then soothing with slow circles of his tongue. one big hand cups the breast he's not working on, thumb rolling the wet nipple he just left, pinching lightly.
"s-shiit.”
"shhh i said quiet." he pulls off with a wet pop, looks up at you through the dark. you can barely see his face but you feel the grin against your skin when he speaks. “it’s good?”
before you can nod his hand's already sliding down the front of your sweats, fingers dipping under the waistband of your underwear without warning. you're soaked and for toji soaked means ready.
two thick fingers push inside you easy, curling right away, thumb finding your clit on the first pass. you choke on a sound, slap a hand over your own mouth.
he starts slow as his mouth goes back on your tits. you can hear the slick sound of his fingers working you open. your other hand fists his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss. he likes it. he pumps faster, thumb circling your clit in tight little strokes that match the rhythm of his tongue on your nipple.
"fuck faster," you whisper, barely audible.
he obeys, fingers reaching in deeper. your hips buck, riding his hand while he mouths at your chest. the pressure builds fast. your legs start trembling, knees threatening to give. he hooks his free arm around your waist, holds you up against the wall so you don't slide down.
"can’t believe it," he mutters right against your nipple. "been waiting for months to feel you squeeze my fingers like this."
“o—oh! toji!”
suddenly you feel pressure below, you bite down on the heel of your hand as you come hard. your cunt flutters and clenches around his fingers so he works you through it, drawing it out until you're whimpering some more.
when you finally go limp he pulls his hand free, brings it up to your mouth. you open without thinking. sucking your own taste off his fingers without shame.
he leans in, kisses you slow and dirty, now it was him tasting you again.
"good girl," he breathes against your lips. "that's one."
“o-one?"
his grin is pure sin.
"yeah. three cockblocks, remember? figure i owe you at least three and we're just getting started."
he reaches behind him, feels around until he finds something. no, wait, he grabbed it on the way in.
the matte black bullet vibrator.
"you grabbed that?"
"what? needed it."
he tears it open with his teeth.
"stay quiet while i play," he says, already flicking it on. the low buzz fills the tiny space. “kay?”
your eyes widen.
he presses it right against your oversensitive clit through your soaked underwear.
"unless you want me to stop," he adds, voice mocking. "say the word, pres. i'll walk out right now, could even say hi to your sister if you want.”
instead of replying, you grab his wrist and hold the toy exactly where you want it.
Thinking about the quiet, domestic ways the size difference between you and Toji shows itself
We know you’ll have to ask him for help reaching things on the tallest shelf and it’ll take hours of foreplay to get ready for his gigantic girth, but what about the times that you can easily take for granted, the moments that are brought up to you by blushing, envious friends which make you blink in realisation, the moments that make you fall in love with him all over again?
When showering with him is impossible because he gets all the hot water and you’re left shivering under the lukewarm dribbles from his body. Despite the complications from the tight space, the awkward angles one has to bend their limbs to get their shampoo, and how hard it is to hear each other with the thunder of the water and the height difference, you would never hate showering with Toji. Who else would wash your hair for you because they don’t get aches in their arms from reaching up? Who else would be able to clearly see the spots you’ve missed and would take their time, using their muscles, to work the lather in? And who the hell else would dry you first with the only towel and use the cold, damp one for himself?
When it’s windy out and the chill of the night rattles your bones, he stands in the direction of the wind, eyes bothered and scarred lips pulled down in a frown; you’re shivering like hell. Should’ve brought your jacket like he told you. Dumbass. Large and foreboding, his frame blocks the wind, shoving it away from your body. All his clothes hang heavy on you, and in this moment, when you’re practically being attacked all around, all he has to do is unzip his own jacket and welcome you in. A big man like him always has room in their clothes for another person. And the almost scalding heat of his hardened body stands like a furnace. Who needs a jacket when they have a Toji Fushiguro?
Bonus point for him not giving a fuck that people are staring at you two – waddling together like the very paragon of PDA and counting the steps in mumbles, cursing here and there when you trip over a pebble.
Of course, this also extends to all the times he wordlessly stands over you so the sun doesn’t blind your poor eyes or so you can pick a wedgie out without people seeing.
When mornings are easy with him. He’s the one who turns off your alarm at fuckass hours in the morning. His long arm can reach beyond your body and kill that startling sound that haunts your sweet dreams. Washing up in the bathroom doesn’t have to be taken in turns; you two can brush your teeth at the same time because his reflection shows behind you. Most times, breakfast is a struggle for you because it’s often too early to have an appetite. Still, he’ll always make you a perfectly portioned meal, you’ll eat as much as you can and never have to worry about throwing food out because he eats your leftovers on top of his own breakfast.
When you have to stand on a platform to kiss him – whether it's the taller step on the staircase or a stool – and he still has to bend down. No matter how far down you are, he will bend. He will risk cricks in his necks and aches in his backs because what the fuck could get in the way between him and a kiss from you?
When there are hardly any good pictures of the both of you because it's a tug of war between the top of your head and his chest.
When he spots a puddle and grabs you by the waist so you can dangle in the air for a little while as he steps over it.
When you realised that you've never once had to push your shorter legs to their max to keep up with him. Without needing you to tell him, without announcing it to you, Toji, all those years ago, has learned the perfect pace to always be within arm's reach of you in case you need help and so he never misses a single word of the story you're telling.
You could go and on about him, but the most important thing will forever be that, no matter how big Toji is, no matter how much he towers over you and scares the shit out of everyone, his heart will always be bigger.
AKOTSK men realising that LS gave them a hickey? Where would it be, somewhere easy to hide like their chest, or high like their jaw? Would they be embarrassed? Shy? I feel like Aerion would def be a little smug lmao
(¬‿¬)
BAELOR:
Location: Chest, shoulder, somewhere that can be easily hidden under his doublet and high collar. You probably didn't even mean to leave a mark, things just got intense and it happened.
Reaction: Discovers it the next morning while getting dressed and just stops. Stares at it in the mirror with this complicated expression that's equal parts embarrassment and pleasure. He's the Crown Prince, he can't walk around with visible hickeys. The scandal. The gossip. His father would have words.
But also... there's something about it that makes him feel far too pleased in a way that's completely inappropriate for a man his age. Proof that you want him enough to mark him, that the passion between you is real and urgent and overwhelming enough that neither of you were thinking about propriety. Would definitely hide it, but might trace his fingers over it when he's alone, remembering how it got there. Might press on it slightly just to feel the tenderness and remember your mouth on his skin.
Would give you this look later when you're alone, half reproachful, half affectionate. "You marked me."
"I noticed."
"I had to wear my collar higher today. In summer."
But he's smiling slightly when he says it, and you both know he's not actually upset.
MAEKAR:
Location: Collarbone, shoulder, ribs. Somewhere he can cover with clothes because Maekar is intensely private about his intimate life.
Reaction: Sees it in the mirror and immediately mutters "Fuck." Not angry, just... he wasn't expecting it. Would definitely hide it. This is not information the world needs to have. Would wear his collar buttoned higher, make sure his doublet covers it completely.
But privately? Privately there's this gruff satisfaction about it. You marked him, left evidence. It's possessive and claiming and part of him really likes that even though he'd never say it out loud. Might run his fingers over it when he's getting dressed, remembering. Might press on it slightly just to feel the ache again. Look at you later with this dark, heated expression that suggests he's thinking about how it got there and would like a repeat performance. If you asked him about it directly he'd just grunt and change the subject. But later, in private, he might pull you close and mutter against your ear: "Do that again and I'm giving you one back."
Threat or promise? Both.
AERION:
Location: Neck. Jaw. Collarbone. Somewhere visible. And if you tried to put it somewhere hidden he'd probably move so you'd mark him somewhere he could show off.
Reaction: SMUG. Absolutely insufferably smug. This is proof. Visible, physical proof that you marked him, claimed him, left evidence of yourself on his skin. He'd catch sight of it in the mirror and get this satisfied, almost feral smile. Wouldn't even try to hide it. Would wear his collar open specifically so people could see. At family dinners. At court. Everywhere. And when people notice (because of course they notice, that's the point), he'd just smirk and say nothing, but his eyes would find yours across the room with this look that says mine, I'm yours, everyone can see it now.
He'd try to give you one back immediately, just to make it mutual. Reciprocal claiming. If you let him, he'd put it somewhere just as visible because he wants the world to know you're his and only his just as much as he's yours.
DAERON:
Location: Wherever you put it. He's not directing traffic here.
Reaction: Probably doesn't even notice it at first. Gets dressed, goes about his day. Someone (probably Aerion, being a dick) points it out and Daeron just looks down at his chest or touches his neck with vague surprise.
"Oh. Huh."
Not embarrassed, not smug, just... mildly interested in this physical evidence of something that happened. Might forget to hide it because he's not particularly concerned with appearances. Might remember later and think oh right, probably should cover that but not with any real urgency. There's something almost sweet about how unconcerned he is. It's a mark. It'll fade. In the meantime, it's just a reminder of time spent with you, which is nice in a distant, abstract sort of way.
Though if you pointed it out directly he might look at it with more focus and say something like "I didn't realise you did that" and there'd be this small smile, like he's pleased you left evidence even if he's not going to make a big deal about it.
LYONEL:
Location: Honestly anywhere. Chest, shoulder, neck—he's not particularly worried about hiding it because he's Lyonel and subtlety isn't really his strong suit.
Reaction: Discovers it in the mirror and grins. Like a genuinely delighted, slightly goofy grin. You marked him! That means last night was real and you wanted him and left evidence and how great is that? Probably wouldn't go out of his way to show it off like Aerion would, but also wouldn't be particularly careful about hiding it. If someone notices, he'd just shrug with this pleased expression like, "yeah, what of it?"
Might bring it up to you later with genuine enthusiasm. "You left a mark."
"I know. Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Don't apologise. I liked it." Said with complete sincerity and warmth.
Would probably want to give you one back because fair is fair and also because the idea of marking you the same way you marked him is appealing in a very straightforward, uncomplicated way. Just mutual claiming between two people who enjoy each other. The kind of guy who'd trace his fingers over it fondly when he's getting dressed, remembering the moment, and just feel happy about it.
DUNK:
Location: Chest, shoulder. Somewhere he can definitely hide under his clothes because gods, the embarrassment.
Reaction: Discovers it and turns bright red. Like full face flush, neck red, ears burning. He's a hedge knight. You're a Lady. This is... this is evidence of... oh gods, what if someone sees?
Would be extremely careful about hiding it. Checks multiple times that his shirt covers it completely. Adjusts constantly throughout the day and genuinely anxious that someone will notice and think less of you for being involved with someone like him. But underneath the embarrassment there's this shy, warm pleasure. You wanted him enough to mark him. Left evidence on his skin. It makes him feel chosen in a way that's overwhelming and wonderful and terrifying all at once. Would probably be too flustered to bring it up directly, but you'd catch him touching the spot absently throughout the day, remembering it. And if you teased him about it later he'd turn red all over again but there'd be this small smile he couldn't quite hide.
"You marked me, m'lady."
"I did. Is that a problem?"
"No. No, I just... didn't expect..." He'd trail off, too flustered to finish, but the warmth in his eyes would say everything.
Definitely wouldn't reciprocate without explicit permission because he's too worried about overstepping. But if you asked him to? If you made it clear you wanted his mark on you the same way? He'd be honoured and careful and still somehow make you feel like you've given him the greatest gift.
pairing: college student!jungkook x college student!reader
synopsis: Y/N only meant for the date to last an hour. Just long enough to make the point of it worth it, but short enough to keep things professional. But between stolen glances and intertwined fingers, time just seems to go by far too fast. Especially with Jungkook.
Jungkook, who’s so gentle and so easy to be around. Jungkook, who doesn’t ever judge you for the way you complicate something as simple as painting.
And him? Oh, he’s screwed.
Because the only thing on his mind after that date is a certain law student, who has no business being in his life.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
“I have to see her again, it can’t end like this.”
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
genres: fake-dating ish?, angst (sorry 😞), romance, rom-com, dual pov for a bit, MAJOR yearning, coming of age, college!au, slow burn, opposites attract, academic fmc x artistic mmc, fluff, explicit content, flirty, tension, college!jk, slice of life, mature language, hopeless romantic
wc: 2.8k (sorry i got carried away…)
preview, pt1 (current), pt2
Chapter 1: The Date
The word “date,” nor the concept of keeping your Saturday night free of all studies for said “date,” was ever in your vocabulary. In fact, the only time “date” ever showed up was the date to your next final or project. So getting ready for something that didn’t involve having your tote bag filled with textbooks hanging off your shoulder was so incredibly foreign, that you had no other choice but to turn to Teddy for outfit inspo.
She went on a damn spiral, tossing clothes out of your closet until she finally found the one that looked perfect.
“I’m telling you right now, Jungkook will go insane over this outfit,” she said proudly with a grin so wide she might as well have turned into the Cheshire Cat. And you prayed to God that she was wrong in every way possible, because you didn’t need Jungkook thinking you looked good. Or worse, asking for another date. This was strictly professional; a hangout, if you must, to raise money for whatever showcase the art students had.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
When you first made plans with Jungkook for your “date,” he didn’t say much at all, and you wondered if you remembered wrong, considering it was 7:10 PM and there was no sign of him.
“Meet me at the front of the art building. 7 pm, don’t be late or I’ll find you myself.” Jungkook said with a devastating grin.
He’s late, and you started to think that maybe he even forgot. Or ditched.
This was a terrible idea.
You contemplate texting Teddy something dramatic (like “I’ve been stood up, hope you’re happy”) but your thoughts were cut off as the door to the building swings open.
Out came Jungkook, dressed casually in jeans and a white shirt, sleeves straining against his biceps. Tattoos on full display too and, unfortunately, you struggled to not stare.
He grins, his eyes lighting up, and leans his forearm against the doorframe. “You came,” he said, voice easy.
“Mm,” you nod and rock back and forth on your heels in a nervous manner. “I thought we’d just be going for coffee or something?”
“Coffee?” He repeated, almost seeming offended. “I actually want my girl to enjoy her date,” he scoffed and held the door open wider for you.
You ignored the way your heart skipped a beat at the way he said my girl so casually, and stick your head inside in a cautious manner.
You hesitated, but eventually stepped inside. The studio smelled like turpentine, old wood, and something fairly metallic—paint drying, canvases breathing.
It wasn’t polished or neat. Supplies were scattered everywhere: brushes, half-finished sculptures, canvases leaning at strange angles. A battered stereo played low music in the background, something steady and old.
You stood awkwardly while Jungkook moved about the studio freely, as if he lived here.
“Hope you don’t mind getting dirty,” he said, eyeing you over his shoulder as he set up some sort of wheel mechanism.
You stared at him, heart pounding. “What…kind of dirty are we talking?”
Jungkook laughed, low and warm. “Relax. It’s just clay.”
He handed you an oversized apron, his fingers brushing yours for half a second too long…not that you were counting.
“Rule number one for tonight,” he began, putting his own apron around his waist. “Don’t think, just do.”
“That’s a terrible rule.” You muttered and followed suit, clumsily tying on the apron.
Jungkook chuckled and his shoulders shook with amusement while he watched you struggle to put on the apron. He casually stepped up behind you and took the strings from your hands, tying it for you instead.
You mentally berated yourself for the way your breath stuttered in your chest, and then you swear that the next time your heart is gonna skip a beat like that is because of nervousness for a test. Not for him; never for him.
“There is nothing terrible about being in the art studio,” he said while his large palms glided over the expanse of your waist, smoothing out the material of the apron. “Here, you just let go.”
You didn’t realize he moved away from you because you were still caught up in the way he so casually touched you, almost in a reverent manner. So much for not letting your heart skip for him.
You cleared your throat and turned to face him once more, watching as he continued to set up, what you assumed, the pottery machine. “Um, so, what exactly are we doing?”
“We’re doing pottery, obviously,” he paused and glanced at you, big eyes catching yours from under the fringes of his hair. “Have you ever?”
You carefully approached him next to the machine, watching as he pulled up a single stool in front of the wheel. “Um, no. Never.” Pottery, or anything art related, was never really your thing. The last time you ever did something remotely close to arts was probably in elementary.
He stood up with a huff, hands on his hips, and nudged his head towards the stool. “Sit,” he said, “I’ll teach you.”
“Wait so, we’re just getting right into it? We’re not…talking?” You asked before hesitantly taking a seat on the stool, staring at the wheel like it was completely foreign and would eat you alive within seconds.
“I don’t mean to be rude but judging by your body language, I think it’s best to skip the small talk.” He chuckled softly and before you could retaliate, you felt his chest brush right up against your back. You might as well have gotten whiplash from how fast your head turned to look at him.
Cheeks flushed and eyes widened, you glanced up at him, sitting so close you could basically smell his cologne. Something woodsy and citrusy, but also clean like detergent. Your eyes met his and from this close, you noticed things you probably would never have paid attention to.
The tiny mole under his bottom lip; the slight crinkle around his eyes when he smiled. The glint of his lip ring, twitching every time he brushed his tongue against it.
What the hell? Stop staring!
“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked, voice stuttering despite how desperately you tried to keep it steady.
He blinked down at you before breaking into a dimpled grin. “Relax. Just gonna help you get your flow then I’ll move to my own spot.” He reassured, before giving your arms a gentle pat.
Okay. There's two things you’ve learned about Jungkook so far. He smells awfully too good, and is insanely unaware of how naturally charming he is. Well, isn’t that great for you?
He slapped a heap of clay on the wheel before dipping his hands in a nearby bowl with water, then gestured for you to do the same.
“Pottery is easy,” he started. “You just need to have steady hands and the rest comes naturally.”
Easy was solving limits and linear equations. Easy was learning and memorizing civil wrongs and harmful acts. Easy was not molding a piece of clay into some mug or pot.
But regardless, because you literally had no other choice, you dipped your hands in the water and hovered them over the clay awkwardly.
“So…” you shifted to get comfortable and positioned your hands awkwardly over the clay. “How does this work?”
“Basically,” he hesitated for a second before gently resting his hands over yours. Big and warm, the contact had goosebumps rising on your skin. You prayed he wouldn't point it out because your best excuse would be because of air conditioning…but the room felt awfully hot. “You press down on this pedal,” he nudged your foot with his, letting you press down as a quick demonstration. “There you go,” he mumbled quietly, tone holding a hint of praise and encouragement behind it. “And your hands just kinda…move over the clay. It’s easier said than done.” He chuckled and you hated the way his breath brushed against your ear, because it sent that awful fluttery sensation down your spine again.
“Right,” you mumbled before clearing your throat. “Why are we doing pottery again?” You couldn’t help but ask. There were literally a hundred other things to do, and this guy had to choose the most messy, nuisance of an activity? Is he setting you up for failure or what?
“Because it’s fun,” he shrugged. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
He encouraged you to press on the pedal again and when the wheel hummed to life, he gently guided your fingers to the clay. “It’s mostly about feeling where the clay wants to go.”
“That sounds strangely philosophical,” you frowned, earning another soft laugh from him.
Soft and breathy and oh so ridiculously heartstopping.
God, stop. stopstopstop–
At first, Jungkook let you feel around with the clay by yourself.
Your hands glided carefully over the spinning clay, slow and deliberate, approaching it the same way you approached everything else in life—with caution, precision, and the quiet confidence that if you followed the instructions, you'd get it right.
You'd always gotten it right.
So naturally, you assumed this wouldn't be any different.
The clay promptly collapsed in on itself with a pathetic thud.
You stared at it.
"...Seriously?"
A quiet laugh sounded behind you.
"No stress," Jungkook said, his voice low and reassuring by your ear. "It's a little finicky at first."
Your brows pinched together.
"I can—"
Before you could finish insisting you were fine, his fingers slipped gently between yours.
"I've got you."
His hands guided yours back to the clay with practiced ease, steadying the uneven pressure until the wheel began to cooperate again.
You should've been focused on what he was showing you.
Instead, all you could think about was how warm his hands were despite the cool slip of water and clay coating both of your fingers. How his broad chest brushed up against your back every time he leaned an inch too close.
It should've felt strange.
Messy and uncomfortable. Instead, it felt…oddly natural.
And that realization alone was enough to send an embarrassing rush of butterflies tumbling through your stomach.
For God's sake...
It was just pottery.
So why did your heart insist on making it feel like something more?
“There you go,” he praised softly, head right next to yours, voice deep and honey-like in your ear. You had half a heart to shove him away but somehow, you kept still.
“Okay…this is weird.” You mumbled, watching as the clay molded perfectly with the help of his hands guiding yours. Fingers slipped across the slippery, slick material, gliding up and down while the wheel spun in a slow, easy manner and the clay rose gradually.
Calling it weird was the only way you could deflect how you were really feeling.
“Weird?” He repeated, glancing at the side of your face with slightly furrowed brows. “It’s just clay.”
Well, this boy was clueless. How could you explain that the clay wasn’t the thing that was weird; the immediate dynamic; the way both your hands moved so perfectly in sync, was the thing that was weird. Because nobody had actually fallen into such an easygoing rhythm with you before so quickly.
You were difficult, demanding, but he just…made everything so easy. You realized you weren’t even thinking about your classes or exams, just the boy who was oh so gentle with you, and the clay that changed in whatever way you wanted, giving you full control.
“Um,” you eventually cleared your throat, realizing you had been zoning out. “I dunno…just feels slimy.” You deflected because what else were you supposed to say? The truth? Never.
“Slimy,” he repeated with a small snort. “That’s a new one.”
Christ, being with this guy was going to be nothing short of a nightmare.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
“There, all done.” Jungkook finally eased back with a proud smile, and you wondered why the hell you felt disappointed from the lack of warmth.
Between casual chatter and frustrated sighs, you ended up making a mug. Crooked, but a mug nevertheless. Its handle was slightly askew as well, but Jungkook picked it up as if it was a masterpiece.
You, on the other hand, couldn't help but frown. It looked ridiculous.
“Not bad for a newbie,” Jungkook teased, poking you on the rib to which he earned a startled noise from you.
“It looks like a two year old made it.” You grumbled, a slight pout in your tone.
“No,” he stands from his seat and places the mug carefully on the drying rack. “It’s got character.”
You rolled your eyes because obviously he was trying to make you feel better…and oddly enough, it was working.
“Whatever,” untying your apron, you tossed it in the dirty cloth rack before turning to Jungkook, watching as he cleaned up the wheel. He was unfairly attractive, you had to admit. Veins popping along his strong forearms every time he scrubbed a little too hard, brows furrowed in concentration, tongue tucked under his lip ring.
“Are we done now?” You asked after clearing your throat, looking everywhere but at him now. Way to be discreet.
“Done?” He repeated around a snort, standing up and dusting his hands off on his apron. “We’re just getting started.”
𓍯𓂃𓏧
You told yourself you’d stay for just an hour, because you had a civil procedures textbook waiting for you back at your apartment. You told yourself you wouldnt do anything too artsy or too messy–wanted to keep your hands clean.
So how, on God’s green earth, did you end up sitting next to this damn art major, shoulders brushing occasionally, and painting mugs?
Not even the heavens could answer that.
"You know..." Jungkook glanced over at your mug before looking at his own. "I don't think I've ever seen someone paint with such serious concentration."
You didn't bother looking up.
"I'm trying not to ruin it."
"You look like you're taking an exam."
"I practically am."
He laughed, dipping his brush into a bright orange paint.
"See? That's your problem."
"My problem?"
"You think too much."
"And you don't think enough."
"...Fair."
You blinked.
"...You agreed with me?"
"I'm an artist, not delusional."
Before you could question further, he spoke up.
“Would you look at that,” Jungkook started, holding up his mug next to yours. His was coloured in bright oranges and yellows; intricate flower designs that only artists could perfect the details of. Yours?
Neutral browns and greys, because you didn’t know how to be creative. Even painting was like a perfectly curated task; it had to look perfect, be perfect.
“You’re a natural.” He said with a dimpled grin, nudging your side with his elbow. That simple comment had you snapping out of your mind, blinking up at him like some lost deer. You never knew how to take compliments.
“It’s all right,” you mumbled as you placed the mug on the drying rack, right next to Jungkook’s, The contrast was almost comical.
“Well, this was…nice. But I really should get going now.” You immediately deflected, grabbing your tote bag from the floor, paint smudging over the fabric. You had already overstayed your welcome, and if you stayed any damn longer, you didn’t know what you would end up doing.
“Oh,” Jungkook nodded, brushing his hands off on his jeans, caught off guard by the sudden shift in your demeanor. Had you two not just been getting along? He almost sounded disappointed but you told yourself it was your mind playing tricks. “Yeah, no, of course.”
A beat passed.
"I guess it did get kinda late."
It was only ten.
The sun had barely started to set.
But neither of you pointed that out.
“Thanks for helping with the fundraiser,” he said as he followed you to the door like some lost puppy; doe eyes staring into the back of your head. “I can tell this isn’t your thing but I appreciate it.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly with a smile that had your stomach flipping.
Why? You refused to acknowledge that.
“Yeah, no problem. Hope the art gala goes well.”
“Thanks! Maybe I–”
You didn’t even let Jungkook finish before you were scurrying off, desperate to get out of this situation. To get your damn bearings together and eliminate all of these stupid, fuzzy feelings in your chest.
Meanwhile, Jungkook?
Oh, that boy was a mess.
Not only did he never even plan on getting as far as painting the mugs with you, he also didn’t realize how effortless it was to be around you. Sure, you were a little dense about things, a little stuck up. But conversations came naturally–he learned you were a law major, lived by yourself, and had a cat–and the more he learned, the more he wanted to be around you.
Oh, this was bad. So, so bad.
Because this was supposed to be a one time thing, but as Jungkook watched your retreating figure like a fool–hand clutching that tote bag he recognized from the auction, soft pink babydoll top complementing your skin, and white maxiskirt flowing gently in the breeze–he realized that this wasn’t enough.
He had to see you again, one way or another.
a/n: omg guys much anticipated chapter 1!! finally omg. i love these two sm like i was a giggling fool writing this entire chapter. sorry it was so late! i've been so so busy with work and stuff but i tried super hard to get it done for you guys! hope it's up to ur expectations and i hope u guys love it as much as i do. they're literally my babies :> (also i didn't think ppl would actually like this so lmk if u wanna be tagged for the next part!) and sorry for any typos!
