#Probably more Rom than Com but posting it anyway

[ugh-yoongi]

ex-conomics | csc

you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now he’s back after an injury derailed his career, and there’s only one problem: you’re the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.

⚽ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader ⚽ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff ⚽ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⚽ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. ⚽ word count: 13.4k ⚽ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. ⚽ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3

You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what it’s like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.

“Um—”

You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. “I—it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Your words do little to ease Freshman’s nerves. He’s still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way he’s squaring his shoulders. “You’re sure about this, though? Like, I’m really not being set up?”

“I don’t think so?” he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. “Dr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I don’t think he would’ve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and conf—”

Good god, this kid’s anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. “No need!” you interject. “I’ll just…” Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker you’re losing your resolve.

TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)

You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Lee’s does not come as a surprise. He’s a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rate—most students don’t last more than a week in any of his classes—but he’s also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.

That, however, was two years ago.

“Does he know I don’t tutor anymore?” Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I don’t know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. “I’m Dr. Ahn’s TA this year. I’ve got my hands full with her bullsh… stuff—”

Immediately, you know you’ve said something wrong, because the kid’s eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. “Wait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?”

“No, that one died,” you say quickly. Kid deflates. “Anyway, I don’t really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can see”—you gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your office—“they’ve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesn’t sum up this university I don’t know what does.”

You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I tutored Dr. Lee’s students for, like, three years in undergrad so I’m sure they just… forgot that wasn’t my actual job here. Who’s in charge of tutoring these days? I’ll shoot them an email and explain all this.”

Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but he’s still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. “I just—um. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?”

You blink. “Don’t you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?” He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. “Fine. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lee Chan. I’m a sophomore. Do you know that guy?”

“Oh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but you’re gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.”

“The guy they want you to tutor.” You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor is—“Choi Seungcheol,” Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you know—knew, you correct yourself—someone with that name, once upon a time.

But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. It’s been years since you’ve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when he’d broken up with you to—“I heard he’s a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess he’s pretty famous, but I don’t know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.”

You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks you’d share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Chois’ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheol’s dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, that’s what you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didn’t really know any different, just that you’d look at him and feel butterflies. That you’d hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That you’d watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.

You think about all the football jargon you didn’t understand—the academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, I’m thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just don’t think there’s much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.

You remember thinking it must’ve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.

You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheol’s face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.

You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So you’re just giving up? Is that what you’re saying? Think about, I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t feel fair to you.

You think about all the places you’ve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.

You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.

So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you can’t tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.

“No,” you finally answer. “Never heard of him.”

For all intents and purposes, your rejection should’ve been the end of it.

A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls who’d gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.

But you don’t hear anything at all about it… until you do.

Sunday evening. You haven’t moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you don’t write many papers these days, so you’re out of practice. Feels like you haven’t done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so you’re about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.

You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor… friend of his father… urgent matter… and your hands start shaking. Whether it’s from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you aren’t sure, but it’s not like it matters. There aren’t a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.

Where did you go wrong to wind up here? You’d followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. You’d fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but that’d been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.

The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. You’d planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.

“Did you spill onion dip on the rug again?” You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. “Oh. Were you watching porn?”

Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. “In a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.”

She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. “See, that’s what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.” She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. “You think this is still good?”

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. “Vanilla, I think, which is concerning because it’s supposed to be strawberry.”

You shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen, you get extra”—you pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirely—“...biotics?”

“Mm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?”

Nose scrunched, you wave her off. “Couldn’t pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if it’s expired. All yours, babe.”

Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before you’re groaning and slamming the top closed.

You don’t even need to look over to know Kaori’s staring. “What’s up with you?” she asks. Before she can answer: “Wait, is this serious? Because I can’t have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.” You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. “Don’t breathe at me, I lost a bet.”

“And continued wearing it?”

She jokingly rolls her eyes. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.” Nudges you with her foot. “C’mon, spill.”

Kaori doesn’t know about you and Seungcheol. Most people don’t, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long you’d been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasn’t any evidence to delete, and he wasn’t following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.

So, yeah—even though you hadn’t met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows you’ve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and it’s why she’s none the wiser when you ask, “It’s nothing, really. Just—do you follow football at all?”

“Nah, not really. The new guy’s pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but it’s so fucking boring? I dunno, I can’t get into it. Not in real life, anyway—I binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?”

“Student Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just don’t have the time, you know? This semester’s already killer, and Dr. Ahn’s been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out it’s some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, I’m now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.”

Her face distorts. “God, that guy’s such a prick. Like wow, you’re good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why don’t you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!”

You also wrongly assume that’s the last you’ll hear of it from Kaori.

Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times you’ll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.

“You didn’t tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.”

The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but it’s not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:

doesn’t ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her “ur roomie” like you don’t know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No 🙄 fine. can i come over later? Starting to think you’re using me for my roommate. Get your own job 🙄

You hand her phone back. “I didn’t think you’d know who Choi Seungcheol even is.” It’s the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. “You said you’re not into football.”

“I’m not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.” She sighs, wistful and longing. “Babe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.”

You hadn’t wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university you’d gone to for undergrad.

You’d applied to schools all over—Japan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasn’t a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheol’s relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. They’d waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.

And it’d just been… a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so you’d stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.

But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave books—old paperbacks littered with notes in your writing—or papers, just to see if they move.

They never do.

And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When you’re halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahn’s exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you don’t even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. You’ve always sensed him before you felt him.

“There you are,” Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame that’s always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch that’s triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright they’re nearly blinding. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

This time it is an accusation.

Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak you’ll summon him closer and you’ll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.

You plaster on a polite smile. Say, “Ah, here I am, kyosu-nim,” and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.

Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but that’s not the reason it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

Seungcheol looks… different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like he’s trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.

You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.

“...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expect…”

You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dream—one you’d always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, too—and, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years would’ve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurt—indifference, at the very least.

“...as many hours per week as you both can manage…”

But you should’ve known better. Should’ve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Should’ve expected everything to feel upside-down. You should’ve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.

“...you are responsible for his academic progress…”

And that simply will not do. You’ve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. You’ve purged the thought of him from your mind—let his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt he’d left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.

You cannot go there again.

So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, “Ah, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, I’m sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, don’t you think?”

Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like he’s all of a sudden remembered he’s late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then he’s halfway out of the library with a terse, “Discuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,” thrown over his shoulder.

You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you can’t even bring yourself to care about it.

Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since you’ve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. “Here’s my email. I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but there’s not much you can do about that. “What? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. It’ll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.”

He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,” and if you hadn’t gone years without speaking, you would’ve seen right through it.

But you did, so it stings all the same.

As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.

You grade Dr. Ahn’s coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though it’s pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaori’s maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.

Other people’s embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, you’ve come to learn.

Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesn’t mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when you’re sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the “Recommended Tutoring: High” part for good measure.

He doesn’t take your bait—electronically, at least—but he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.

Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, “They spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.”

“I know,” you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. “What can I help you with?”

“Depends. How long do you have?”

“Well, considering you’ve shown up to my office hours on time, I’m assuming you already know I’m here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. So”—you glance at the clock above the door—“assuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. “I looked over your syllabus. The good news is there’s only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is there’s only a midterm and a final so they’re weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.”

“That’s why you’re here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.”

You huff a breath through your nose. “I’m here as supplemental help. I can’t take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?”

He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which… is unlike him, you think, if you’re even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. “Business Accounting and International Trade.”

“Could be worse,” you note. “At least those three courses are tangentially related.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t taken a fucking math class in years.”

You return it. “You remember how to add and subtract, don’t you?”

“I ruptured my ACL, not my…” He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he can’t name a part of the—“Brain.”

Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injury—the first you’re hearing of it at all, actually—and he says it like it’s a joke, like it’s not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation he’s found himself in. The unfairness of it all.

And there are so many questions you want to ask that aren’t your place: if it’s fixable, if he’ll ever play again, how he’s coping. But you don’t really need to—you can’t imagine how you’d feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.

Not that the man sitting across from you hadn’t already done that, but.

“Right,” you continue, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You know Seungcheol—know he wouldn’t want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. “I want you to take a look at this,” you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. “Tell me what looks familiar, what doesn’t; what does and doesn’t make sense.”

He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. “What the fuck is this?”

“I—what? Cheol, it’s my old notes on recitation. Surely you’ve already covered this—the syllabus says this is week one stuff.” He looks down at the paper again, and it’s so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someone’s eyes.

You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.

You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.

He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that it’s not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so excited since your tutoring began—the first glimmer of hope you’ve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone you’ve ever met, so you’re not surprised he’s doing well, excelling, but you are surprised—

“Can I ask you something?” Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. “Why are you… uh. Here?”

“At this university?”

“Not exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess… why business?”

Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No one’s using it, and truthfully the two of you probably aren’t even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. It’s nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.

“Ah, I don’t know. You know how it goes.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years you’ve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didn’t want to do. All that grit and determination. “What about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. He’s a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.”

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheol’s father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last you’d heard from your mother, Seungcheol’s brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.

So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You can’t blame him, even if you’ve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his father’s company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he should’ve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.

Doesn’t stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesn’t stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.

But you also know this isn’t something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a joke—“I mean, business. God, who’d wanna go into that?”—and go back to what he was willing to talk about.

You’ve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.

Deep in the throes of tutoring—when you can’t tell if it’s week two or week twelve—you make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.

The door flies open just as you’re about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than you’ve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if you’re being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.

“Oh, hi,” you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. “Everything okay?”

He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually he’s a talker—you haven’t been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeks—so you’re a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and that’s where Kaori finds you a moment later.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, right.”

You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show you’ll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.

You don’t have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the night—the way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.

I, uh, have an early class, he’d said. You know how it is.

Maybe you should’ve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. She’ll get attached if you don’t tell her. She should know it’s different for you, if it is.

But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t your place. Kaori wouldn’t want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldn’t have known he left at all if you hadn’t been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.

So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.

“I’m a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,” you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. It’s a lie—you’ve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to know—but she contemplates it nonetheless. “Also, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think they’re in the fridge.”

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

You huff a laugh. “They were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I don’t know—just saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.”

She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesn’t mention a thing.

The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.

“Not bad, actually.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she says, “That’s good. I’m glad things are going well for you two.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. “Maybe,” comes his cryptic retort. “I was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you weren’t.”

He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he can’t believe that didn’t work. “You’re right, you’re right. I, um—I wanted to come say thank you.” He pauses. “You know, for that… email you sent.”

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like he’s wailing when he says, “I’m sorry! They put me up to it!”

What you’re able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheol’s tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Might’ve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

What you’re able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you don’t know anything and, even if you did, you wouldn’t put his business out there like that.

But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say there’s nothing to report—not that you didn’t know, not that he couldn’t get anything out of you. Seungcheol isn’t dating anyone.

You don’t know if it’s true, but you figure that if it isn’t, he still deserves privacy.

Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.

“What’s wrong?”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.

What you settle on is, “Sorry, I just… had an interesting meeting before you got here.”

“Oh. Are you okay?”

You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It was about you, actually.”

Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you can’t make sense of. Says, “Me? Why? I passed my last exam—I mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasn’t your fault! I didn’t study enough! I’ve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucks—”

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

“Oh.” Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. “Haven’t heard you call me Cheol in a while.”

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say you’ll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much she’d loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.

They were, but you can’t seem to tell him that, either.

Seungcheol: sorry it’s last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?

Seungcheol shared a location with you

You’re halfway to replying—I don’t think that’s appropriate—before you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you don’t have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment that’s where you’ll meet him.

You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until they’re nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your ex’s swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldn’t know where he lives. Maybe you shouldn’t even have his phone number or answer his texts.

Not that there’s much you can do about it now, two stops away.

Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although it’s less “mess” and more “haven’t finished unpacking,” but there’s enough clear space to study at the dining table, so that’s where you set up, determined to keep things professional.

“Sorry again about this,” Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. “I had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.”

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. “Same as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Can’t get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.”

“The business is doing good, though.” You cough, clear your throat. “My, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I don’t know if your father told you that.”

You don’t know why you say it, because it’s clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheol’s face that he hadn’t known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.

“He didn’t,” he admits, “but I’m sure he was happy to see him. He was, uh—he was glad to hear you’re my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.”

You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. “Well, no need to prove him right. Come on,” you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, “let’s get to work.”

Everything is alright for a while—nearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.

The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesn’t know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first he’s able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.

He snaps, you snap back, and you can’t figure out why. You’ve survived this long in Seungcheol’s orbit even though you never thought you’d be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, but…

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

You and Seungcheol aren’t friends, though you’ve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You don’t belong here. You don’t want to be his friend—you can’t be, not for real or pretend.

“That’s not what I’m say—”

“Then explain it better,” Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re the tutor here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? All I meant was—your answer isn’t wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and he’s going to want more than that in a response.”

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

“I’m just asking you to expand on your answer—”

“And I’m telling you that’s all I’ve got. I’m not like you, all right? I don’t have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. I’m not smart, I barely have any idea what’s going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.”

You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.

So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichés.

The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.

Another cliché: that it’s starting to feel like that all over again.

Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Can’t fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whatever’s there.

Stupid, you think—both to do this and to think it’d play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.

“Cheol,” you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. He’s typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. “Seungcheol,” you try again.

Also fruitless.

You have no claim here, you remind yourself—not to his time, not to him. He’s only here because someone else mandated it. You’re only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.

And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldn’t gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“If you’re not going to listen, then—”

“I am listening,” he interjects, but he’s not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and it’s sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomach’s been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you don’t want to be here anyway, don’t want to do this anymore, and you’re wasting your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

You laugh—more a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. “Wrong,” you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. “I’m gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.”

It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. It’s clear he’s pissed you off, that you’re itching for a fight. It’s clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.

“Let’s talk about ROI. You know what that is?” You barely give him a second. “Return on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, let’s say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?”

He nods.

“Great, now let’s try something a bit more hypothetical.” You suck in a breath. “Let’s say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Let’s say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he had—went to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, let’s say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Let’s say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.”

The thing about pain is it’s not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it can’t anymore, and that’s where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption you’d never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.

So you don’t even notice you’re crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheol’s hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad you’re sure you’re either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.

Until you say, “What, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?” and he has nothing to say at all.

Kaori invites you to a party.

Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmate’s birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing that’d earn a second glance from campus security. I won’t even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.

After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.

So here you are, nearly eleven o’clock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You aren’t thinking about your classes or how you’ve been prioritizing everyone else’s academic success. You aren’t thinking about whatever’s going on between Kaori and Ken. You aren’t thinking about Seungcheol.

At least you aren’t, until he walks through the door.

You’re going to continue not thinking about him at all—not about the fact he’s alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt that’s a little taut in the shoulders. You’re not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows he’s important and is willing to accommodate. You’re not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god he’s so beefy at you.

You’re not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesn’t know, because if you do you’re certain it’ll take over.

You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because there’s a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.

You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

It’s not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesn’t even bother knocking before he’s barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.

You haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasn’t bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if that’s how he wanted to act, but it isn’t until he’s brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize you’re still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.

So you don’t mean to—typically have much more professionalism than this—but when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, “This is your fault,” the words come automatically and without forethought.

“Fuck off, Seungcheol.” It’s not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. “That’s what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because you’re a coward.”

He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. “I’m a—I’m a coward?”

“Yes,” you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. “This,” you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, “is all on you, but do please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to blame me for. I’m all ears.”

You don’t miss it: the way Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide at your ‘I’m all.’ The way he thinks you’re going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, it’s that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from you—the man that continues to leave before he’s left, always at your expense.

So, yeah—Seungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.

But he doesn’t look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. He’s always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasn’t warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe that’s why you’d thought he’d treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldn’t just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and that’s why it's been years and you still aren’t over it.

Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.

Because not once since he’s been back have you been able to say what you mean. Can’t seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that you’ve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.

“I could never blame you for a goddamn thing,” he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.

You so desperately want to know. You don’t want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if it’s guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first time—you’re not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because you’ve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.

Today, though, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any answers.

Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then he’s gone just as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Again.

Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you can’t come up with a good reason not to join her.

She doesn’t mention Ken once. Not when she’s sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when you—only halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignments—suggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Ken’s favorite place.

Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.

And there’s respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever she’s feeling is honest; at least she can admit she’s sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, “Can I tell you something or is now not a good time?”

Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. “Well, I guess it depends,” is her answer, and she doesn’t shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. “If you’re going to tell me you’re a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if it’s anything worse I’m not sure I could take it.”

“I—what? Who even are they?” She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. “It’s, uh.” Clear your throat. “Do you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a huge—”

She hides her face behind her hands. “Ew, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.”

“Right. And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything because I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Not really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it should’ve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.”

You nod. “I—yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve said.” You suck in a deep breath. “Listen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, but—”

“Hey,” Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. “It’s okay. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too… most of which I’m not sure you should, actually.”

A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation you’re about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe it’s not her—or anyone else’s—business, but you think you’ve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.

Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.

You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didn’t feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheol’s eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all you’d wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how you’d rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought it’d take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.

Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?

Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheol’s relationship—that you’d burned bright and fast, even though it’d felt like a million years. Hadn’t dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.

Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?

Think about the way Seungcheol’s eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That they’re always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadn’t noticed.

You think about the explanation—isoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutable—and what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.

L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.

You know what your and Seungcheol’s graph would’ve looked like back then.

So it’s easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheol—yes, that Seungcheol.

She’s able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she can’t: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous you’d felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.

“Could you feel it was going to happen?” Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. “Like, did you know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I did? It’s hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.” You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. “You couldn’t go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just… normal, you know? I wasn’t some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?”

Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t think you were. Maybe that’s why Seungcheol was worried—maybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.”

You want to push back, argue that you weren’t, that you didn’t, but the truth is that it’s possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheol’s dreams were so massive you wouldn’t be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. “It still wasn’t his choice to make,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, “Sometimes that’s just how it goes, though, babe,” it doesn’t feel condescending. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time. You can say now it wasn’t Seungcheol’s choice to make, because it’s been almost five years and you’ve made a life for yourself separate from him. But the—god, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorry—but you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.”

She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. “Shit, I’m nearly halfway to thirty and I still don’t know anything.” Adopts a frown. “What do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting at a hangnail. “He actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.”

“A USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?” A pause. “Are you gonna look at it, though?”

You do.

Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and you’ve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never did—fair enough—so you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.

It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of them—some from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. He’s in his room back in Daegu, can’t get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldn’t name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes you’d written him in school, and they’re all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.

The next: a few weeks after you’d started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like he’s telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I don’t know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.

There’s a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers you’ve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.

You click on a different one at random. Seungcheol’s somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietly—whenever he filmed this, it must’ve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that it’s a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe he’s grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where he’s standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. You’d probably think that was funny.

(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)

One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, I’m so nervous. I’m so—so fucking nervous and I don’t. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but that’s so fucking selfish. God, we haven’t spoken in years, and it’s my—that’s my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.

Another from a week after that: the color’s returned to his face, and he’s recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like he’s no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you don’t understand.

Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-what—water, champagne, you don’t know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.

You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.

“Hi,” he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheol’s in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. “This is going to be the last one of these I make. I don’t know if you, uh—I’m sure you aren’t paying attention to me—my career—anymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. They’re not sure I’ll…” A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. “They don’t know if I’ll ever play again.”

Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. “Maybe you’ll be happy to hear that,” he continues. “Maybe it’ll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.”

Cut to black.

The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video you’d skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I’ll ever show these to you now, since I…

I’m sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just—things have been so hard, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now I’m scrambling. I didn’t think it was fair to—to drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I don’t know, baby, I don’t…

You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. I’m so scared that the world will never see you for who you are—so beautiful and intelligent and kind. You don’t deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know you’re gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think I’m trying to be selfless and heroic, and you’d be right. It’s not fair, and I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.

I wish I could just… pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m not hurting. I’ve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know I’m making a mistake, I know I am, I just—how do I do what I think is right in the long-run when it’s not what I want right now, or ever?

I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want you to get over me, and that’s how you know I’m not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just… wish it was with me.

So, I’m going to keep making these. I’m going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why you’re not. I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t…

I’m sorry.

I love you.

You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.

The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. “What happened to the last container I sent?”

“Ah, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.”

She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. “I remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.”

“Well, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.”

After haranguing you into admitting they’re for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how you’re going to approach the man in question.

The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadn’t even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment you’d been holding onto and set it free, and now you’re just left with… a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if it’s too late, but you don’t let those thoughts get very far.

Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.

You worry if it’ll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circle…

And start recording.

He hadn’t gotten it at first. Not really.

There’d been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No note—not that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasn’t sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?

He’d just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didn’t think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he just…

Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and he’d rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?

It’d been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasn’t you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching that—

And then there it was.

All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadn’t been recorded by him—

Hi, Cheol, you say, and that’s all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. I’m not sure what to say here. I don’t really record much—sometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.

I wanted to tell you everything I’ve been up to since you left, but it hasn’t been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergrad—the same thing I’m tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. It’s not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but it’s good enough.

I don’t think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was… obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They aren’t seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, but��speaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.

Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didn’t take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now… I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason I stayed behind. Maybe there’s a reason you ended up back here, too.

Whatever happens—I don’t want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time, and I understand now that’s what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And I’m sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to go to all these places you didn’t know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.

You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and that’s all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.

Here’s my address if you ever want to come by to talk.

I love you, too.

—and then he’d been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.

Felt like the drive took hours. Must’ve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.

There’s a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, “Oh, you must be Kaori’s ex,” he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.

He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, “Fuck off, Kenji, I already told you she’s not here!”

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

There’s quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaori’s ex down the hall.

Then you’re yanking the door open—slowly, so slowly, like you’re scared it’s not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesn’t let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all you’re all he knows again.

When he pulls away, you’re gripping at his sweatshirt, don’t want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says he’s going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, he’s such an idiot—

And then you say, “You came back,” and nothing else matters.

“I always will.”

(Later on, as you’re trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheol’s hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, “Choi Seungcheol, don’t you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.”)

if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. 😭

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

[likeumeanit9497]

just like that | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

based on this request :))

summary: after dating for four months without having sex, y/n finally decides that she's ready to take matt for a ride

warnings: smut; established relationship; unprotected p in v; oral (fem receiving); riding; mentions of questionable consent (NOT with matt dw); dirty talk; 18+

notes: damn i completely forgot about this im so sorry:/ i've just been so busy over the past week or so it completely went under the radar. def not my best work (i wrote it all today), but i wanted to get it up because i'm going on a trip through europe for 6 (SIX???!!?!?!) weeks and will probably not be able to post much when im there. anyways i hope u all enjoy!!

p.s. working on one more fic that i would LOVE to post before i leave tomorrow, if not it might be a while before im able to write again :/ it's gonna be a good one for the matt girlies though so keep ur eyes peeled ;)

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

“Do you want anything from the kitchen baby?” Matt’s soft voice in my ear pulled me from the lull I was in, curled up beside him on the couch watching a movie. My drooping eyes fluttered open and I couldn’t help but smile once I came face-to-face with my beautiful boyfriend. The late-August sun was setting, and it shone through the living room windows in just the way that made Matt’s gorgeous blue eyes almost transparent; a harsh contrast to his dark eyelashes and tidy beard. He was looking at me with such unclouded care, the way he always did, and it never failed to make my heart flutter.

Matt and I had met on social media about six months ago, and started dating just two months after that. Our earliest conversations online had consisted of occasionally discussing our shared interest in pretty embarrassing hobbies — playing Minecraft, journaling, and watching rom-coms to name a few — but those occasional conversations evolved into staying up all night messaging each other, multiple-hour long Facetime calls, and eventually meeting at a restaurant for our first date.

Although it hadn’t been long since we started dating, Matt’s soul was one that I felt like I’ve known all my life. Never before had I felt more at home around another person than I did once I met him, and his presence in my life gave it a new level of stability that didn’t exist before. I had dated a guy in high school for almost two years, but the quality in the time spent with Matt versus him was incomparable. I was sure that Matt was the person that I was meant to be with, and everyday he did something new to prove that to be true without even trying.

Another thing that I loved so much about Matt was that, even after months of dating, he hasn’t once pushed me to have sex with him. In one of our early conversations, I had told him that my ex had always made me feel bad when I would turn down sex with him. While him and I did have sex a few times during our relationship, I had since come to terms with the fact that I really was just doing it to make him happy. Once Matt got over his immediate anger for me, he had sat me down and told me that he could wait forever, but that he won’t have sex with me unless I tell him I’m ready.

That was months ago, and still, he has kept his promise. While we have done plenty of other things in bed, he has always made it a point to stop everything before it gets to the point of sex. At first, I felt riddled with guilt because I felt like I should want to have sex with my boyfriend —especially one so kindhearted as Matt — but over time that guilt has fizzled out from Matt’s reassuring words and actions. He never ever put me in situations that he knew had the potential to make me uncomfortable, and wouldn’t allow me to feel bad about it either.

Lately, though, I had been feeling slightly different. While before, I would squirm at the thought of anything more happening once Matt’s hand would slip out of my panties, now I feel a slight tightening in my stomach at the idea of more. And before, I would feel a certain level of nervousness as I felt the weight of his member in my hand, where now there is a flutter in my core at the thought of that same part of him filling me up.

Never before in my life had I felt any of these feelings, and I didn’t quite know what to do with them. I was afraid of the abundance of dirty thoughts that flooded my own head constantly, and I realized that I was ready for more, but only with Matt. I had been contemplating on telling him this for the past week, but as I watched him walk back over to me on the couch in nothing but baggy grey sweats — the black ink of his tattoos hypnotizing me — my body reacted in such a way that let me know that tonight was the night.

“Here, I know you didn’t say you wanted anything but I grabbed you a water anyways. I haven’t seen you drink any yet today and you-” I cut Matt’s rambling off by climbing on top of his lap as soon as he was back on the couch; wrapping my arms around his neck and planting a deep kiss to his pink lips. He responded with a soft hum against my lips before wrapping his own arms around the small of my back. I opened my mouth slightly before pressing it against his again and moving them in a slow but passionate rhythm. Matt quickly followed suit, slipping his tongue through my parted lips before using it to explore my mouth. I fluttered my eyes open for a brief moment and caught a glimpse of Matt’s most beautiful features up close — lidded eyes, flushed cheeks, straight eyebrows — and released a satisfied sigh against his mouth.

I ran my hands through his soft brown hair, tugging slightly at the ends and eliciting a soft gasp from him as I felt my body flood with arousal. His hands travelled up and down my back, his firm yet somehow delicate touch a comfort that eased my nerves. From my place on his lap, I could feel a growing hardness against my ass. This wasn’t uncommon, obviously, but in the past I usually pretended to ignore it pressing against me. This time however, I rolled my hips up and down, feeling it slide against my aching core. “Baby.” Matt’s voice was barely above a whisper against my lips, but the combination of shock and arousal was still evident in its tone as he grabbed firmly onto my forearms to hold me still.

I detached my mouth from his while still keeping our faces just centimetres apart. His breath was rapid, but so was mine as we stayed like that for a moment; wild eyed and equally uncertain. Finally, I repeated my action by grinding my hips against his clothed shaft; this time watching as his eyes rolled back slightly in pleasure. “Y/n, what are you doing?” He mumbled, clearly wavering between making sure I was okay and wanting desperately for more. I continued grinding my hips against him, my mouth dropping open as I felt his shaft reach my nerves. “I want you Matt.” I whispered, and I watched as his eyes widened in shock; pupils dilated. “What do you mean?” He asked hesitantly, brushing his knuckles softly against my arms.

“I mean, I’m ready. Ready to have sex again.” I blurted out, feeling my face immediately flush in equal parts nervousness and arousal as I waited for him to respond. His face was unreadable as he clearly tried to gauge whether or not I was serious. That was confirmed once he finally spoke. “A-are you sure? I don’t want you to think just because I’m hard we have to do anything, baby.” I felt his dick twitch in between my legs as he spoke, and it shot electricity down my spine. “I know Matt, but I really am sure.” I responded, running my hands up and down his bare chest and leaving a trail of goosebumps in my path.

He continued to stare at me, his eyes travelling wildly across my face; clearly still in a state of uncertainty. I, on the other hand, was growing more and more frustrated by the moment as the heat continued to grow between my legs. “Give me your hand.” I stated, and he obliged; placing his much larger hand in my own. I guided his hand down to the waistband of my sweatpants, inside of the material, and finally slid it against my dripping wet core. Intaking a sharp breath from the contact, I watched his face as it immediately darkened once he felt my arousal coat his fingertips.

“See? I told you I’m ready,” I leaned forward slightly, bringing my lips to his exposed collarbone and kissing it wetly. “So please Matt, can you fuck me?” The room stayed silent for a beat, the only sounds being our ragged breathing, and I felt fear begin to trickle down my spine; worried that Matt might reject me. Just as I was about to retract everything I had just said, Matt’s hand snaked to the back of my head, guiding it up from his chest before crashing his lips onto mine.

I deepened the kiss immediately, feeling a mutual level of desperation like a surge of electricity between our lips that had never been there before. Matt’s hands began traveling all across my writhing body — taking his time on the curves of my ass — before planting firmly on my hips where he helped them grind against his rock hard member. Breathy, almost silent moans fell from both of our lips as our bodies slid against each other, and the deep-rooted sensation was taunting.

Matt’s hands slithered from my hips up to the bottom of my t-shirt, where he toyed with the material for a moment before detaching his lips from mine. “Can I take this off?” He asked, glazed eyes staring longingly into my own. I nodded, and without a moment’s hesitation my vision was blocked for a brief second by Matt peeling the fabric over my head and tossing it to the side. Once my vision returned, my view was of Matt’s hungry eyes glued to my bare chest.

Matt had seen my tits countless times before throughout our relationship, but at this moment it was like he was seeing them for the very first time. Mouth slightly parted, his breathing was ragged as he brought both hands to my chest and cupped my tits delicately between them; pushing them together slightly and brushing a thumb along each nipple. I hissed at the feeling, and that seemed to pull him from his trance, as his eyes immediately shot up to mine. “This okay baby?” He asked, and I nodded my head wildly.

A smirk toyed at the corners of his mouth before he attached it to my left nipple. I released short moans as he sucked and nibbled it gently, still pressing my core against his throbbing shaft. I felt myself falling deeper and deeper into a trance that I had never experienced before, and it was like my body and mind had completely separated as I mindlessly tugged desperately at the waistband of his sweats. Catching on to my gesture, Matt shifted slightly below me before using one of his hands to haphazardly pull his sweats down slightly; allowing his cock to spring up in between my legs.

I gasped at the sight before me, only now realizing its true size with it between my legs and feeling just a tinge of excited fear trying to figure out just how it was going to fit inside of me. Shaking the thought from my mind, I collected a pool of saliva in my mouth before spitting it in my hand and bringing it down to his shaft.

Running my thumb along his slit, I felt his whole body shudder below me from the contact. I began pumping my hand up and down his length; spending extra time twisting my wrist around his sensitive tip, and watched as his mouth went slack on my tits. “Mmm, keep doing it just like that baby.” He muttered against my plump skin, and I continued to work his cock in my hand while simultaneously grinding my core against its base. Just knowing that I was making him feel good was making me feel good, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head in pleasure.

After a few short moments, I felt Matt’s hands snake to the waist band of my own sweats. My eyes found his again, and I watched as they searched my face. “You’re sure you want this, Y/n?” He asked, his voice gentle but laced with a huskiness that could only be explained as pure desire. I nodded desperately once again, feeling so pathetic but not capable of giving a shit. “I’m sure baby, please.” My voice had a slight whine to it, making my frantic need even more evident.

Planting a soft kiss to my lips, he grabbed firmly onto my sweats and began peeling them off of my body. I lifted my hips up slightly to assist him in this, and once I dropped them back down, I hissed from the feeling of my bare core against his cock. “Matty, I need you right now.” I practically cried out, leaning my body forward and planting nibbles and kisses along his exposed neck. The suspense was torturous, my body only just now recognizing how badly it was craving his.

His hands cupped my ass, and he used his grip to lift me just a couple inches off of him. I felt him spread me open slightly before dragging a finger once again against my aching folds. “Mmm, so wet for me baby.” I released a breathy moan at the combination of his touch and words, and squirmed in his grasp. “I’ll help you get it in, but I want you on top. That way you can take it as slow as you need to, okay?” His voice softened as he spoke, and his hands massaged me gently causing me to physically relax. “O-okay.” I muttered, so turned on that I was willing to do just about anything he wanted me to.

Just then, he placed a soft kiss to my lips before I felt the very tip of his cock brush against my opening; causing me to gasp. “Shh, it’s okay baby. I’ll go slow.” He whispered in my ear, and I pressed my forehead into the crook of his neck in anticipation. Finally, I felt my walls begin to expand as he pressed the first few inches into me. Moaning at the sensation, I felt my whole body flush in immediate lust. As if they had a mind of their own, my hips subconsciously began lowering onto his shaft; taking more and more of him as I sunk down.

A moan fell from his lips as my walls enveloped him inch by inch, and I slowly lifted my head from his neck and straightened my body up to allow more of him to fill me up. Even though he was big and I hadn’t had a dick in me in a long time, my slick arousal allowed him to bottom out without causing me to feel any pain; only indescribable pleasure. Once every inch of him was in me, I stayed still for a moment looking down at him. His desire was plastered across every inch of his face, and it made him look impossibly beautiful. There was no fear in me in that moment, only want, and so I began riding him.

As soon as I propelled my body up and down his shaft just once, I felt a pit of arousal begin to grow in my stomach. Groaning in pleasure, I continued with my moments; holding onto his shoulders to keep my trembling body stable. “Mmm you feel so good baby.” Matt moaned out, his eyes never leaving my pinched face. After a while, my body adjusted completely to his size and I was able to increase my speed. As I slid my walls up and down his shaft, Matt gripped onto my ass with all his might, using his hands to help me maintain my speed.

Moans fell from my lips as his cock ruthlessly hit my g-spot, and I felt my lower stomach build in pressure. “Fuck.” I muttered under my breath, feeling my skin go flush from the heat of the moment. The room filled with the echo of our wet skin slapping against each other, adding to the erotic air around us. Prolonged strings of moans fell aimlessly from my lips, and as I came closer and closer to my impending climax I began struggling to maintain my movements.

Matt seemed to pick up on this, as he adjusted his hips and began pounding into me from below; his hands holding me in place where I just clung onto him for dear life. “F-fuck Matty, like that. S-so good.” I cried out, my voice choppy from his rapid movements. My brain melted into a pool of liquid as all I could think about was reaching my high that was just out of reach. “You’re taking me so good baby.” Matt groaned out as he continued driving his length into me, staring deeply into my eyes with a fogged over expression.

“I-I think I’m gonna — oh god, think I’m g-gonna cum Matt.” My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I dug my nails into his shoulder blades, struggling to give into this new overwhelming sensation bubbling up inside of me. At this, a guttural moan fell from his lips and he somehow increased the speed of his thrusts even more. “Want you to cum around me baby, please.” There was a desperate whine to his voice as he spoke through his shortness of breath, and it was enough for me to reach my climax. Legs shaking, I released a plethora of moans and curses as my body was hit with multiple waves of indescribable pleasure. “Good girl, feels so good honey.” Matt’s voice was soft in my ear, and it helped to bring me back to earth as my hurricane of an orgasm left my body in shambles.

I continued to bounce on Matt’s dick slowly as I attempted to regain what little composure I had before my orgasm stole it from me, but I quickly learned that all of my energy had been stripped away. My body was trembling uncontrollably, and my head was filled with a fog that made it difficult for me to stay upright. Matt caught on to this, as he planted his hands firmly on my hips, keeping me still, before reaching forward and kissing me deeply. “You tired, baby?” He asked gently, rubbing circles on my sensitive skin. Sheepishly, I nodded, and Matt didn’t hesitate before guiding me off of his lap and helping me lay down on the couch.

As soon as my head hit the soft material, I felt my body immediately begin to relax again. I watched from my place on the couch as Matt began to slowly crawl over to me, before leaning above me. “You did so good baby,” He brought his lips to my chest and began dropping soft kisses against my skin, “Now,” His mouth travelled from my chest down to my stomach, “I want you to just lay here and relax,” He continued to move his lips down my stomach to my hips, “Let me make you feel good, okay?” His face was now hovering above my swollen heat, and I couldn’t help but nod frantically, feeling a sudden need to have his mouth on me.

Matt situated his body so that he could lay down with his face still just above my core. He brought both of his hands to my folds and I flinched as he used his thumbs to spread them apart slightly; exposing my bundle of nerves to the air. My vision partially skewed by his hair flopping in front of his eyes, I watched in awe as he brought his mouth closer and closer to where I needed it the most; before immediately gasping in pleasure once I felt his warm tongue make contact with my clit.

Immediately, Matt got to work in swirling his tongue in expert circles on my overstimulated nerves. This sensation in combination with his rough beard against my inner thighs was so intense it was almost painful in the best way possible, and I was incapable of controlling the throaty moans that fell from my lips as I watched him devour me entirely. Matt then used his mouth to suck on my nerves, bringing forward yet another new sensation that drove me crazy. It felt so unbelievably good, my hands flew to his hair where I held firmly; doing everything in my power to keep him in place. “Oh yeah baby, please, just like that.” I struggled to get the words out through my constant gasps of pleasure, but it was clear that they didn’t fall on deaf ears as Matt moaned in pleasured acknowledgement against my heat and kept his rhythm and pressure the exact same.

Feeling another orgasm begin to bear its teeth in my stomach, it was like my hips grew a mind of their own because as soon as Matt brought his hands under my ass to lift me slightly up on the couch; I began grinding my heat against his eager mouth. “Fuck.” He moaned against my clit as he continued to greedily suck and lick my nerves. I squeezed my eyes shut as a whine escaped my lips from an approaching orgasm, the pleasure that his mouth was giving me was too much. “S-stop baby.” I said suddenly, to which he immediately detached his mouth from me and I watched as his eyes scanned my fucked out face. “What’s wrong? You want to stop?” He seemed so concerned, clearly worried that he had somehow crossed a boundary, and it caused my chest to flutter. “N-no. It’s just, I was gonna cum again.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow, clearly confused by how that might be a problem. “I…I want to cum with you.” I finally said, and watched as his facial expression changed from one of concern back to one filled with lust.

He smiled quickly before dragging his body up my own, planting occasional kisses along my body on his way. Once he reached my head, he immediately began kissing me passionately, slipping his tongue through my parted lips and allowing me to taste myself on his mouth. Pulling away, I noticed my arousal laced throughout his beard, and that along with his pink swollen lips fresh off of my heat was enough to make my head spin. Just then, I felt him line his shaft up with my entrance, and immediately gasped out when he slid it in completely. Before moving at all, Matt took a moment to gaze down at my destroyed face before grabbing my legs and wrapping them around his waist. He then leaned forward and propped himself on his forearms on either side of my head; slipping a hand through my hair and grabbing onto it gently.

After noticing my body relax, he finally began thrusting into me. Starting off slow and deep, he gradually increased his speed until he was pounding his inches deep into me at a rapid pace. Already being close to cumming, I struggled to get a grip on my thoughts as the pleasure of the moment pulled me deeper and deeper into a world of euphoria. “You’re so tight sweetheart.” He muttered through his grunts, and I felt my eyes roll to the back of my head at his words. “F-feels so good Matty.” I managed to reply, tightening my legs around his waist as I tried everything I could to hold off my orgasm.

Matt’s hand snaked through my hair before he grabbed onto my cheek, brushing it gently with his thumb as he stared at me with a gaze so intense that it was almost intimidating. “I-I’m close Y/n.” He nearly whispered, and I felt his pace begin to slow slightly as he began to be overtaken by his own orgasm. My eyebrows knitted together as I felt my walls began to break. “M-me too.” I replied, wrapping my hands tightly around his biceps to keep me grounded. “Ah fuck, I’m cumming baby.” His erotic words were followed by a string of animalistic grunts as he drove his cock in and out of me — slow but hard — and it was like my body was waiting to hear those words as my second orgasm immediately ran through me like a freight train.

My breathy moans harmonized with his deep ones, and I felt my walls contract around his shaft; milking his dick as it painted them white. My legs were wrapped so tightly around his waist, he was barely able to move them as we both rode the waves of our intense pleasure. As my orgasm continued to tear through me, my back arched off of the couch and my body trembled. From above me, Matt watched me writhe in bliss as his movements completely stopped. As I finally began coming down from my high, I felt his hand brush through my hair affectionately, and watched as his face turned up in a smile before he placed a deep kiss to my lips.

He gently pulled his cock out of me, causing me to wince from the raw pain, before laying beside me on the couch and pulling me into him. Face to face, we stared lovingly at each other for a moment; my mind still spinning from how good he had made me feel, and in that moment I was worried that my heart might explode. His blissed expression told me that he was feeling the same, and his hand delicately rubbing the small of my back confirmed it. “Are you okay?” He finally asked, minor concern visible on his beautiful face. “I’m more than okay.” I answered honestly with a chuckle, causing him to laugh in relief as well. “I think I actually love sex.” I continued, causing him to really laugh this time before planting a kiss on my sweat-beaded forehead. “Well I think I actually love you.”

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

[blitzbuckzowild]

On Stolitz, Kink and Power Dynamics, and Role Reversal - Stolas Centric

So, I have been thinking a lot about the kink dynamics between Stolas and Blitzø, especially how they are portrayed in the show vs. what is popular (or more popular than you’d think) among fan works. A lot of this has probably been said, but I am unsure what has and has not, and I have only recently begun to interact with the community.

For some background, I have about 10 years of experience within the kink/BDSM lifestyle including several long-term dynamics as both Dom and sub, attendance to events, extensive engagement in online forums, etc. I’ve been in many types of dynamics and have a good understanding of the culture.

We have very little knowledge on the intricacies of the dynamic between Stolas and Blitzø but from what I can gather its a pretty standard one without very much structure. This makes sense seeing as before recent canon events, their scenes are primarily limited to once a month. There is no evidence of switching that I can find in the show, most likely they stay firm in their roles of Blitzø as Dom and Stolas as sub. There is the comment during the Loo Loo Land episode, where Blitzø say “wait till her dad tries diddling your holes”, but the keyword being “tries.” Now obviously he could be receiving penetration, but I find it hard to believe that there is any actual control given to Stolas.

This structure obviously allows for some entertaining role reversal, and (on the surface level at least) mitigates some of the issues with the power at the same time. I find myself often wondering how people would regard the dynamic between them if Blitzø was portrayed as the sub. It obviously doesn’t really fit his character as he is now, but it is a thought.

Anyway, the point is actually to explore the idea of a role reversal between the two and what this can represent. Obviously, a lot of this has been touched on in fan-works, and probably other posts, but primarily in the framework of Blitzø’s experience subbing. I think that is well-established that a lot of the draw for Blitzø to submit is the idea of him being vulnerable and letting go of control. There are many works that focus on this.

But what about Stolas? That’s something I haven’t seen a lot of.

Stolas is passive. Even if he snarks back at Blitzø and does set some boundaries a bit at the beginning of Apology Tour, and he does tease and push, it’s really not substantial. Even with Full Moon, even with the crystal, he is still so submissive to everything that happens around him. He makes his grand gesture and throws the ball in Blitzø’s court until he can’t handle what that looks like. He let’s things just happen to him for the most part. So a lot of his character growth in the show focuses on him gaining confidence and taking initiative.

Even in Apology Tour, at the Blitzø Hate party, he makes it clear where he stands on what he wants his role in a relationship to be. He wants to be pursued, like a woman in a rom-com who stereotypically and historically takes a passive role to whatever confident or goofy hunk wants her. Sure, she wants him (usually), but typically she is not doing the pursuing. Instead she rolls her eyes and things happen to her.

Stolas taking on a dominant role, taking control, even in the context of kink, can be symbolic for him learning ambition and initiative. Everything has been decided for him and he’s letting Blitzø’s actions and responses make the decision for him. Even with Octavia, he acts as if he is collateral to her behavior and emotions. It’s fair for him to want Blitzø pursue him and to take accountability. However, at some point he needs to pursue as well. You could say that the crystal was an instance in which he did? But was it really when at the first sign of resistance from Blitzø, he folds and pull back.

All this to say, there can be some really great story telling using their BDSM dynamics. I don’t really expect the show to address this, because I think there are some intricacies here that can only be appreciated by those really involved in the BDSM lifestyle, and honestly I am not sure how knowledgeable the writers are about it outside of the mainstream knowledge (Well mainstream compared to someone like me.)

With the deal ended, and the power dynamics somewhat balancing out, the door is really opened for this type of thing. There isn’t as much baggage in Blitzø being portrayed in a sub role. The class divide is still there, but Stolas no longer holds all of the cards

There is waaaay more I can say on this in regard to the roles of sub and Dom and how they relate to Stolas and Blitzø but this is already so long. Some things to consider would be the the actual emotional needs that are filled by each role, the ways relationships in dynamics develop, different BDSM subcultures and theories on the nature of their dynamic, and more of my thoughts on how their current dynamic with Stolas subbing and Blitzø Domming impacting perceptions of their previous arrangement by viewers, how Blitzø is already submissive to Stolas in ways, the general emotional state of people when engaging in kink, etc. I could also provide my own thoughts on Blitzø subbing but I feel it’s already well addressed in the fandom.

Maybe I’ll do a part 2 if it’s wanted or I get the will. I would love to engage in any discussion (agreeing or otherwise) on this, I probably missed some things, or interpreted stuff differently than others.

And here is a Poll to wrap this up

[amalgamate-exe]

Dye Dye My Darling

IRL's plz dont read ^^

Eli -Hawk- moskowitz x M!reader

This is like my first full fic so enjoy!

~~~~~~

Warnings: Unedited, Earlier series hawk, Flirting some and a whole lot of hair dye.

___________________________

Hawk and you have been dating for about 6 months which would make you the luckiest girl in the entire tri-state area if this was some cheesy rom-com, but alas that's not how life worked out for you two. Unfortunately hard-core Karate kids and of course… kyler wouldn't be so chill with you two together, but that was beside the point. You were sitting with your friends at lunch admiring Hawk from afar Admiring him, the way his liberty spikes stood larger than life, the way his nose crinkled when he was laughing, probably about the Miyagi- do kids, or some new internet video that hasn't become post ironic yet, His cleft lip his-

“Earth to Y/N?” One of your friends ask 

“Hm sorry? Yeah what's up?” you ask still wanting to keep an eye on your boyfriend, you had no reason to stare but he was just… so pretty, like a Greek sculpture with his liberty spikes seeming to tower on forever

“Did you get the answers for number 6 for Math? You’re a nerd and like- Hey are you even listening to me?” Your friend follows your gaze to see “Oh for the love of gods Y/N I understand you want to live out your little romance but how many times do I have to tell you? He’s taken and… no offense, You're not his… his type!” this was almost a weekly conversation at this point, your friends and anyone else just assumed you had a crush on Hawk, but it didn't matter you two had each other and he invited you over to his house to hang out and play Tekken, and maybe… just MAYBE he’d let you dye his hair, his roots were overgrown and his hair was more of a blue-green bleached color rather than the aggressive red or any other color he has had in the past 6 months. 

“Sure thing F/N, anyways here are the answers for the homework,” You say keeping an eye on Hawk. And sliding F/N the answers

The rest of your classes after lunch went by fairly quickly, nothing interesting or notable except that on Friday there would be a huge party at the creek. The final bell rang as you started walking to His house, when you heard the clop-clop of heavy boots on the pavement behind you you turned around and see Hawk 

“Hey! Were you just gonna walk off and leave me back at that hell hole?” He asks giving you a playful nudge in the side

“Oh sorry I figured you wouldn't want to be seen with me, social hierarchy and stuff,” you say with a smirk, understanding the cliques in high school are very important, just like 80’s movies. 

“Not that I don't want to see you! I get like during lunch where you’re playing all stealth, but I love seeing you, I crave you” he says with a smirk as you walk back to his house.

Once you get into his house you both drop your bags and sit on the couch next to each other, you start playing Tekken 7 on his play station, He selects Devil Jin and you select King, as you two start playing and getting into the groove of the game, you decide to pop the question,

“Hey Pigeon~,” You ask in an almost sing-song voice

“yeah, babe?” He asks Lasered focused on the game, some things never change

“I was thinkin’ like your hair is just bleached now all the colors faded out, and I was wondering if I could dye it for you?”

“No way in hell” Responds quick and toneless

“Aww, why not?” You ask attempting to counter His attack and failing miserably 

“Because you're going to mess it up then you made a fool out of both of us! I'll trust you a lot, however my hair dye, my spikes? No one touches those”

“Well, you weren't complaining when I was touching them the other night!” You quickly retort back

“That's– that’s beside the point,” he says slightly flustered “No one touches my hair for upkeep except me!”

“So you're saying that you trust me to give you a PERMANENT tattoo over more or less Temporary hair dye?” You ask with a smirk

“What-? No, that's not what I'm saying at all!” He seems annoyed but that could be because you're beating him at video games rather than you attempting to get permission to dye his hair

“I've been dying my hair since I was like 13 if anyone knows anything I do. Also, would you rather have a little purple on your forehead or the weird half-blond green with roots you have going on now?”

He thinks for a moment as he hits a combo on you, the TV plays a little sound and goes “Player 2 WINS!” 

“Wanna know what, Fine, you can dye my hair ONCE” and if you fuck it up you will have to be the one who goes out to buy black box dye to fix it, AND deal?”

You smile and steal a kiss “Deal” 

You guys go to his bathroom and he changes into his hair-dye shirt, 

“Can't you just be topless?”

“No! You're going to be messing with MY hair. I don't need your eyes somewhere they shouldn't be!” 

“Oh sure! I'm the one ogling you when your shirt is off, I swear if you think i'm bad you should SEE your teammates when you take off your Gi top”

“Well last time I checked, I wasn't taking my teammates to bed with me” he responds with a smirk as he takes the bright Red hair dye bottle from under the sink and hands it over to you, then he kisses you on your cheek, “Ok now don't make me regret letting you do this… ok”|

“Fine” 

After you start mixing the dye and put on gloves you start applying the dye to his head,

“Are you sure you didn't forget a step?” he asks with a smirk as you apply the dye to his hair

“Well if I did it's too late now… here my phone is in my pocket. play some music” You shift your weight so he can take your phone out of your pocket and he plays something, the noise of chiptune and 8-bit music fills the room, it is lively in its way 

“Hey this is kinda good what is it?” you ask about halfway done slopping (painting) on the red pigment to his hair

“You're not gonna believe me,” he says with a smirk

“Oh come on, you've seen my taste in music at times, this is good, what is it?” 

“It may or may not be the undertale soundtrack by Toby Fox?” he says almost embarrassed, which causes you to burst out laughing

“God pigeon, no matter how much of a karate badass you are, you're still a nerd at heart… I could kiss you right now” 

“Now now, focus on my hair, need your blood in your brain…’ he looks you up and down “Other places,” he says smirking and giving you that damned look of flirtation 

“You know you’re making dying your hair seem like way more of an in-depth process than it is… also for your hair being bleached so many times it's still soft” You liked the conversation also the silence no matter how long you've been together still felt off-putting, he smiles 

“Thanks the hair dye I use has some conditioner property or something, also I use a shit load of conditioner you know it couldn't damage your hair too much if you wanted to dye your hair too” he was just straight flirting with you now but he seemed genuine with his offer causing you to blush, a lot 

“That doesn't sound like a ‘no’ to me, c’mon we can match,” he says with a smirk that you could never say no to. The way his cheeks moved, the way his-

“Hey space cadet, can I dye your hair while mine is setting?” He asks while he's turning his head making sure every bit of the hair is saturated with the crimson dye’

“Yeah, that would be nice… though you better not fuck it up,” you say playfully.

Once you are done dying your hair and rinsing it out, the bathtub looks like a murder scene, with red dye along the bathtub and partially up the wall

“Holy shit your mom is going to kill me!” You say looking back at the mess you've made, hair dripping in front of your eyes, which causes Eli to scoff

“She's fine with it, who do you think took me to buy the dye in the first place? It just needs some TLC and it’ll all be good, baby” He says in a playful tone of voice while wrapping his arms around your waist. “The red streak looks cute on you too,” he says kissing your cheek, it feels nice his hands around your waist, and you lean more into him 

“Hey since you don't have to get going for a few more hours, wanna watch a movie? Something cheesy like clueless or… 10 things I hate about you?” He shrugs holding you close

“Both sound perfect”

[angelkiyo]

in bloom [sakusa kiyoomi x fem! indie actress! reader]

chapter ii + masterlist [fluff, modern/timeskip au]

🎧 (suggested song: homesick - wave to earth)

You bit your lip and started running to your apartment complex. Your heart was running at a thousand miles per hour and you felt overwhelmed.

He’s more handsome than before… FUCK!

Once you got to your destination, you slammed the door, startling your roommate, Hitoka who was in the living room watching a rom-com with her boyfriend Tadashi.

You’ve gotten to know Hitoka since your orientation day for university. For Tadashi, they’ve dated since their third year of high school and you’ve been friends with them ever since.

They were there when you first got a bit of clout as a “rising” actress (A film you were in got some publicity from social media because of the aesthetics and people liked you for your performance and looks), so you make sure to treat them any chance you get.

Hitoka and Tadashi ran to your startled figure, crouched down, “N/N. are you okay?!” Tadashi rubbed your back, “Is everything okay, Y/N?”

You gave them a stiff smile as you stood up, rubbing your temples, “I’m okay it’s just- do you two remember when we were at the grocery store? And after that I couldn’t stop talking about my ex-boyfriend?”

They both nodded, “Where are you going with this?”

Your lips went into a straight line as you sighed, “I just ran into him at the 711 mini-mart a block away.”

They both widened their eyes, “YOU RAN INTO HIM?!”

Hitoka narrowed her eyes, “What does he even look like now? He’s probably unsuccessful and has nothing on you. Is there anything we can talk shit about?”

You sighed. You never really told Hitoka or Tadashi about who he really is.

All they know is that he broke up with you for no reason and his name is Kiyo, not the fact that he is Sakusa Kiyoomi of the MSBY Black Jackals and one of the wealthiest volleyball players in Asia and Europe combined.

“Well uh, it just looked like he- um, he’s taller and his black hair got shorter and wavier?”

Tadashi raised his eyebrow, “That’s like half of Japan’s male population.”

You froze and yawned. You didn't know what else to say and ran out of excuses to escape interrogation , “I’ll tell you two tomorrow. Good night!”

“But-?”

You shut your bedroom door and went onto your laptop to find him on your socials.

He’s gotten verified too since last time I checked…

It hurts your ego to admit you’ve been stalking him since you’ve seen his face on the billboard for a Calvin Klein advertisement two months ago. (You felt your friends pry you away from gawking at his jean advertisement)

You’ve even tried to move on from him by downloading In Bloom (You saw an ad on Insta while stalking him).

You didn’t know what you thought as you just attempted to block him (he didn’t even follow you).

Just to spite him (you still liked him after 3 years).

All over him posting a few hours ago on the same day you bumped into him? (Yes, but you’re trying to move on. He's the one who broke up with you anyway).

At this point, you weren't even aware of what you accidentally did next.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

firstnamelastname followed you.

What…?

Kiyoomi thought he was seeing things. I mean, he was drinking his spiked tea but he isn't exactly a lightweight when it came to drinking.

You followed his social media?

He decided to follow back as he felt his stomach drop. He didn't know why you would follow him or what?

Maybe it was because he was "famous" or whatever.

Maybe because you wanted to see what he does now?

You were in a movie? Do you still like volleyball? Do you know who MSBY is?

Several thoughts were going through his head. Why would you even follow him in the first place? He felt so much guilt just looking at your picture of what he did to you. To you two.

He stared at your account intensely, only to have his thoughts interrupted by his cousin.

He had just moved in with his cousin a week ago since Komori wanted a roommate and the apartment was closer to his practice gym than his old apartment. It was convenient.

"Yo Kiyoomi, are you eating?"

He turned to see Motoya in his fluffy bathrobe, yawning, "Damn it man, it's so late. What the hell are you still doing? I thought practice usually ends at like 9."

Kiyoomi shrugged and went back to stalking you, "Getting some food. I was hungry. Hey-"

Motoya snorted as he took his phone to see your social media pulled up, "Now who is this...Y/N L/N? Haven't heard of her since Itachiyama. Why do you have her pulled up?"

Kiyoomi froze a bit. If there was one person he would tell anything to, it's Motoya. You're the only thing he's never brought up to him. All his cousin would assume is that you two were familiar with each other and that's it, not aware that Kiyoomi and you were a thing.

"I'm just curious as to what she's doing, y'know?" He said, sighing. You were in Itachiyama's girls volleyball club and were at the school in the first place because of a scholarship.

Of course he knew who you were in that sense.

Though, to Kiyoomi, you used to be so much more.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

April 2014

"Y'know you could have totally won, you just were going easy on me." Kiyoomi laughed, stretching his arm to your shoulders.

It was the day before the new term began and Kiyoomi was walking you home from his place after binging movies like Pulp Fiction and Kill Bill and playing chess.

You kissed his cheek and laughed, "It's not my fault you suck at chess."

He hummed. He felt at peace with you. You two had only dated for 2 months as you both formally 'met' at a unisex volleyball camp the break between your first year and second year of high school.

You had the same homeroom too, but just never paid attention to each other until then. You two had a casual friendship, occasionally being partnered up for projects and getting closer as his boundaries started becoming weaker towards you. You were the one who confessed to him anyway after school. He just couldn’t reject you and the mutual feelings between you both.

You held his hand and swung it softly between you two as you walked, "Do you plan to go to that party that Nekoma person is hosting this weekend? Tetsuro, I think his name is?"

He knew that name due to him being the former Nekoma Boys Volleyball captain, "I don't know, I wouldn't want to go, but Motoya is probably going to force me."

Your lips formed into a fine line and you sighed, "Kiyoomi, it would be cool if you wanted to have some fun once in a while. Break out of your shell. I mean you're popular. I'm pretty sure if you go, you'd have some fun."

He pursed his lips and shrugged, "I guess but I don't know. Would you want me to go?"

You sighed, "I mean you choose, it's completely your choice, Kiyo. But it would be cool if you went. You can text me all about it the next day!”

He knew that Motoya would be excited that he would voluntarily want to go (because you encouraged him to go) but felt a bit sad that you couldn't go anyway. You had a weekend theatre camp to attend and was gone the whole weekend.

I mean he would need something to do. His parents would be out on their anniversary weekend and his siblings are gone on the weekend in general.

Once you were at home, you turned to Kiyoomi and pointed to your phone, "Text me, pretty boy. Good night." You pecked his cheek and smiled.

He stared at you as you went home, waving to you as you turned back before shutting the door.

He was completely enamored by you.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

“Oh you have In Bloom? Hah, you’re finally getting a girl?”

Kiyoomi forgot Motoya had his phone and frowned, “Shut up, I was curious.”

Motoya snatched it back and sat down next to Kiyoomi at the table to look at his profile, “And you have nothing on your account! Damn it, Kiyoomi. At least try to look for a girl…”

“Motoya, what the hell are you doing?”

He snorted as he started typing, “Getting you some girls, that’s what.”

in bloom 🌷

Name & Age: Kiyoomi S. - 26

Info: 🇯🇵, Volleyball Player, 6’4.

ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Kiyoomi looked at the information Motoya put down, “Why’d you put my height on there?”

His cousin shrugged while taking a sip of his cousin’s tea, “Girls like tall dudes. I just helped you here, man.”

He cringed after taking a sip, “Fuck, Kiyoomi. I knew you had issues but that doesn’t mean you have to drown yourself in shitty alcohol.”

Kiyoomi snatched the bottle and closed it, “It looked tempting and I do not have issues.”

“Yeah right. You can’t even find a girlfriend. You’ve never had one!”

Before Kiyoomi could say anything, Motoya stood up and yawned, pointing at him, “You owe me.”

He really did owe him. He just hoped it would be worth it.

Kiyoomi looked back at his cousin and yawned, “Yeah whatever, good night.”

As he went to the bathroom to take a shower, he recollected all his thoughts.

You.

You remembered him.

You followed him. Would you still want to talk to him?

After all, he did cheat on you.

.

.

.

a/n- should i make a taglist..? idk but thanks for reading :))

[voylitscope]

Stucky Recs: Back To School

It's September, and that felt like the very most appropriate time for a back-to-school-themed rec post.

So: A rec post of 11, very seasonally appropriate, high school/college Stucky AUs.

Note: As part of my personal campaign to combat the persistent idea that every great fic in this fandom was written in 2015, I'm now marking recs of fics written post-2016 and recs of fics written post-Endgame.

🎓 The Daily Rogers | Nonymos | Explicit | 32,154 words | College

We have a (surprisingly?) large number of fics in this fandom that use tumblr as a decently central plot point. Of all of them, I feel like this one is probably the most well-known. (Unless it's this one?) This fic, featuring a defenses-way-up skinny Steve and a very sweet, but also very assertive, Bucky, is super memorable, and so incredibly well done. It's somewhat of a meet-ugly, or, honestly, a first-several-encounters-ugly, and I love the way their relationship develops from there over the course of the story. I also love what that relationship turns into once they're together. Plus, the place this story gets them— both as individuals and in their relationship — before it ends is a satisfying and beautifully done one.

Quote:

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Steve mumbled, handing him the phone back. “She, uh, she’s the one who drove me to the hospital when Rumlow broke my arm that first time. She’s a bit protective now.” Bucky stared at him. Steve—and when had Bucky started to think of him as Steve?—looked fucking adorable in Bucky’s hoodie, with his stupid glasses and his pink lips. He’d also left Bucky’s bed completely covered in blood and dirt after attempting to fight a guy twice his size. Who’d broken his arm before and threatened to do it again. “I think I understand a bit better why they made a whole Tumblr about you,” Bucky said. Steve bristled all over again. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky looked heavenwards. “Somethin’ nice, Rogers.” Steve looked—well, he looked puzzled. Like he didn’t know what to do with that.

🎓stars shining bright above you | cable-knit-sweater @cable-knit-sweater | Teen | 3,339 words | High school & College | **Post- Endgame Rec**

Look, sometimes, you want to read angst. Intense emotions. Canon. Canon divergence. Sometimes, you want to cry about these boys. But then there are times that your heart needs to read about them just being all happy and painfully cute about each other — just being wide-eyed teenagers with wide-eyed feelings about each other. My heart does, anyway. This fic is perfect for that. So sweet, so lovely. A fic that left me smiling and thinking about the two of them on a blanket under the stars.

Quote:

Steve thinks he’s going to die. He wants nothing more than to say yes. To the holding down, that is. But he cannot find his voice at all. He looks up into Bucky’s eyes. It’s dark, but the moon and the stars in the sky already provide enough light to see those eyes sparkle. They’re so close now, almost breathing the same air. Forget stars, forget meteor showers. Steve wants to drown in those grey blue eyes, and he’s barely holding his head above water as it is, judging from how hard it feels to breathe.

🎓He's All That | crinklefries | Teen | 88,665 words | College | *Post 2016 rec*

All of the rom-com AUs forever for these two, please. This is such an engrossing and immersive fic. That's something I really enjoy about college AUs, and that works so well in this particular fic —the way that, because actual college campuses are often their own little world, the world's of college AUs can be these really tight little realities with their own specific sort of pacing and consequences. I love that, and I love it in this fic — it's so beautifully done, and it's such a great read, too, I think, because the original rom-com is both high school set and limited to being movie length/tied to Hollywood standards. There is so much more depth and additional story here, while still having that really fun element of being an AU loosely based on a film. So enjoyable, and such a satisfying read.

Quote:

“You do this often?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet to preserve the stillness around them. “Lay on the ground and play dead?” “Yeah,” Steve quirks a smile. “It was the second trick I learned after fetch.” Despite himself, that makes Bucky grin. “You always have an answer for everything huh?” he says. That makes Steve sigh a little, his shoulders droop enough that it’s only then that they both notice they had been hunched close to his ears. “Yeah,” he says. “Character flaw.” “One man’s character flaw is another man’s personality trait,” Bucky says. He stretches his legs out in front of him, props himself up on his palms behind him. “Pretty sure a personality trait can also be a character flaw, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Steve says with a half-smile.

🎓That Boy is a Problem | 2bestfriends | Explicit | 10,091 words | College | **Post- Endgame rec**

I sometimes debate whether I should go with including fics on these rec posts that fall heavy on the porn side of a porn-to-plot ratio, solely because, at a certain point, smut-heavy fics feel like their own thing that should go in their own post. But! That said, this fic, although it does fall pretty heavy on the porn side of the porn-to-plot-ratio is very, very solidly a college fic. It also does have a really fun plot, and I really, so much, enjoy that it features a Steve POV that is an absolute, just total and complete disaster about Bucky. Also! This fic has vibes and aesthetics that I quite appreciate.

Quote:

Steve grins like an absolute buffoon when he sees him, frozen in place like he's rooted there. Bucky glances around, gaze settling on Steve. The expression that spreads across his face in response to the realization that Steve is in fact there waiting for him is incandescent; Bucky actually brightens like maybe he wasn't expecting Steve to show. He draws his shoulders up and walks to Steve. When he reaches him, Bucky reaches out and grabs him by the front of his hoodie, pulling him into a kiss. Steve goes with a muffled squeak, ducking down to meet the firm press of lips. For a second, Steve doesn't know what to do with his hands, hovering just above Bucky's hips as he grasps tightly at Steve's shirt. Just as Steve's knees go weak and fireworks start to go off behind his eyes, Bucky pulls away, blinking at him with big, sultry eyes. "Hey, pal. You're very punctual. You ready?"

🎓Natasha Romanoff's Dating Service | HMSLusitania | Mature | 12,223 words | College | **Post-Engame Rec**

So, here's a thing about me: I really like it when fics emphasize that Steve and Bucky are meant for each other. That's it always them, In all universes. It's a thing I'm big into for these two. And this is why I enjoy so much when a fic pulls off the thing where there is some sort of doubled get-together or double feelings build. Like, ID porn fics can do this sometimes — falling for each other two different ways at once — as can fics like this one — a fic about Steve and Bucky both ignoring Nat's insistence that she knows the perfect guy for them and instead going out to a bar and meeting a total stranger. A total stranger they fall for basically on sight. A total stranger who, as it turns out, is that exact guy Nat meant the whole time. — Yeah. That's a premise I really enjoy. This is a fic I really, really enjoy. A total delight.

Quote:

“Now I’ve got some ridiculously low resting heart rate,” Steve said, tipping his head sideways towards his wrist. Taking the hint, Bucky pressed his fingers to the pulse point below the base of Steve’s thumb. Maybe he did have a low resting heart rate, but if he did, Steve was not currently at rest. It made Bucky feel a little better, knowing that for some reason – Bucky? – Steve’s heart was racing. “Do you want to, um,” Steve started. When he paused, unsure, he touched his tongue to his bottom lip before chewing on it and something in Bucky’s body short-circuited. He just hoped it wasn’t the actual mechanical hardware attached to his left side, because that would be ill-timed. “Go home with you?” he suggested quietly. “Yeah,” Steve said. “That.”

🎓What a Wonderful World This Would Be | Mambo | Teen | 28,723 words | College

You know how sometimes you read a fic and you find yourself literally making embarrassing sorts of noises out loud about it? And also feel yourself making ridiculous faces at your screen in response to it? Right, that was me reading this fic. Featuring an art major Steve who is completely convinced Fraternity Bucky is going to be some total jerk of a guy when they're paired as project partners — until they have all of one conversation and Bucky is ... you know, sweet, friendly, smart, charming, and generally Bucky-like. So then Steve spends thousands and thousands of words falling hard for Bucky while also being super confused by why Bucky wants to keep spending time with him — and incredibly doubtful that Bucky actually does want to be spending time with him. Even though Bucky spends thousands and thousands of words being the Very Most Obvious that he's super into Steve. It's so ridiculously and delightfully cute. I love it a lot. Also! This fic is actually the start of an entire college AU 'verse. I've only read this first fic, but the rest of the 'verse is on my TBR and is likely equally delightful.

Quote:

Steve’s brow furrows. “How do you know I do?” Bucky moves his laptop off his lap, sets it on the floor. He stretches his arms up over his head, exposing the stretch of tan skin where his shirt rides up over his jeans. And Steve is definitely not looking for purely artistic and aesthetic reasons, but manages to drag his eyes away before Bucky notices. “You always annotate your books. I can see all those post-its from where I sit, even. You don’t talk much but you’re always leafing through your book because you know which exact quote will prove somebody wrong. Don’t try to argue; I totally notice.” That’s not untrue. “No fair,” Steve says. “You sit behind me. I can’t stare at you creepily at all.” “Not starin’, just appreciatin’ the view.” Steve must look confused because Bucky laughs again. “You’re kinda cute,” he says. “‘Specially when you blush.”

🎓Alkynes of Trouble | yammz | Explicit | 11,450 words | College | **Post Endgame Rec**

The author tagged this "enemies to friends to lovers" and "the softest of enemy-ships though," which, honestly, is absolutely perfect tagging for this incredibly sweet fic. It is soft. Everything that happens in this fic is very, very soft. Steve and Bucky are assigned to be lab partners! They spend all semester in this terribly and wonderfully cute slow burn! There's tutoring! There are coffee dates shop hangouts! There is cake! There is a Very Meaningful hug! It's all very, very charming and super adorable. Plus, this is a fic that works with one of my personal favorite tropes: someone slowly realizing that they were wrong about another person and falling for that person — hard — as they do. I'm always weak for that, and I love this fic's delightful — and, yes, very soft — take on it.

Quote:

His notebook was full of eraser marks, his lines uneven and confusing, running into each other when he made his structures too small for the amount of bonds between molecules. He could always see them in his mind, but drawing them out was hell for him, his hands just a little shaky. Steve didn’t seem to have that problem because Steve’s notebook…that shit was just about the prettiest art Bucky had ever seen. He couldn’t help himself from reaching out his fingers and running over the neat, perfect hexagons with their lines and perfect little letters for the attached elements. They looked straight out of a printed textbook. Steve didn’t move, the solid mass of him almost against Bucky’s side. “How long do these take you?” he asked. “Oh, I’m quick,” Steve supplied cheerfully. To prove his point, he drew a quick acetyl salicylic acid, copying its structure from the sloppy one on the board, where the lab’s flowchart was. Bucky was mesmerized, his form perfect and confident and tiny, so at odds with how huge Steve’s hands were. “See?” “Okay, well,” Bucky let out a laugh, “You can definitely write the lab report.”

🎓Lane Lines | sparkagrace @sparkagrace | Mature | 132,519 words | College | **Post-Engame Rec**

A fic I spent a weekend totally engrossed and lost in on first read and that, ever since, has always been sitting somewhere in my brain. I think something that really, really appeals to me about sports AUs is when they're used as a lens to translate some things Steve genuinely struggles with in canon — the ways he handles guilt, the ways he feels responsible for things and people, his loneliness, etc — into these incredibly real-feeling modern, actual world, contexts. This fic does that so unbelievably well. Steve isn't truly okay, at all, during most of this fic, and affects everything. I love that so much. I also love this fic's worldbuilding, with a childhood Steve and Bucky backstory, a college swim team friend group, the pressures of professional athlete life, Olympic sponsorships, world records, and in-verse media like fake tweets and news articles. (This fic is the first fic in an in-progress 'verse, all of which I would also recommend.)

Quote:

“I didn’t want to come,” Steve says, trying to be honest, “but I’m glad I did. It feels nice to clear the air. I think it’s the most fun I’ve had in a while actually.” Steve thinks maybe this has been the happiest he’s been in a long time. He doesn’t want to tell Bucky that or speak it out loud, but the knowledge that this is happiness, and that he truly feels lightness in his bones, thrills him and he wants to keep that feeling close to him as long as he can. “I’m glad you’re here now. Just you.” Bucky says. Steve doesn’t know how to respond to that so he takes another swig of the champagne. There’s bubbles in his stomach but he’s not sure if it’s from the champagne or Bucky’s words. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” Bucky says. It takes Steve a second to understand what he’s referring to.

🎓Targeting | queenmab_scherzo | Explicit | 149,148 words | High school & College

I do not know if I will ever be over the way this fic manages to mirror canon so closely while being about high school and then college football. I feel as if that shouldn't work. And yet it does, and I love it. I also love the way, because this fic so closely mirrors canon, we get a lot of Steve refusing, just absolutely refusing to give up on Bucky. Or doubt Bucky. Or listen to anyone's objections or concerns about Bucky. There is a lot of Steve being determined to get real answers to things, and Steve being determined to make things right, and Steve being determined to not let Bucky take the blame/punishment for things, and Steve being determined to not let Bucky go. So you know, very much like canon. Except it's about football? It's so, so good.

Quote:

Bucky doesn't attack. He backs away instead, an immediate, heartbreaking reflex, crystallizing proof that Steve isn't dealing with a predator. It's inhuman, the raw metal of his eyes and his expression, his hollow features, the way he blinks slowly and deliberately. He just won a football game, for crying out loud, not just any football game, the Game of the Century, he beat the number two team in the country and he can't even crack a smile. There is James Barnes, but where is Bucky. Bucky used to smile through broken bones and blood in his teeth, where is that Bucky. Come back, what happened, come back to me. Heart thudding, Steve surges forward, thinking about 49-yard field goals. "At least take my phone number." For a long time, he doesn't think Bucky will respond, and when he does, it's on an exhale, an inaudible brushstroke on dry canvas: "Fine." "You—do you want to write it down or something?" "I'll remember." The noise of the crowd rises and falls.

🎓Okay, so he can play… (pretty's got nothing to do with it | Darter_blue @darter-blue | Explicit | 50,858 words | College | **Post-Endgame Rec**

I realized when I was pulling this list together that I actually probably should have included this fic back in June as part of my Pride recs post I didn't, obviously, and I'm a little annoyed at myself about it. But, that allows me to rec it now, and this is absolutely a college fic. So I guess that works out. Anyway, like I said when I talked about Lane Lines, I love when a sports AU also works as a lens to look at some of Steve's less-than-healthy ways of dealing with things. This fic, which is about college hockey, is another great example of that. There are a lot of things in this fic — many of them, but not all of them, related to Bucky — that Steve has told himself he Absolutely Cannot Do, and his journey of letting go of some of that over the course of this story is one I enjoyed so, so much. Like I said, I could've rec'd this one in June, so there's a lot centered on sexuality happening here. There are a lot of feelings and a lot of romance. Also, one of my spreadsheet notes in the tropes column for this one says, "GRAND GESTURES." So.

Quote:

Bucky doesn’t know what to do with those smiles. He doesn’t know where to keep them (because he so desperately wants to keep them) that they won't cloud him. That they won’t press into his stupid crush and spill it over into something more dangerous. The team dynamic is flowing, winding, warming into something so comfortable, it bleeds into their game, and it’s like they can’t lose. They win their next two home games, Bucky chasing down Steve’s scoring record and loving every second of it. The way Steve isn’t even mad about it. The way Steve nods at him in the locker room at the end of the games. Claps him on the shoulder now with the rest of the team… All of it leaves Bucky so wholly unprepared.

🎓Persued by a bear | Zenaidamacrouras1 @zenaidamacrouras1 | Explicit | 19,200 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

So, they're slightly older in this fic than any other fic on this list. (Well, actually, maybe not? They're a bit older in Natasha Romonaoff's Dating Service, too.) Steve is a professor and Bucky is a PhD candidate. This is also the very most academic of all fics on this list, and it's a complete and total delight from start to finish. It's a Shakespeare conference! There are tweed jackets, and suspenders, and pickup lines using Shakespeare, and the cutest Steve POV voice. I'm always, always a huge fan of a fic that features what could have been, should have been, a one-night stand, but that turns into so much more — with some hiccups, but also a lot of shameless flirtation, along the way. This fic delivers that so incredibly well and is just such a fun read.

Quote:

“You’re good at what you do, too, James,” Steve says softly, looking up at Bucky through his lashes, and shit, he didn’t mean for this to get all sexy all of a sudden. Bucky’s just. Really sexy. “You should call me Bucky. If you want," Bucky says softly. "I think I do, Bucky," Steve says because. He does. And Bucky's at a completely different university, and he's obviously a full-on, real-deal grown-up. Maybe this is okay. "Watching you work and listening to you think after following your scholarly writing for so long was incredibly hot,” Bucky says in a rush. “I’m sure you get that all the time. God, now I sound like a groupie.” Steve suppresses a smile. “Believe it or not, I don’t really have groupies."

There are a few additional fics that could be classed college/university fics and that absolutely are on my rec spreadsheet/in my bookmarks, but that I didn't include here. These are almost all fics with a plot about driving home (from campus) for the holidays/car sharing/motel room sharing/etc. that I feel like are holiday fics more than college fics, and holiday fics will almost definitely be their own post. (I didn't realize I had more than one fic like that bookmarked. But apparently, I do.)

I do have an apocalypse/dystopias/etc rec post sitting in my drafts I'm stressing myself out about it. Probably unnecessarily. I swear it's coming soon. Maybe I'll also do something seasonal in October? I haven't thought about that yet, but it's completely possible.

Fic Rec Series

[fandxmslxt69]

CLEM!!!

Happy birthday, lovely! I hope you're happy and healthy! So sorry I didn't see your post earlier, I've been having a very hectic year with studying, working and just generalized stuff! BUT BUT I couldn't send you a inbox!

So like a said: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! you are one of the sweetest mutuals ever! And to celebrate that a gotta ask

What is your latest read?

And I want to know your all time favorite Jason fics, please with links and all!

LOVE OF MY LIFE HELLO!!!

OMG PLS DONT APOLOGISE I KNOW HOW HECTIC LIFE CAN GET!! i hope you are taking good care of yourself, resting and relax outside of studies and work!!! remember that none of it matters if you aren't feeling good <33

MY LATEST READ OKAY

um truth be told my love i have been in SUCH a slump lately,,,, its been tough out here.

i only read like 3 books very recently (last month or so)

I did read All The Little Raindrops by Mia Sheridan my QUEEN. its like a mystery thriller with a side of romance!!! Sheridan's books are ALWAYS a hit (she's very popular for her booktok famous Archer's Voice? And Travis !!) I've read like. most of her books at this point. I have never devoted myself to an author so much. She got me into the whole thriller genre and I LOVE her. so much. ITS SO GOOD AAAA. its not for the faint of heart and on more than once i find myself with the need to throw up with how HORRIFYING and messed up some of this stuff is (most of her thriller books are not for the faint of heart. lots of horrific stuff that is all too real and it makes it 10x more disturbing). Anyway i loved it i think i gave it a 4/5 stars it was so so good

2. i ALSO started Ana Huang's If Love series. I literally never shut up about Ana Huang like. EVER and i had been wanting to read this for a while and IM SO GLAD I GOT IT STARTED !!! Its a LOT less popular than hr Twisted and Kings of Sin series; she wrote it well before she got popular/published but its so good. its def not Twisted/Kings of Sin series but it makes it sooo clear how much she's grown in her writing, character development and general story telling!!! I read the first 2 books and UGHGUGHUFGHUFGHG yeah. new comfort series fr fr fr fr.

I also got digging through Lynn Painter's works (Love Wager, Mr Wrong Number, Better Than The Movies, etc) 10/10 her rom coms are sacred to me. this was a while ago though like. months ago lmao but i think abt her books always!!!

OH OH OMG I READ BIRTHDAY GIRL BY PENELOPE DOUGLAS !!!! SOME TIME AGO!!! yeah it changed my brain chemistry. i dont remember if i told you or not. but it changed my life. i think about it always.

edit: omg shut up i forgot i read some banger books months ago that i did not mention. i ate up Liz Tomforde's sports romance series (Windy City series) it was SO FREAKING GOOD. she had hockey romance, she had basketball romance she had BASEBALL ROMANCE. 10/10 amazing vibes

I ate through the latest of Lauren Asher's (Love Redesigned) IT WAS ALSO HELLA GOOD!! Ana Huang's King of Greed was also a vibe. not my fav but it was good. I ALSO delved into hockey romance SOOO DEEP. Fav series is probably Becka Mack's Playing For Keeps. It's the silliest stupidest fluffy no plot head empty series ever. the first book is 90% porn. its just for the giggles. the second is a bit better but the third is def the best in terms of actual plot & character development for example but the vibes are astronomical and i live for them

i ALSO started reading Sarah Adam's small town romance series (very very good). All fluffy fall vibes. CHLOE GONG HAD COME OUT WITH A NEW BOOK IN THE SUMMER AND I GOT TO IT AROUND THE NEW YEAR AND IT WAS SOOO GOOOD. Immortal Longings mm......she destroyed me once again.

OKAY ALL TIME FAV JASON FICS ok i dont have links (is lazy to go find links) but i will tell you two blogs im like religiously stalking:

@in-som-niyah has AMAZING THOUGHTS on Jason 10/10 i love getting all my jason content from her GOD BLESS THE HARDWORKING PEOPLE OF TUMBLR DOT COM

@fcthots also has some kick ass Jason stuff....like....from smutty to fluffy and domestic its....yeah. oooghgubjgubgn yeah yeah.

anyway i've probably forgotten to mention a bunch of books but thats all i can remember that was actually good. HOW HAVE YOU BEEN WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN READING !!!

[spaceorphan18]

Hey, I remembered your displeasure with Agatha Christie's book covers!

I'm so annoyed by all the boring covers of romance books right now, for example. I don't know if it's just the German editions or in the U.S. too, but we have a glut of kind of monochrome covers right now, mostly pastel (but sometimes dark if it's supposed to be spicier) with the (often boring and bland) title on it in a fancy font.

It's so boring, it says nothing about the book, it's not individual at all and it looks like the ten books next to it. It doesn't make me want to read it at all. Also, when I see ads or recs I can not even remember the book by cover, because they are all the same!

I just had an ad on Insta that reminded me of it again, I've attached it here to show what I mean.

Oh my gosh, dear! Where's @ckerouac -- we have had numerous conversations about the distaste of certain genres of fiction lately. And, you know what, I'm gonna diatribe a bit, it'll be good since I have to go back to work today.

Book cover marketing has always been a thing but lately everything has become more homogeneous -- which is intentional by the publisher, so it'll get you to buy the same kind of book that you've read before. I do agree that it's boring, and takes away a book's individuality. But nowhere is that more apparent than the romance genre. Why? Because these books are (for better or worse) a dime a dozen. Publishers, and even readers, don't necessarily take these books very seriously, and consider them all, in some respects, to be interchangeable.

The romance genre, right now, can be broken up into three-ish big categories (there are some side ones, I'll talk about that in a second) -- and I've labeled them Rom-Coms, Soft-Core Porn, and Hard-Core Porn respectably. (No, seriously, at work, this is how I label them in my head.) Now, all of them have explicit sex in them (that didn't used to be the case actually) but you'll see why I've broken it up that way in a sec...

The Rom-Coms

These books are basically your equivalent to Hallmark movies -- cheezy plots, lighthearted shenanigans, and reliant on very tropish things like -- there's only one bed! (Though a ton of them are friends to lovers and/or (lite) enemies to lovers). There's also this trend right now where sports related books (especially hockey, interestingly) are becoming popular. They are also all guaranteed to have happy ending -- just look how happy the couple is on the cover!

Anyway, the covers of all these books are cartoonish in nature -- implying that they're supposed to be light and fun and easily digestible. They kind of imply comedic hijinx (though the comedy in most of these is questionable). But mostly, if you trip over one of these covers - it's basically like a rating system, you won't have to worry about tripping over any kind of hard core kinks in the smut.

The Soft-Core Porn

Okay, so first of all, yeah - I know I'm not using 'soft-core porn' entirely correctly. Let me be clear, these books are just as explicit as the other titles I'll get to in a second, but these are kind of the middle range of romance books. (And, the one you posted above - the second I saw it, I was like, oh yeah - I know exactly what type of book it is.)

These books are all the drama focused books. There is a range from -- soap opera-y love dynamics to somewhat twisted love situations, but they're going to stay in their somewhat mellowdramatic lane. These are also the books where they may not guarantee a happy ending.

These covers are usually the worst in that they're so bland, but they are doing something. They're simple, and somewhat melancholy (as either the situation or the ending will probably be sad), hence the pastel colors. They also kind of evoke that CW Teen drama-esque feel (while some of these books origins might be YA, none of them are YA in content).

The Hard-Core Porn

You can thank EL James's Fifty Shades of Gray (or maybe Stephanie Meyer's Twilight) for the uptick in popularity for these books. These books are rough -- dealing with very dark subjects such as rape, incest, and death. But also sometimes some supernatural elements. But also, these are going to have the kinkiest types of sex -- such as BSDM, etc. (It's also an interesting aside, that these books have always been around -- but it wasn't until Fifty Shades that made them come out into the light a little more. This stuff used to be saved, mostly, for things like fanfiction).

The covers are all black, with pops of bright colors (usually pink - to signify the feminine romance angle or red due to the color's sexual connotation), to incite a warning to the reader. They're intentionally striking so to let you know that these books aren't playing around.

Also. It should be noted that, unlike the first two categories where you get a story involved, these books are primarily just smut. The story is loosely there as a framing device, and only a backdrop for the huge amount of kinky sex going on in these books. These books don't care about plot. They're intention is to be porn.

So, those are the big three, but there are other things to note....

Historical Romance

Alright, so, historical romance has always been popular, and twenty, thirty years ago, it was what really sold. Even during my tenure of selling books, there was a large array of historical fiction -- I once did an entire display of books with the word 'duke' in the title.

The reason I'm using the same Julia Quinn novel as an example is that there's been a shift in design of romance covers. The one on the left is what it used to be -- kind of evoking that materialistic femineity of a time long past. They also often featured two hot people on the cover, usually in some state of undress (see below). It was meant to be provocative -- and, as marketing really hasn't changed all that much, show you exactly what you'd be getting.

These days, historical romance is now designed like the cover on the right -- and usually falls more into the rom-com genre of book design, only having a more historical twist on it.

The other funny thing about these books is that they were once supposed to be the most scandalous and are now kind of quaint. Even the rom-com genre of books have more explicit sex than the Julia Quinn books from twenty years ago. (It's kind of funny -- we had a discussion at work about how Bridgerton would basically be PG-13, if it weren't for a few steamy scenes.)

[Also as an aside, there are the Harlequin Mass Markets -- which are the cheapy, dime a dozen books. Historical romance and the Harlequins were kind of the same thing, and that's all the romance genre used to be. Harlequin is mostly forgotten these days, at least by anyone under the age of fifty.]

And... then there's a gap I'm missing when it comes to romance, but that's because it kind of crosses two genres - romance and fantasy.

Romantacy

Thank you Sarah J Maas for this craze. The thing about these books is that while there are definite patterns to them (and there are...) these books get to be a little different. The reason for this is that they fall into the fantasy category -- and one element of the fantasy category is aesthetic.

They have to get you on board with their fancy designs because they're selling you a different kind of product -- one that relies on unusual worlds and more supernatural and fantastical elements. So, almost by design of the (sub-)genre, they're going to stand out.

And it's funny -- while these books do cross the genre barrier, they are more romance than fantasy, they're just using fantasy as the packaging instead of the real world.

*****

So there you go - a run down of the romance genre and it's marketing. Like I said above, the whole point of all of this is to tell you what kind of book it is, rather than what the story is. It's purposeful in that -- you'll pick up the book and know whether you're getting a happy or sad ending, or what level of smut you're going to get. It's purposefully intentional to keep the reader coming back to get more of the same thing as before.

But, yeah, it does strip the books of individuality (you want individuality? go read general fic - the publishers say).

I did not know that the outside of US markets did it, too, but I'm not wholly surprised. And every genre and category of books do this.

Anyway - thanks for letting me indulge! :)

[im-an-insane-man-lover]

Okay this is really long and absolute yappery just. I NEED to shove this out somewhere besides with my pookie

So I think like a few people know who Alexi is??? Right, my silly until dawn oc. Him and Mack (or Moose) are me and my friends silly ud ocs right

I'm focusing more on these sillies than Alexi IN ud so I'm yapping about them !!! Because they're so silly

To the 3 people (pookie and like. Idk other goobers) who might read this tell me if you want more yapping of them because they're infecting my brain rn and I want me and pookie to yap more

ALSO INCLUDING SOME DOODLES AND DRAWING BY POOKIE!!! @roverthegoober

GOLLY I love these guys..... a LARGE portion is just like angst or the aftermath of the ud events

Two goobers meeting in early middle school only over the fact Alexi was asking him for help on work and after that he kept bothering him. Not even for help, asking random questions, and trying to know him better.

Alexi having Mack over for a movie night, and he's either forcing him to watch some sad rom-com or all of The Thing movies and explaining the comics and lore, pointing out small details and references in or related to The Thing (its his favorite horror series? I think it counts as a series right)

Like after the events of ud (saying everyone lives ending), they're both screwed up, but Mack had suffered from tbi (traumatic brain injury). Alexi is also suffering, obviously. Half his face is still messed up, his arm and hand are, but he doesn't have severe head injury (facial yeah, but erm... not head or brain, yknow)

Alexi isn't making any efforts to talk to anyone else (the group, not REALLY his family except if it's his brother, which is unlikely), but he's talking to Mack. Only talking to Mack, even if they're both struggling and trying to recover, he's literally worried sick about him and not metaphorically (because his anxiety is increased tenfold now)

Depending on how severe the tbi is, Mack COULD have memory issues with recalling what went on that night and everything that happened (long-term memory loss, he'd also struggle to remember how to do this or that and what this is etc). So Alexi is just dumbfounded.

Alexi can remember everything perfectly fine, and he just can't grasp that the person closest to him can't?? He can't go to Mack for any questions on what happened, how he got injured (at least for the injuries he wasn't present for, or Mack already told him after) and he can't go to him for any reassurance and comfort.

He's just in shock because he is ABSOLUTELY NOT going to confide in someone else, like family or a friend, because you have to be so insanely close to this guy for him to trust you to that extent.

So, over the years, he's sticking with Mack since he still remembers him, but not completely. He can't recall facts about him or moments that happened between them, and its not completely Mack.

ANYWAYS, IM GONNA LEAVE THAT THERE BC I DONT WANNA YAP ABOUT SAD SHIT ALL IN THIS POST

Don't come after me for anything that's not super medically accurate. Im not a doctor or anything. im just spit balling to get an idea out. Like Mack would probably have different symptoms and stuff, but this is just for silly fun for our ocs and I just wanna be silly 😞😞 this is literally just for fun so don't come at me with a pitchfork and mob

More art giggles

I love these guys I need them dead

Alexi was almost a theater kid, but he was too scared to because of his anxiety, but he still really wanted to try singing (he wasn't exactly too big on the dancing portion). He only did a few times at his house in his room, but his mom caught on and offered to get him a personal vocal coach (or trainer, idk the exact title).

So he CAN sing somewhat, but it's been a bit since he has, and he definitely isn't telling that to just anyone. Mack only found this out when they jokingly had a karaoke night, and Alexi didn't suck at singing

Also, if anybody is confused about why he has red hair, sometimes it's because his natural hair color is red, but he dyes it black. His older brother has black hair, and he was really close with him, and so around the start of high school, he started to dye it a bit to try it, and eventually he just ended up doing it completely and making it a routine.

Mack helps him dye it sometimes, but that's not often since he isn't the super best at it..... helps with getting Alexi what he needs mainly

OKAY THATS ALLLL !!!!! IM GONNA try to finish drawing Mack and Alexi as Paul and Sam from TGWDLM and sleep...

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

Fictober Prompt Day Ten! Prompt: "It's okay, I'm here now."

Pairing: Ashley Graham/Leon S. Kennedy (Resident Evil)

Read below!

(and yes I am posting this here because I do not have the energy to come up with a title. And I wanted so badly to do something funny with this but my brain refused to let me avoid the post RE4 hurt/comfort moments that I could probably write about forever)

“You know, I really feel like all those rom coms have lied to me.”

Leon looks at her like he thinks she might’ve fully lost it. Like after everything -the monsters, the kidnapping, the plagas, the flecks of blood that she’d managed to wipe from her cheeks along with seaspray- it’s the sight of a completely normal, comfortable hotel room that finally does her in.

Which, fair. 

Ashley can’t blame him for thinking the worse, not after everything. It’s all pressing at the back of her mind like whispers from another room, promising that she could hear all the more clearly if she only pressed her ear to a closed door and held her breath. But Ashley is just fine with letting them lurk in the back of her mind for now.

Or, you know…forever. 

Because what does she need to relive all those things for? Isn’t it enough that she’s got blood and grime and sweat sticking to her like a second skin that she’ll never fully be able to shed? 

“Um.” Leon unbuckles the tactical belt that surely has to be as grimy as the rest of him, and sets it gently on the desk in the corner. 

“It’s…” Ashley points, feeling her cheeks color, and Jesus Christ Graham what the hell. She should’ve just kept her mouth shut. “There’s two beds.” 

She swears she can hear Leon mentally counting the people in the room.

Quickly, Ashley shakes her head. “You know what, it’s totally stupid.” She waves a hand, hoping that she’s not as red as she feels. “You know how there’s always just one bed in those types of movies and like Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock always have to share or something and I’m just going to shut up now.”

Leon cracks something of a smile and shakes his head. His hair is dirty and stringy from sweat and rainwater and who even knows what all things considered and the strands brush his forehead in a way that still manages to give him a boyishly handsome appearance. If Ashley were to notice that type of thing…in between counting beds in a hotel room, of course. 

“Okay, well, I’m not exactly Hugh Grant so I guess it works.” 

“Yeah, definitely,” Ashley assures him quickly. “You’re much better than Hugh Grant anyway. He could never…” She trails off, crossing her arms over her chest before she can do something even more embarrassing like mimic that firing of a gun or something. “I’m definitely glad you’re here and not Hugh Grant,” she finishes instead, which is barely better, she thinks. 

At least there’s another soft sort of smile. “Thanks. I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

Ashley nods and keeps her mouth shut.

For once.

Leon doesn’t so much as offer her the first shower as make it obvious that he isn’t going to be taking one until she does so she might as well just put them both out of their misery and get to it. And any thoughts Ashley might’ve possibly had about protesting vanish immediately when she steps beneath the warm spray, tipping her head back and letting the water sluice down her face, her neck, between her shoulder blades, all across skin that had previously felt like it might never get clean again.

Now, at least, there feels like there’s something of a chance.

She takes longer than she’d intended, finally emerging to find herself scrubbed pink with flushed cheeks and damp hair, looking at her reflection in the mirror like she’s suddenly become a perfect stranger. Ashley reaches out, touching the reflection of what she knows to be her own face, left only slightly smudged by the lingering steam on the glass. Really, she looks the same. No one would be able to look at her and know any of the things she’s done and seen over the past few days. But still, Ashley feels like a stranger to herself, to the girl looking back at her with serious eyes, hollow and far away. Soon, all of this will be over. She’ll be back home and her father can feel reassured that he isn’t the reason that his only daughter is forever lost or dead or worse. And she’ll go back to school, back to her friends, back to…all the inane things she was doing before she realized that monsters were real and they were worse than any of the stories she’d ever heard around a Girl Scout campfire. 

Ashley ignores her reflection in favor of finishing drying herself off and dressing into the sweats and oversized shirt from the hotel’s gift shop. Seems like the safer option anyway. 

Leon looks slightly relieved to see her when she emerges, though Ashley is certain it’s because that finally means he can actually get clean and stop standing around in his absolutely filthy clothes. He points toward a collection of protein bars and peanut butter crackers on the table. “Help yourself.”

Ashley frowns despite the fact that her stomach is currently devouring itself with a ravenous determination. “I was kinda hoping for, you know, a double cheeseburger and a giant plate of cheese fries.”

Oh god. Just saying the words out loud makes her want to double over and start weeping. 

She is never going to take McDonalds for granted again.

Leon gives her a sympathetic look, seeming genuinely apologetic. “I know. But it’s been a while since you’ve eaten anything, right?” She presses her lips together, which is answer enough for him. “So it’s best to ease into it. Otherwise you’ll just…lose it all again anyway.” 

Ashley groans but doesn’t argue, plucking out one of the granola bars at random. 

“Trust me, I know,” Leon says, his apologetic expression turning slightly amused. “They aren’t my favorite either.” 

By the time Leon has the shower running, Ashley has nearly devoured the bar, absently flipping through the TV channels as she settles on the bed furthest from the door. All the programs are in Spanish, though she thinks she might be able to parse out what’s going on purely by watching what everyone is doing and employing some of that high school Spanish she’d feigned her way through.

Not that it matters, really.

She’s asleep before she even finishes eating the granola bar. 

And, eventually, her dreams take her back there again, just as Ashley had known they would. Back to the castle, with its stone walls and floor leeching the heat from her skin and smelling like damp and mold and something far older than anything she’d ever known. Something that would be around long after she was gone.

It takes her back to rough hands on her arms, on her legs, around her mouth. To the way a person looked as their head exploded from a gunshot, or as they lie dying with anger in their eyes. It takes her to leviathan creatures who care nothing for Ashley Graham, the only daughter of the President of the United States, who once thought she might ride horseback in the Olympics but instead fell in love with antiques and architecture and the smell of an old house as it was restored back to life. People and things who saw her as a pawn and nothing more, something they would use until she was twisted and empty and a memory to the people who had once loved her. 

It takes her back to a cold basement room, a searing pain in her chest that was surely worse than dying would’ve been. To a weight she never thought she would be able to lift, to the certainty that she was too late, that she wasn’t strong enough, that she would never be able to actually do anything right.

Back to the feeling that she was going to be there forever, that she would die there in the dark, her mind filling her with the certainty, now, that she had never actually left there at all. 

But then it all disappears just as quickly, snapping away like the flipping of a light switch, and Ashley’s eyes fly open and there’s Leon in front of her and they aren’t in the castle, aren’t in some ruined Spanish village, aren’t fighting for every single breath they take. His hands are on her shoulders, sharp and insistent, and it’s that pressure that brings her fully back to the moment, to the hotel room, to Leon in front of her.

“Ashley.” His voice is as sharp as his touch, worry creasing his features, and he seems to relax when she exhales, blinking at him. “Ashley, it was just a dream. You’re okay. It’s okay. I’m here now.” 

He blurs at the edges and her eyes fill with tears and she’s too tired, too sore, too empty to even care about crying in front of him after everything. Instead, Ashley just leans forward, closer, and he lets her, his hands moving from her shoulders, one settling around the nape of her neck when she settles against his chest. 

“It’s okay,” Leon says again, quietly, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. “It’s okay. It’s over. You’re safe now.”

Ashley swallows, shaking her head. Her tears are silent, her body too exhausted to muster the noise that might go with them. “How can you be sure?” 

After all, she’d thought she was safe before. She’d thought nothing could ever happen to her. She was untouchable, privileged. 

What an idiot she was. 

Leon, to his credit, doesn’t rush to reassure her. Doesn’t just immediately start throwing platitudes at her and spinning the same sort of fairy tales that she’d believed in for far too long.

He’s just quiet, contemplating, as he keeps one hand settled gently against the curve of her head, the other holding tightly to hers. Ashley can’t remember how that had happened…had she reached for him? Had he been the one to hold her hand? 

It hardly seems to matter now.

Finally, Leon says, “Because I still have plenty of bullets.”

Ashley laughs, startled by the impulse, the noise thick and watery. She sniffs, leaning back and wiping at her cheeks as she nods. “Okay.”

Bullets, she believes in.

Just like she believes in Leon, how he’d been right beside her through everything, how he’d come for her and hadn’t left her behind. And how it feels, even now, to have him there beside her.

And there might be two beds, but that doesn’t stop Leon from settling himself down beside her, his presence solid and reassuring as he waits for her to fall asleep once more. 

[full---ofstarlight]

tagged by @sun-marie for this "people you'd like to know better" tag game! ty for the tag :3c

--

THREE SHIPS: 

resisting the urge to fill this with my oc x canon ships, sO:

Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye from Fullmetal Alchemist I recently finished a book where within the first few chapters, I looked up on the subway and put the book down and squinted, thinking to myself wait. Is this Royai fanfic? Turns out, it probably was! The author posted about finishing the manga back in 2019, the book came out in 2022 (I think) and was billed as Fullmetal Alchemist meets (Something I can’t remember). Anyway, Royai has my entire heart, because if there’s one trope that has a stronghold on me it is Dedicated Leader with a Mission x Their Unflinchingly Loyal Second-in-Command Who Will Literally Follow Them Into Hell. The mission comes first! They cannot admit their love to each other! They’re also childhood acquaintances????? An apprentice x master’s daughter????????? And atoning for war crimes?????????????????? AHhHHHHHhHHhHHHHHHHHHHHH. 

Haymitch Abernathy x Effie Trinket from The Hunger Games: Listen. Listen. I’m rereading the series now and apparently what happens when you read them ten years later is that instead of having a big crush on Finnick and shipping Finnick x Annie, you notice that Haymitch is a fantastic smart, snarky, tortured character and Effie is way more resilient and clever than she lets herself on to be and IDK I JUST. Must resist the urge to write the events of the Main Trilogy, but oops Haymitch and Effie were secretly hooking up the whole time. I have stuff to do. I have other fic to write!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Leorio x Kurapika from Hunter x Hunter: At any given moment, they are constantly in the back of my mind. I have my bad HxH brainworms from 2021 to thank for getting me back into fic and tumblr fandom and I just pulled a 35K fic outta my ass in 2021 somehow and even though I'm not writing for them much anymore, I love them with my whole damn heart and I can summon that love with a snap of my fingers.

LAST FILM:

I had to watch a movie for work last week that is out this week and I really wanted to like it but it disappointed me SO MUCH. :’( 

CURRENTLY WATCHING:

I’m kicking off Season three of The Legend of Korra! I finally at long last watched ATLA this year (I KNOW I KNOW), and now I’m working my way through Korra. I’m also watching Spice and Wolf and the new seasons of JJK and Spy x Family. 

CURRENTLY READING:

I am rereading the Hunger Games trilogy! I also checked out three new books from the library and I'm torn on which one I should bring on Thanksgiving vacation (it's an Agatha Christie, a dark contemporary fantasy, and a witchy rom-com). Might go with the Christie since it is the Lightest (like, physically).

CURRENTLY CONSUMING:

Chunky Monkey Ice Cream <3 (I have a pint in the fridge that my husband specifically got just for me since he's allergic to banana)

Ibuprofen for my sore shoulder :(

Coral Island

CURRENTLY CRAVING

A vacation that doesn't involve traveling to two different large Thanksgiving celebrations

A massage for said sore shoulder

A cup of tea (this one, at least, can easily be fixed)

--

taggingggg @theladysarmor @kelofmindelan @maryxoliver @rowingtherubicon @cynda-queer @gwaindrifter @birbycakes @n7viper @gwynbleidd and uhhh anyone who wants to do this!!!!! i will read your thing!

[yonemurishiroku]

About the Nico and Cupid/Eros post, really curious as to what would a dearly detested relationship entail?

Petty opinions?? "I brought you poisoned chocolate valentines"?? What does it mean?? Please, I need to know.

Oh boy, is this a foreboding ask.

Nah. Anyway, you got me pretty close there buddy. When I say dearly detested, it's exactly like you said: love and hate, swirling.

Warning: I'm, genuinely, talking in the perspective of a Cupid/Nico shipper. Do not proceed if you have qualms with the very aspect of this ship's existence.

Now, I suppose we all agree that there's less than zero chance that Nico would love Cupid/Eros. I mean, if I were him - unless I'm in a dumb, cliché rom-com - there'd be no way in hell I'd love someone who had practically bullied and outed me brutally like what Cupid did to Nico. It can't be, well, love as in love. So what is it, then?

Love-hate. That's what.

I'm talking along the line of obsession and fascination (from Eros' side), degrading and conquering (from Nico's side). It can not be all sugar and sunshine when it comes to these two, at least, that's how I perceive them.

To be more specific, in the event that Eros and Nico do engage in a somewhat romantic relationship, I generally picture Eros as a collector admiring his favorite doll. He is fascinated by Nico's love - the way he loves, those he sacrifices in the name of love, the length he has gone for said love - and his godly possessive side leads to him desiring Nico's attention.

Nico is Cupid's favorite, one might say. Does he want Nico to be happy? Probably not. That sounds silly. Does he want to take Nico for himself? Definitely yes. What Cupid loves is the love that Nico holds. It has never been about happiness and holding hands and soft kisses. It's about how much tears and blood I can get out of you in the name of love.

Hence I say it tethers closer to obsession than mere romantic attraction. It's... abstract, I know. I barely understand what I want, too.

On Nico's side, though, it's just pure disdain. As I said, Nico can hardly - if ever - fall in love with someone who tortured him mentally and physically.

But Cupid is special to him - in the way that Nico would never resent someone nearly as much. Thus, the dearly detested.

In the fortunate scenario that I actually manage to write about this, I'd paint a Nico who takes his own love as a weapon and uses it to fight Eros himself. A Nico who thrives in knowing that it's his love that gets Eros thirsty and wanting. A Nico who loves fearlessly and fights just as relentlessly, knowing he is loved and he is precious, especially in the eyes of Eros, the very one that has gotten him miserable beyond repair.

And the love - the obsession, the want, the infatuation - that Eros holds for him is the exact proof as to Nico has won.

They use love as swords, and they make each other bleed. It's hardly love. But nothing I've ever done is healthy, so. well. I'd have talked more but I have a policy to keep this blog as NSFW as possible so. Another time, perhaps.

Anyway, thanks a lot for your ask! Hope this clears your trouble! xD Feel free to ask for more if you want to hear further my mindless thoughts lolol <3 <3 <3

[greatwyrmgold]

The other day, I reblogged a post about Sharehouse Nile, aka "That romance manga starring Marie Antoinette and Che Guevara". I actually read it, and unfortunately it's the worst* thing a manga with that premise can be. Boring.

The setting is a house shared by several historical figures—Marie and Ernesto, but also Pablo Picasso and Jeanne d'Arc and some Japanese prince and a Chinese imperial consort. Figures from across the past several centuries of European history plus a 20th-century Argentine plus ancient and semi-legendary figures from East Asia; that's a pretty diverse set of characters.

Wouldn't it be a shame if it was basically just another rom-com?

Marie is a pampered uptown girl, Guevara is a sexy downtown boy, and practically none of the details of their past lives play into their modern interactions. Marie's hatred of revolutionaries is why she's all tsuntsun in the first couple chapters, but that softens pretty quickly. We don't even get a screaming match where Marie, Jeanne, and the prince guy defend the divine right of kings against critique from the more modern characters.

We barely get any interactions between Marie and Jeanne, even though they're historically closer to each other than anyone else in the house. Sure, Marie's from the House of Bourbon and not the House of Valois, but she's still part of the Capetian dynasty. Marie's late husband's title was one that Jeanne quite famously fought for! She should have some opinion about the French queen! Why does she have more scenes with the Chinese consort? No offense to Yang, but she has nothing to do with Marie, except that they both slept with monarchs, and this point of commonality doesn't come up anyways!

How does Marie's status as a fish out of temporal water come up? She wears a fancy old dress for the first three panels she shows up in before switching to a "Qu'ils mangent de la brioche" T-shirt for the rest of the manga, she hates the word "revolutionary" and uses that as a reason not to fall in love with Guevara, she knights him by the end of chapter four. That's about it. Everything else that could be interpreted as a "fish out of temporal water" thing could more easily be explained as Marie being a sheltered rich girl who suddenly moved to a city she's unfamiliar with.

The thing that bugs me most is that Guevara and Marie never really talk about their political differences. In theory, that's what's keeping them apart, right? Marie hates revolutionaries, Guevara isn't a fan of vertical power structures. But by chapter 5 Marie's just ignoring that and preparing for a beach trip with Guevara like any shoujo heroine worrying about a sorta-kinda-date with her crush. If I wanted to read that, I could read any shoujo manga.

*Well, okay, the concept is politically-charged enough that you could probably make something worse if you tried. Hush.

[superbattrash]

I have seen full on rom coms less romantic than whatever the fuck Eddie and Venom have going on, guys

I swear they’re couple goals

“Apart from him in the robe” a little religious are we, Eddie? It’s fine, you need him to officiate YOUR wedding when this fight is over anyway

Oh there really is a huge difference in how they transform, huh? I really like the whole “consuming him” vs “shielding him” thing

I fucking called it. Carnage ain’t liking the banshee bitch (sorry Francis, I didn’t mean it like that)

Venom being super realistic, that’s a nice touch. Be a bit more positive though babe, at least you’re together again

Oh shit, she kinda badass. You know, in a horrible, scary, villainy way

GO DAN

symbiote-less they’re more evenly matched I guess. Although Eddie IS a little pathetic

I love that about him though

I mean you’ve got a point, but you DID kill a bunch of people so. Not like I can really root for you when you’re trying to kill my favorite pathetic couple, bro

OH MY GOD NO NOT THE FUCKING HAMMER

Did he just fuckING DIE????

Oh yeah, back to saying I called it

DON’T GIVE UP, BABY!!!!!!! You tell him, Eddie!!!!! YES!!!! YOU ARE WE. WE ARE VENOM

FUCK. THEM. UP. BABYYYYY

Aaaaaaa no no no no VENOMMMMMMMM!!!!!! BABYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!

Oh god what an awful way to die

Fucking KILL THAT THIN— oh EW EW EW EW 🤢🤮

Oh shit shit shit, um, venom, sweetie, you should probably get a move on

Awww, making dan feel appreciated, that’s my V

What the FUCK???? Detective hiding some weird ass shit, huh?

Bahahahahahaha, you totally ruined the dramatic moment 😂😂😂

BEACH SCENEEEEEEEE

awwwwwwww, you TOTALLY DID SAY YOU LOVE HIMMMMM AND EDDIE, YOU DID NOT MIND, YOU TOTALLY LIKE THAT HE LOVES YOOOOOU ~ aaaaaaaa

Veddie 4-ever <33333

Now gimme that damn post credit scene Dan was telling me about. It’s not in here?!? DAMN IT

[missguomeiyun]

Homecooking [May ed]

Be proud of me :P  I cooked more this month haha

I also did some night shifts. .. & lived thru over a week of really poor air quality. I shouldn’t be complaining, considering ppl have lost homes, businesses, & community facilities/shops but it was just so bad. It’s bad for me, so I could only imagine what it’s like for ppl with respiratory or heart problems. Every yr there are wildfires here but I read somewhere that this is the 1st time AB beat BC in ‘starting’ of wildfires. Like our Albertan wildfires aren’t supposed to start yet but we had a few days where temperature was 10degrees above average, plus the winds. .. Yikes!!

^ that’s the sun at 0815h o_O !!!!

Now that short track season, primarily the World Championships ended. .. the sports event I was looking to was the Sudirman Cup for badminton. It’s held every 2 yrs & this yr, the venue is was in Suzhou - China’s 1st international badminton event in over 3 yrs! Can’t say much about the venue bcos I only see the inside & it’s focussed on a court lol but BWF inserts travel-themed clips in the opening of every live so I got to see some of the views in Suzhou. I’ve actually been there! Anyway, what a wild ride!!! I won’t give spoilers but the CHN vs JPN semi-finals. .. YOU NEED TO WATCH IT! At least the highlights. So much drama!! The finals... I was a little disappointed. I thought KOR vs CHN would be a tight battle but . ..

Alrighty, let’s get to the food~

Random flour noodle with choy sum & egg.

The same package of noodle with choy sum & Busan fish cake.

lol you can tell these were my post-night shift meal... I tend to go for simpler stuff, & in smaller portions bcos I eat 6 times when I’m working nights...

Air fryer egg plant. You may think it’s weird.. . but I really like it.

Fettuccine with tomato + vegetarian sausage

Udon with capa cabbage & grey squash. Another one of those night shift stretch meals.

Mom’s air fryer chicken

vs .. my air fryer chicken

*she added Chinese soy sauce to it for a better colour hence why it’s so dark

There were not as good I thought. It’s gotta be the plain Costco fries :P

Thick rice noodles + egg + cucumber, seasoned with Korean tartar sauce & fish sauce (the green cap squid one). This is probably the most randomest thing I ‘put together’ this month haha! Usually the thin vermicelli noodles are used but I used the thick soup kind of rice noodles. Then the combo of tartar sauce + fish sauce... But trust me, it was good!

Using the raclette grill for the 1st time this year

Air fryer ribs with a hamburger bun

A closer look. I used the Montreal steak spice with some extra fresh ground black pepper. Yum~

Sujebi with baby bokchoy, seaweed, white beech mushrooms, & an egg~

Udon with napa cabbage, carrot thins & egg.

May book #1: The Obsession. It was quite an easy read (recommended to me via Chapters recommendation based on my purchase history lol). I didn’t think it was ‘thrilling’ enough for be called a thriller but that’s bcos this is a YA fiction novel so the intended audience is YA. The storyline itself was well thought out but was predictable. I thought the ending was a bit rushed. Read it for relaxation~ I rate it 7.8/10~

May novel #2: Just Haven’t Met You Yet. A rom-com that could easily be made into a movie or drama. I thought the main girl was a pathetic - the type that “I don’t know what I want; my life has been a lie”. You know, the aimless, not driven type of lead that you can’t relate to. Or maybe you can *shrugs* I bought it bcos it begins with “suitcase switch-up” & I thought, “ooooh totally K-drama plot”. I enjoyed it overall; with some slow moments. I really like the main girl’s boss. 8.0/10 (lower than expected)

May novel #3: the Eighth Girl. What a fantastic debut novel by this author~  this novel was very thrilling & dark. It’s about a girl with DID & she goes through things.. . The plot itself is simple to understand but I love twists & novels that make me think. This was one of those. It’s better to start reading without reading up on it so I will leave it here!

K ttyl!!

[viscountessevie]

Tagged by the lovely @mermaidsirennikita thanks for the tag! SO SORRY this is months late shxkdjks.

Also to note; I wrote 90% of this post about 4 months ago?? On a call with the brilliant @sophiamariabeckett and @hptriviachamp so that's why they get mentioned alot, anyway let's get to it!

Nickname: S, [Redacted - IYKYK], Sahara,Vi, Evie [I think I’m mostly used to S and Sahara, the latter two are derived from my username lol]

I used to go by Sky when I was younger because people butchered my name but it was also given to me by an ex-friend who tried to whitewash me so I have YEETED that name (will never ever go by it again) and fully embraced my Indian name and culture. Anyways I digress, Sky also earned me the nicknames Sunny, Cloudy, Sunshine. 

Sign: A Fire Sign that fits me

Height: 5′0/155cm

Last thing I Googled: 

[Yall thank Trivia for this search and it’s so fitting for me!]

Song stuck in my head: Would’ve, Should’ve, Could’ve by Taylor Swift (also at this moment: Lavender Haze Acoustic version)

Number of Followers: Over 3k (but 80% are abandoned accounts or probably bots - also you gotta remember I've had this account for 8 years over 3 major fandoms so it's accumulation of that)

Amount of Sleep: 3 to 6 Hours - a lot of afternoon naps 

Lucky number: 8, 19

Dream Job: Novelist and Screenwriter

The List of People I Wanna Work Woth (ranking in order of how much I wanna to work with them): Simone Ashley, Oliver Jackson-Cohen, Zawe Ashton, Frieda Pinto & Dev Patel (tied), Zendaya

Creatives: Wanna write with Mindy Kaling and Trevor Noah, write for Margot Robbie (as executive producer), Cathy Yun, and Jordan Peele

Special mention to Tom Hiddleston, Rahul Kohli and Chloe Zhao for being icons I admire but my writing style/stories and their resumes are in direct conflict 😂

Wearing: A sheer black shirt, it’s giving Simone's Shirt-Dress at Paris Fashion Week

Actually at this very moment (3rd April) though I am wearing this:

The shirt ties in the front and I have cream shorts on. Someone once told me I look like a hot baseball player in this fit lol

Movies/Books That Summarize Me:

Books: 

- A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket (very first book I ever read on my own) 

- The Hunger Games series & TBoSaS by Suzanne Collins 

- Every single Cecelia Ahern book

(save for her YA series and The Year I Met You)

- Shatter Me series by Tahereh Mafi

- To All The Bright Places by Jennifer Niven 

- The Celebrity Quartet series by Taylor Jenkins Reid

[Hugo, Daisy Jones, Malibu Rising, gotta read Carrie Soto soon]

- A Lady For A Duke by Alexis Hall

- What I Did For A Duke by Julie Ann Long

Movies:

90s/00s Rom Coms - that entire genre and era changed me as a person. 

10 Things I Hate About You 

Legally Blonde 

Confession of Shopaholic 

Adding A Barbie Section at the request of Belle & Trivia: 

Mermaid’s Tale, An Island Princess and of course Princess & The Pauper changed everyone's lives

Contemporaries: 

Mr. Malcolm’s List 

The Batman 

Do Revenge 

Look Both Ways

Emily

Shows (Added this in cos Shows have shaped me more than movies): 

Wizards of Waverly Place 

Gossip Girl 

The Royals

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

The Mindy Project 

All Michael Schur shows except Parks & Rec (it was fine but not my vibe) 

Jane The Virgin (BUT I do not claim S5)

Favorite song: Changes depending on the day but I will always go back to Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen 

Special Mention: Right Where You Left Me and Nothing New by TS

Favorite instrument: Guitar to play because I played it when I was 8; piano and violin to listen to - I really am a strings bitch huh 

Aesthetic: I love dressing up in different styles and aesthetics tbh and I would say I dress how I feel. I dress up more when I'm happier and have a lot of statement pieces, more casual when I'm feeling lazy or depressed. But with the statement pieces, I'd say I'm giving theatre kid and I like to dress up like a Hollywood starlet sometimes lmao.

Favorite Author: I have no idea tbh. There's not one single author I've read all their books and liked. Hmm maybe Lemony Snicket but I haven't read Asking All The Right Questions yet. But all the books and authors listed above are a good range.

Ohmygod Cecelia Ahern - I've read and loved all her books!! Shoutout to my mom for getting me into her books during my teen years

Favorite Animal Noise: Rattlesnakes, Elephant’s Trumpet with the whole show of their trunks, Seal clapping and Hyena giggles

Random: So this section is the reason I didn't finish this post when Caro tagged me in it months ago lmao sorry C but now I have a fun random fact to share!

I'm currently on vacation in a tropical country rn and the villa I'm staying in feels so much like Donna's Villa in Mamma Mia - I love it so much! (I might reblog and share pictures of this place in the future but rn I'd like not to doxx myself lol) It's hella homey and I LOVE all the animals here; they have 4 dogs and 2 cats who are all my besties now. (I've never been a big pet person and now I want one)