#anyways i want my shoulders to stop existing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

100vern · 8 months ago

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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

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol angst #seungcheol au #scoups angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #jewel writes

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zweigsangel · 5 months ago

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matt shutting yapper! reader up w kisses

it was a lazy saturday afternoon, the kind of day perfect for doing absolutely nothing. the two of you were sprawled out on the couch, a half-eaten bag of chips on the coffee table and some random show playing on the tv that neither of you were really watching.

you were mid-rant, your hands flying as you recounted a story about the lady at the coffee shop who had apparently ordered the most complicated drink in existence.

“and i’m standing there, matt, just trying to get my iced coffee, and she’s like, ‘no foam, no whip, but extra oat milk—like, what does that even mean?’ and the barista looked like he was about to cry—”

matt hummed in response, but his eyes weren’t on the tv. he was watching you, his lips twitching in amusement at how animated you got when you were talking about something that fired you up.

“—and then she had the audacity to ask for it in a different cup, like, who even does that? i mean, if you’re gonna—”

“babe,” he interrupted softly, a little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

you barely paused, your hands gesturing wildly as you kept going. “—if you’re gonna make it that complicated, maybe just make it at home, right? like, it’s not that hard to—”

“babe,” he said again, a little louder this time, leaning closer.

you blinked, finally catching the way he was looking at you, his head tilted slightly and his smile growing. “what?”

“nothing,” he said, his voice warm and soft. “you’re just… really cute when you get like this.”

“like what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes in mock offense.

“like a total yapper,” he teased, his grin widening.

you gasped, swatting at his arm. “i am not a yapper!”

“uh-huh,” he said, catching your hand before you could smack him again. “you totally are. but it’s fine. i love it.”

“well, good, because i was gonna—”

he cut you off by leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, his free hand cupping your cheek as he kissed you softly but firmly. your words trailed off into a muffled sound of surprise, your body melting into his as his thumb brushed lightly against your jaw.

when he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your eyes wide as you stared at him.

“what was that for?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

he grinned, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “just wanted to see if it worked.”

“if what worked?”

“if i could shut you up with a kiss,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “you’re ridiculous.”

“yeah,” he said, still grinning. “but it worked, didn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get a word out, he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his lap with ease, settling you so you were straddling him.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a little breathless as your hands landed on his shoulders.

“don’t stop,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. “keep talking.”

you started to say something, but he kissed you mid-word, swallowing your voice with his lips. every time you tried to get a sentence out, he kissed you again, softer, slower, more insistent, until you were laughing against his mouth.

“matt, i can’t—”

“sure you can,” he teased, his hands on your waist as he grinned up at you. “keep going. i like hearing you talk.”

“you’re the worst,” you said, laughing even as he leaned in for another kiss.

“yeah,” he whispered against your lips, his grin softening into something sweeter. “but you love me anyway.”

and as much as you wanted to argue, you couldn’t—because he was absolutely right.

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolos #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #yapper x listener

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keeryhours · 5 months ago

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an heir for an emperor - emperor geta

Emperor Geta x Empress! female! reader

Masterlist

Emperor Geta Masterlist

Summary:

The Emperor wants an heir.

part 2 out now!

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), major breeding kink, porn no plot

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N:

This is inspired by a character letter I got that I can’t stop thinking about. If this is historically incorrect I’m so sorry, I’m just horny as hell for this man.

—

It had been three blissful months of marriage with Geta.

The ruthless emperor was something different when he was alone with you. A side of him no one else was privileged to see. He was soft, affectionate, eyes only for you.

He knew you didn’t care for the bloodshed of the games, but he loved having you accompany him all the same. He would distract you when things got to be too much, holding your hand and even turning his attention away from the spectacle to comfort you if you needed it.

He couldn’t show his soft side in public often, but his love and adoration for you was obvious.

You enjoyed the finer things in life. You loved to attend the theatre, the plays and displays of beautiful music. Music was your favorite thing, and you loved to sing. Your singing voice was of the angels, as Geta would say, and oh how he loved to make you sing.

One thing both you and Geta were looking forward to was producing an heir. You had always wanted a family. You had felt the call of motherhood since you were a child, dreaming of the day you would marry and bear children. You hadn’t even fathomed of being an Empress, however.

You came from a rich family, and always knew you would marry highly, but Geta had been unexpected. The second he laid eyes on you, he knew you were to be his. You had no choice in the matter, but you would have chosen him a million times over anyway.

He had planned a romantic weekend getaway for the two of you alone, in one of his villas outside of the city. Leaving Rome in the hands of his brother and the Senate wasn’t ideal, but he wanted the chance to spend time with his beloved without interruption.

“You look divine, Carissima,” Geta remarked in adoration, his hands roaming the fabric of your tunic, gaze hungry. He pulled the fabric higher, lifting it up and over your body. “You will provide me with the most perfect heir.”

Naked before him, your nipples peaked among the cool air on your body, Geta dipping his head to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked on it, tongue running over the sensitive bud. You moaned, hand resting on the back of his head. He moved to the other, giving it equal attention.

He lay you gently down on the bed, before removing his own clothing and moving over top of you. His crown still sat atop his ginger locks, and he looked as regal as ever, bared to you and cock achingly hard, all for you.

“I never imagined I would have such a luminous beauty as my wife,” he hummed, lips trailing along the skin of your neck. “Never could I have imagined a beauty like yours existed. You are sent from the gods themselves.”

“As are you, my beloved,” you said, eyes falling closed at the feeling of your husband’s lips upon your body. “You are more than I ever could have hoped for.”

Geta smiled tenderly, before pressing his lips to yours. You kissed him back eagerly, hands sliding around his shoulders. His skin was warm beneath your palms, your innocent touch making him impossibly harder against your thigh. His tongue slid across your bottom lip, and you let him inside, tongues dancing together.

He rested his weight on one arm while the other roamed the soft skin of your side, making you shiver beneath his touch. “Magnificent,” he remarked purely to himself. “Beautiful.”

He pulled away from you, sitting on his knees as he spread your legs for his view. You took in the visage of your Emperor before you, looking regal as ever as he gazed down at your core like it was his next meal.

“Just a taste, Carissima, before I fill you,” he said, moving down between your legs. You gasped as you felt his tongue against your pussy, licking up to your clit, where he sucked gently, causing your back to arch off the bed.

“Geta-!”

He hummed in appreciation, a smirk felt against you as he continued to devour you, lapping up all your slick like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. You moaned loudly - no one would be able to hear you here, you were in Geta’s private villa far from the bustle of the city. It was the most uninhibited you had felt as you let the proof of how good your Emperor made you feel fill the air.

“That’s it, my love, sing for me,” Geta praised you, before dipping his tongue into your hole, driving you mad. You grabbed onto his hair as you felt your orgasm approaching, needing to hold onto something. Geta chuckled lowly as he grabbed onto your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide for him.

“I’m…I’m…”

“I know, darling, let go for me,” He said, moving back up to pay special attention to your clit once more. The harsh suck he left on the sensitive bud sent you over the edge, and you were cumming hard, grinding against his face as he moaned and eagerly licked up all you gave him.

When he rose from between your legs, his mouth and chin glistened with your wetness. He looked absolutely sinful. He wrapped his hand around his cock, rings glittering on his fingers. He pumped himself a few times as he looked down at your already-wrecked body.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed so deeply, my love. Over and over again until it takes, until I get to see your belly round and full with my heir.”

You wanted that more than anything, the idea making your heart race in your chest. You felt his tip prodding at your entrance, and he leaned over your body again as he pushed inside.

It had only been three months, so you were still getting used to the intrusion of him when you’d lay together like this. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers digging into the strong muscle of his biceps.

“You can take it, my love. So good for me - gods, so tight and hot.” He began a slow pace, mindful of letting you adjust to the size of him. He groaned beautifully as he began thrusting into you, and you were struck with how lucky you were to see your Emperor like this, so open and vulnerable, face contorted in pleasure because of you.

“Are you ready for me to move faster?” he asked, voice strained from holding back his true desire. The Emperor pleaded with no one, but his eyes told a different story.

“Yes, please,” you breathed, now that the pain has faded you wanted, needed more. “Please, Geta, need you to fill me.”

Geta groaned loudly, hips stuttering against you as he picked up his pace. He was truly fucking you now, left hand gripping your hip to hold you where he wanted you as he pounded into you. “I will do just that, Carissima, fill you so deeply with my heir. I wish to see you, glowing and beautiful with child. I will hold games in your honor.”

He pressed his lips to yours once again, kissing you deeply, showing you just how much he loved you with his body. Between the feeling of his glorious cock pressing deeply inside of you, pressing against that perfect spot he reached every time.

“You are magnificent,” he moaned, regal head thrown back on his shoulders, muscles clenching as he fought off his release. “Divine. Miraculous. All mine.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you writhed beneath his movements, and he moved his free hand to caress the side of your face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, my Emperor,” you said, returning all the affection in his gaze.

“Need to feel you cum for me, my love,” he said, hips picking up speed as his own release approached rapidly. He moved to grip your thigh around his waist, moving into you at a new angle that had you seeing stars.

You cried out as your second orgasm hit, and Geta smiled cockily, knowing he was the only one who could bring you such pleasure, the only one privileged to see you like this, falling apart on his cock for him.

“Oh gods, Geta, yes-!”

“That’s it, my love, let me hear you,” Geta rasped out, his own release hitting him seconds later. “Take me, my beloved, take all of my seed! Gods yes, let me fill you, take it all,” he rambled on as he shot ropes of his hot cum deep inside you, pushing in as deep as possible to not waste a drop.

He stayed buried inside you as you both caught your breath. His strong chest was heaving with his heavy breaths, and he tenderly combed his fingers through your hair, looking at you with such love it made your heart stutter in your chest.

When he pulled out, he looked between your legs, gathering up his release that had spilled out of you with his fingers and pressing it back inside. “Cannot afford to waste a drop, Carissima,” he told you with a smile.

You giggled, totally blissed out from the pleasure he had just provided you. He lay his naked body on the bed next to you, resting his hand on your stomach.

“I truly cannot wait to see you carrying my heir,” he mused quietly, fingers rubbing circles into the skin of your abdomen, as if he were picturing it. “Our child.”

“Neither can I,” you told him, a blissful smile on your face.

“I would do this over and over again, as many times as it takes.”

You laughed, snuggling against the side of your Emperor. “I know you would.” You hummed, fingers trailing over the taut skin of his muscular chest. “I love you.”

“And I you, my beloved.”

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tossawary · 2 months ago

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The fun thing about Luo Binghe potentially NOT being pushed into the Endless Abyss at the Immortal Alliance Conference, imo, is that he's still a forcibly outed heavenly demon stuck in the middle of the cultivation world after a deadly invasion. There are so many different fun ways to play it.

So, Shen Yuan groggily wakes up and the first thing he sees is that traitorous asshole Shang Qinghua's relieved face and disheveled appearance. Ugh. And then first thing that the An Ding Peak Lord says is: "Wow, and I thought the System hated my ass. It had it OUT for you, bro."

What the fuck.

At which point, Shen Yuan sits bolt upright because what the hell happened? The last thing he remembers is not moving, the weight of the sword in his hand, the thunder of his heart in his ears, not being able to go through with it, hoping against all reason that this was all some sort of sick test and that the System wouldn't really-

"Where's Binghe?" Shen Yuan demands.

Shang Qinghua winces. "About that..."

And Shen Yuan's heart falls because Binghe ended up in the Endless Abyss anyway, obviously. There were apparently two transmigrators all along and neither of them could truly change the story.

"He got arrested for your murder and the invasion of the conference," Shang Qinghua says, scratching the back of his neck. "It was ugly. So ugly. I probably would have died if Liu Qingge hadn't shown up to put him down. The Palace Master is saying that this is obviously revenge for Tianlang-Jun's sealing and Yue Qingyuan has pretty much stopped talking-"

"What."

"Oh, you were super dead, bro, and the protagonist freaked the fuck out. I was there, so he started yelling about why I hadn't done something, irrational with grief and all that, it was pretty scary."

And Shen Yuan can see how a surprise heavenly demon kid would get blamed for his shizun's death and the invasion of the conference. There's nothing that any drama likes better than an innocent person somehow caught red-handed in the middle of an inexplicable disaster.

"Wait, the invasion IS your fault!" Shen Yuan says, pointing an accusatory finger. He feels like shit still, but his righteous, trembling anger is going mostly in the right direction. "Why didn't you speak up-?"

"What, and I was going to admit to that in front of all of those peak lords and sect leaders? Get off my dick, bro."

"I meant blame Mobei-Jun!"

"Oh, yeah. They'd made up their minds, though! And shit got really violent really quickly! Liu Qingge is still itching to kill someone here, you know. Ask yourself why you're not still dead first, huh?"

That's an annoyingly good question. And Shang Qinghua annoyingly answers himself without waiting for an input.

"You're so fucking lucky that I've been here for like forty years now and I have so many useless points. Enough to pay off YOUR debt! They can be transferred, apparently? Be grateful! Anyway, I don't want the vengeful protagonist thinking that I hold any blame whatsoever in you fainting to death there, even if he is locked up in the Water Prison right now, so don't say I did nothing for you, got it?"

"...He's WHERE?!"

"Water Prison. He's going to be put on bullshit trial for the Immortal Alliance Conference and also for existing as a heavenly demon. Keep up, bro. Also," Shang Qinghua says with an urgent look over his shoulder, "you have to back me up when I try to explain to Mu Qingfang and Huang Qingheng that you were only mostly dead, they must have missed something, and I was just hanging around paying my respects when you miraculously recovered. I don't know anything! Ready to go?"

"No."

"Well, that fucking sucks for you. Let's go!"

#tossawary svsss #binghe doesn't go into the abyss au #shen yuan #shang qinghua #fic ideas #spoilers #character death

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telephoniii · 2 months ago

Note

hello!! idk if you accept requests, but i randomly thought of octavinelle trio with a reader who's also from the sea like them and on land they're a total sweetheart, upbeat and doesn't give off the vibe of scariness at all, but the trio know that they're actually pretty scary! Cuz back in the sea they were an orca or something (like. sweet but theyre actually scary is my vision) if the octotrio is too much then is just floyd ok?? Sorry for yapping too much AHHH ur work is so great ty for writing so much 🙏🙏

THE DEVIL IN DISGUISE

☆彡 in which you’re scarier than you seem

word counter: 180 per character

octavinelle boys x gn!reader

warnings: possible ooc, light bullying? (jade & floyd)

a/n: i love these boys, but they’re all pricks. lovable pricks. on another note, i think i’m going to officially open requests. i have a few that i’m working on and i’ve been having a lot of fun with them. they’re also nice for when it gets busy and I don’t have a lot of time to brainstorm ideas to write myself. anyway, i hope you enjoy :>

floyd leech

He thinks you are the CUTEST thing in existence. You're so fun! So squeezable! Floyd thinks that your switch in personality from land to sea only adds to how adorable you are. He is fully aware of your scary side, yet it only motivates him to tease and mock you more. On land, he'll try to sneak up behind you in the hallways. If you don't catch this man? He's picking you up, squeezing you, and twirling you around. Azul has told him to stop several times. Jade just wants to see you snap at Floyd, so he never interferes. If you do catch and stop him? He's pouting for the rest of the day while plotting his revenge. Everyone's going to assume Floyd's just picking on the helpless classmate who's too nice to do anything back. But he knows it's a facade. Which is exactly why he goes harder on you than anyone else. Riddle is PRAYING for you.

jade leech

You and him are similar in a way. Except he hides his true nature less well. Jade is quick to catch on and finds it extremely amusing. He wants to see how far this act of yours will hold up, meaning he's purposely putting you in situations that'd aggravate you. All while he wears an innocent smile. He takes up the role of a devil on your shoulder in a way. Jade is constantly trying to tempt you into revealing more and more of your scary side in front of others. Calling him out on this won't do you much good either since he's playing a similar game to you. He'll just give you that dashing smile of his and claim he has no idea what you're referring to. If you get caught up in trouble with other students, run out of your land potion way too quickly, get involved in an argument, etc, more often than not you'll find Jade somewhere nearby smiling at you. And something about that grin tells you he defiantly pulled some strings to make your life just a little bit harder.

azul ashengrotto

He's the only one out of the three who's slightly intimidated by you. But even then, it's less fear and more intrigue. Azul wants to pick your brain. Do you switch from sweet to scary on purpose? If so, why? What're you trying to gain from doing so? He'll do little things to let you know that he's well aware of your true nature. It won't be anything drastic like Jade, just little, snide comments here and there with a smug look. Azul has offered you so many job opportunities at the Monstro Lounge. A personality like yours is way too good for business. He actually holds you to a pretty high regard and isn't afraid to tell you that, calling you his 'star pupil' when you work for him. Azul tries to be close to you a lot. Is he plotting to make a deal with you? Most likely. He's trying to get your guard down so you're more likely to agree to whatever he wants to do with you. Your unique personality could be a great Joker card if he ever needs it.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x you #twst x yuu #twst x you #floyd leech x reader #jade leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #floyd leech x yuu #jade leech x yuu #azul ashengrotto x yuu #floyd x reader #jade x reader #azul x reader

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lonely-cowboy · 1 year ago

Note

HEY HEY CAN I REQUEST ANYTHING FLUFFY W CONNOR X FEM READER

YOU WORK IS SO GOODDD

MY DARLINGS FORGIVE ME

requests started coming in hot right as i started my midterms so pls forgive me for taking so long to get through my requests (which i'm loving btw i'm so excited to get to all of them)

with that being said i'll stop yapping and let you read in peace

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

framed

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: you're very confused when you find a photograph of yourself on connor's desk.

word count: 1k

warnings: none

author's note: i said i'm done yapping and i mean it i have nothing to say. (except i do wanna say this was inspired by the person that said my connor was very you are in love coded bc that made me happy and got me thinking)

masterlist ⟡ requests

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“What do androids do in their free time, anyway?”

“Plot against humanity? I dunno.”

Hank’s laugh came out in a quiet huff, one that indicated he didn’t think your answer was too far from the truth.

You had come into the precinct hoping to interview Hank and Connor on their latest investigation surrounding a human cult determined to wipe out every single android. As head journalist for the Detroit Free Press, you were desperate to get word before everyone else. And as Connor’s friend, you were sure you could sweet-talk it out of him.

But when you got to the precinct, Connor was, strangely, nowhere to be found. Usually, he trailed behind Hank like a lost puppy, but not even Hank knew of Connor’s whereabouts. His unusual absence only led to conversations about what the hell an android could be doing on his lonesome. Neither of you had any clue.

“Have a seat, kid,” Hank offered, nudging his chin over to Connor’s desk. “You know he’d feel bad if you were standin’ around waiting for him.”

Rounding the table, you took a seat in Connor’s chair. You sat stiffly with your hands atop your thighs, the exact same way Connor would. The realization made you chuckle softly to yourself. Even when he wasn’t here, his presence always made itself known in the subtlest of ways.

Your eyes wandered across Connor’s desk, noticing that it was relatively barren. Hank’s desk was littered with mementos– old donut boxes, Detroit Gears merchandise, anti-android propaganda that he’d crumpled up and intended to trash. But Connor’s desk was plain and organized. A single blue pen sat exactly parallel to his recent case file that had been neatly folded. On top of his case file was a quarter like the one he always fidgeted with. You wondered idly how many quarters he had lying around, having never seen him without one. But the only belonging of actual interest was a picture frame right beside his terminal.

Your brows furrowed as your gaze latched onto the photograph. You were staring directly at a picture of yourself.

Believing it to be a trick of the light, you reached for the picture frame and brought it closer. Sure enough, it was you.

You stared at a version of yourself who was mid-laugh. You could almost hear your own laughter ringing in your ears. It was that genuine kind of laughter, you knew. The kind that was an obnoxious cackle you always wanted to hide. Why on earth would Connor have a picture like that framed?

Come to think of it, where did Connor even get this picture? You didn’t recognize it at all. You couldn’t even place where it was taken. There were zero clues in the photograph as you were the only focus. Nothing else, just you.

You were about to ask Hank about it when a voice over your shoulder startled you, “I really like that picture.”

An inhuman yelp escaped your lips as you spun around in Connor’s chair. You found him looking down at you with a pleasant smile, not even remotely embarrassed to be caught having a photo of you.

“Why… what even… what?” you stammered.

Connor cocked his head curiously, waiting for you to get your words out. But you couldn’t. You were so utterly confused that your brain couldn’t remember a single word in existence. You just stared at Connor with a gaping mouth, holding the picture up for his viewing pleasure.

When you didn’t say anything, Connor’s eyebrows furrowed for only a moment before easing. An endearing habit of his that made your heart flutter. He definitely was not helping you find the right words.

“I’d like to clear your confusion as best I can, but… I’m afraid I don’t understand its cause,” Connor said gently.

From behind, you heard Hank’s quiet snort. He wasn’t helping either.

“Well… Connor,” you started slowly like you were gradually putting the puzzle pieces together. No matter how hard you tried, the pieces weren’t fitting. “Why do you have a picture of me?”

The corners of his lips raised into a small grin, his hands moving to clasp in front of him. You knew this stance to mean he was about to tell a story.

“I asked Lieutenant Anderson about the keepsakes on his desk. I was curious as to why these particular items were objects of significance and what classified them as such,” Connor explained cheerfully. “As I recall, he said ‘I don’t know, they’re just alright, I guess.’ Perhaps my interpretation was incorrect, but I took that to mean those items made him happy.”

Connor’s smile widened slightly. That meant he was finished. He didn’t clear any of your confusion.

“Okay…?” you prompted.

“I wanted to do something similar. I thought it could help me accommodate to deviancy, so I decided to surround myself with things that make me happy.”

Your mouth clamped shut as your confused look turned to one of shock. You were almost sure you hadn’t heard him right, but another laugh (hidden behind a cough) from Hank made you confident that you had.

“I… make you happy?” you clarified.

“Yes,” Connor answered curtly. There was another long pause as you waited for Connor to continue. He seemed to get the hint by now, elaborating further. “I always enjoy your company. I look forward to seeing you when we have scheduled plans. This wasn’t a scheduled visit, so I was pleased to see you were here. It made me smile. Seeing you makes me smile.”

With all his talk of smiling, you couldn’t help cracking one of your own. Seeing your smile made Connor brighten.

“Like that,” he said. “If I could photograph and frame you right now, I would.”

You were so giddy with affection that you couldn’t help but laugh. You had never known Connor to be so poetic with his words.

“You know, Connor,” you said with careless laughter. “I came here to sweet-talk you into an interview for the Press. But here you are sweet-talking me.”

Connor looked pleased with himself, standing a little straighter. “I hope that made you smile.”

“It certainly did.”

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

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shy9-29 · 12 days ago

Text

❜ THE QUIET BETWEEN US ◟ 양정원

“sunshine x grumpy” - enhypen campus series

✘ Jungwon’s bright smile and sunny disposition make him the perfect foil to your grumpy attitude—until a sudden twist of fate forces you both to face feelings you didn’t know existed. ✉️ wc. 10.2k - pairing 양정원 x f reader (5/7)

🏷️ @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @gyulune @zerere @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @bloomiize @flwwon @ziiao @heelovver @hoomin10 @soona-huh @tricky-ritz @starniras @dearestdreamies @tkooooop @xuevkim @deluluscenarios @starboy-library @melodiessvy @steddie-steddie @i-am-not-dal @nct-sticker-127 @elimelbe @wonbinceps @tunafishyfishylike @kitty-won07 @sxie-txt

The campus café buzzed with low chatter, espresso machines hissing, and the occasional clink of cutlery. You stood stiffly by the counter, arms crossed, glaring at your brother like this was the last place on Earth you wanted to be. Which, to be fair, it was.

“This is dumb,” you mumbled. “I didn’t even ask to be introduced to anyone.”

Sunghoon, forever calm and unreadable, simply ignored your protests and nudged your shoulder. “She’s been asking to meet you.”

“Cool,” you deadpanned. “Tell her I said hi.”

But it was too late. A blur of pastel and energy bounded toward you, ponytail bouncing and cheeks flushed. She practically skidded to a stop in front of you, a smoothie in one hand and a cookie in the other.

“Hi! Oh my gosh, you must be Y/N!” she chirped, eyes wide with excitement.

You blinked, then gave Sunghoon the what the hell is this look.

He sighed, giving you a subtle nod. “Y/N, this is my girlfriend.”

She beamed. “Wow. He wasn’t kidding. You really are the same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Same?”

“Yeah! All moody and mysterious. Like, no offense, but you two look like you walk through thunderstorms for fun,” she said, biting her cookie casually. “It’s kinda cute.”

You stared.

Sunghoon sighed. “I told you not to say that.”

“But it’s true!” she giggled, leaning against Sunghoon like he was her favorite pillow. “You even frown the same way. Look.”

She scrunched her brows, mocking your unimpressed expression. You couldn’t help it—you snorted. Just once. Barely.

She gasped. “Did I just make you laugh? Or was that a cough?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

But she didn’t seem offended. If anything, her smile grew bigger. “You’re so grumpy. I love it. You’re like a cat someone tried to dress in a tutu.”

Sunghoon let out a breathy chuckle, and you turned to glare at him, betrayed.

“She’s been like this since she got here,” he said to his girlfriend. “Moved from Busan, acts like Seoul’s a crime against humanity.”

“Because it is,” you muttered. “Too many people. Too many couples. Too much sun.”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend was practically vibrating now. “Wait—you’re from Busan? That makes so much sense. You totally have the accent when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

She grinned knowingly. “Okay.”

You looked away, sipping your drink just to have an excuse not to answer. Sunghoon watched you with that usual quiet amusement, like he was used to your walls but also knew they weren’t as tall as you pretended.

“Anyway,” his girlfriend said, pulling out her phone, “I’m putting you in the group chat. The one with the rest of the girlfriends.”

Your eyes widened. “What? No.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “You should. Jay’s girlfriend is in it. So is Jake’s.”

“Oh my god, and Jungwon!” she added. “You haven’t met Jungwon yet, right? You’ll love him. He’s sunshine in human form. Literally the opposite of you. You’ll hate him. And then you’ll love him.”

You shook your head. “Please don’t.”

But she was already typing. Sunghoon looked away to hide his smile, and for a moment, you considered throwing your drink at both of them.

And yet, despite yourself… a tiny part of you didn’t hate this as much as you thought you would.

You leaned back in your chair, picking at the sleeve of your hoodie as your brother quietly scrolled through his phone. The late afternoon sun poured through the campus café windows, golden and warm, but you were too busy sulking to care.

“So,” you started, voice flat, “do all of your friends have girlfriends now or what?”

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Pretty much.”

You scoffed. “What is this? Some campus-wide boyfriend recruitment initiative I missed?”

He side-eyed you. “You sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” you snapped. “I’m just… observing. Like you always do.”

He hummed, which was the closest thing to a laugh you’d get out of him. You turned slightly in your seat to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend across the café. She was chatting animatedly with Jay’s girlfriend and giggling about something that involved a lot of hand gestures. You watched her for a second—so bright, so loud, so much.

You wrinkled your nose. “What’s so special about her, anyway? She’s so loud.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he finally looked up from his phone and met your eyes.

“That’s what I thought at first,” he said, voice quieter now, more sincere. “But… I don’t know. She’s different.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Different how?”

“She makes everything feel lighter,” he said simply. “Like I don’t have to say anything and she still gets me. She’s chaos, but somehow it makes everything clearer.”

You blinked, surprised by how genuine he sounded. He wasn’t usually the type to say much about his feelings, let alone this kind of stuff.

You scoffed again, more defensive this time, and took a loud sip of your drink. “Ugh. I don’t like seeing you when you’re in love. It’s weird. Gross. I hate it.”

Sunghoon smirked and leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting across the café toward her again.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

The café was bustling with soft chatter, silverware clinking, and the occasional burst of laughter. You were already halfway through your iced Americano when the bell above the door jingled.

Your eyes flicked up just in time to see a familiar face walk in—tousled hair, clean-cut uniform, a soft frown like he’d already had a long day. Jungwon.

You blinked. “Wait, is that—?”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend practically bounced out of her seat, waving him over. “Wonie! Over here!”

You turned slowly to your brother, suspicion rising in your chest. “You invited him?”

Sunghoon shook his head with a deadpan expression. “I didn’t.”

His girlfriend was already scooting over, making room next to you on the bench. Jungwon hesitated, then offered a polite nod and slid in beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft but clear. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

You glanced at him, trying not to seem flustered. “Yeah, me neither.”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend leaned toward your brother and whispered into his ear with a mischievous grin, “See? Don’t they look perfect together?”

Sunghoon recoiled immediately, his whole face twisting. “I don’t wanna picture my sister and my friend together,” he muttered under his breath, disgusted.

She just giggled, clearly satisfied with herself, while Sunghoon groaned into his drink and refused to look in either of your directions.

You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the way Jungwon’s leg brushed against yours under the table. He didn’t move away, and neither did you.

“Sorry if this is weird,” Jungwon said after a moment, glancing sideways at you, then quickly looking away. “Didn’t know they’d both plot behind our backs.”

You let out a soft scoff. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

From across the table, Sunghoon’s girlfriend was humming to herself while stabbing a piece of cake with her fork, clearly proud of her little matchmaking scheme. Sunghoon, on the other hand, was sinking further into his seat with every passing second.

“So…” Jungwon started again, trying for casual, “how are you liking Seoul so far?”

“It’s… different,” you answered, folding your arms. “Too fast. Too loud.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is. But not all of it’s bad, right?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess not.”

Your eyes flicked up just in time to catch your brother watching the two of you with a narrowed gaze. You raised a brow at him.

“What?” you asked, tone sharp.

He blinked. “Nothing. Just… watching you flirt.”

You nearly choked. “I’m not flirting—”

Jungwon, ever so collected, only smiled faintly and looked down at his drink, a soft pink coloring the tips of his ears.

“I swear, if you try to date one of my friends,” Sunghoon muttered, pointing a finger at you, “I will transfer schools.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered under your breath.

But then you glanced back at Jungwon, who was still smiling, looking perfectly content with how the conversation was going. You couldn’t help the sarcastic edge that slipped into your voice. “Especially someone like him.”

It wasn’t meant to be as harsh as it came out. But when you saw the way his smile faltered, the subtle hurt flickering in his eyes, your heart did an unexpected twist. You hadn’t meant to hurt him—yet, there it was, hanging in the air between you.

Sunghoon nudged you roughly with his elbow, a sharp look in his eyes.

“Careful,” he warned in a low voice.

You flushed and immediately looked away, suddenly feeling guilty. Jungwon’s expression had gone unreadable, and you could practically hear the thoughts swirling in his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you mumbled, softening your tone, “sorry.”

Jungwon didn’t say anything right away, just gave a small nod. His usual confident demeanor was replaced with something quieter, more distant.

The tension at the table had definitely shifted, but you didn’t know how to fix it.

Sunghoon just sighed, looking between you two. “Can you two stop making it weird?” he muttered under his breath, though it was more for your benefit than anyone else’s.

His girlfriend, ever the optimist, grinned and fed him a bite of cake. “It’s okay. They’re both just shy. But they’ll work it out.”

You barely heard her, though, because your thoughts were focused on the look in Jungwon’s eyes.

Sunghoon and his girlfriend were in their own little world, laughing and exchanging little inside jokes, completely oblivious to how their playful banter was making everyone else at the table squirm.

“I swear, if you ever stop smiling like that, I’ll—” His girlfriend’s voice was light and teasing, but Sunghoon only smiled softly, clearly used to her rambles.

“You’ll what?” Sunghoon asked, nudging her playfully.

“Make you watch another one of those romantic movies you love so much,” she threatened, a bright grin lighting up her face.

“Ah, anything but that,” he teased back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m practically drowning in romance.”

His girlfriend only laughed and reached over to adjust his glasses, and Sunghoon simply let her, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. The exchange was so natural, so effortlessly affectionate that it felt almost like they were living in their own bubble, too caught up in their little world to notice anyone else around them.

“Ugh, get a room, you two,” you muttered under your breath, not at all interested in hearing about how “adorable” they were being.

Jungwon chuckled awkwardly, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “So, uh… what’s your favorite thing to do around here? Any hidden spots in the city I should know about?”

You barely looked at him, instead fiddling with the straw in your drink, the sound of Sunghoon and his girlfriend’s laughter making your ears buzz. You really didn’t feel like talking, not when the couple next to you was being so… couple-y.

You shrugged, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the table. “I don’t know. Just the usual stuff. I’m not really one for sightseeing.”

Jungwon pressed on, clearly not giving up yet. “But surely there’s something fun you’ve found? You seem like you’d know the best places to hang out.”

You let out a small, dismissive sigh, leaning back in your chair. “I’m really not interested in showing you around, Jungwon.”

Sunghoon’s girlfriend was still on her own tangent, going on about something utterly trivial while Sunghoon nodded along, his smile barely faltering as he glanced back at you and Jungwon.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You’re being awfully quiet today,” she said in her bright, ever-optimistic voice.

You tried to force a smile, but it was tight, and you could feel your irritation simmering just under the surface. “I’m fine,” you muttered. “Just… tired.”

Jungwon seemed a bit taken aback by your mood but didn’t press it further, instead focusing back on his drink. Meanwhile, Sunghoon and his girlfriend were still wrapped up in their own bubble of cute moments, exchanging playful glances and quiet words that only seemed to make the atmosphere feel even more suffocating.

You didn’t understand how they could be so effortlessly happy, so comfortable with each other. Sunghoon was always so calm, so distant to everyone, but with her, he was… different.

“Don’t you think they’re a bit much?” you muttered under your breath, barely audible, but enough for Jungwon to hear.

Jungwon hesitated, looking between you and the couple before shrugging. “Maybe,” he said carefully, “but if they’re happy, then what’s the harm?”

“Right,” you muttered, trying to hide the bitterness creeping into your voice. “Good for them.”

Jungwon gave you a sideways glance, his smile a little more unsure now. “You seem really upset. Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, feeling the discomfort in your chest grow. “No. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jungwon seemed to understand that you weren’t in the mood for more conversation, but his quiet attempts to make small talk were starting to feel more forced as the minutes dragged on. Meanwhile, Sunghoon and his girlfriend’s voices only grew louder, completely lost in their own happiness as they continued their affectionate back-and-forth.

You felt a twinge of jealousy. You hadn’t been able to experience that kind of closeness or affection with anyone—certainly not with Jungwon, and not with anyone else before. It irritated you how easily Sunghoon seemed to slip into that comfortable, happy state with his girlfriend, making you wonder if you could ever find something like that yourself.

But for now, you were stuck here, watching them, and avoiding any attempts at real conversation from Jungwon.

As Sunghoon and his girlfriend stood up from the bench, her hands instinctively finding his as they gathered their stuff, she glanced one more time at where you and Jungwon sat—him politely sipping his drink, you staring pointedly at anything that wasn’t him.

“We should get going,” she murmured to Sunghoon. “Didn’t you say you had that meeting thing later?”

Sunghoon nodded, throwing one last glance toward you before gently tugging his girlfriend toward the exit. The two of them walked side by side down the garden path, the sunlight catching in her hair and the breeze tugging at the sleeves of Sunghoon’s hoodie.

Once they were a little out of earshot, his girlfriend turned to him, voice low and curious. “So… is your sister always like that?”

Sunghoon sighed through his nose, glancing over his shoulder before answering. “Yeah. Especially around people who are in love.”

His girlfriend blinked, then tilted her head, genuinely concerned. “Why? Is she, like… bitter about it or something?”

Sunghoon hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not really supposed to be telling you this,” he muttered. “But someone she really loved cheated on her. Like, full-on betrayed her. She’s never really been the same after that.”

His girlfriend’s eyes softened. “Oh…”

“And the other half of it?” he added, smiling faintly. “She’s like me. She keeps things in. But instead of being quiet and polite about it, she turns into a little grump.”

They both laughed softly at that, their steps in sync as they neared the sidewalk.

“But I mean…” she nudged him lightly, a playful glint in her eye. “What about Jungwon? I don’t know—don’t they look kinda cute together?”

Sunghoon groaned immediately, dragging a hand over his face. “Babe, please. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“What?” she laughed, looping her arm through his. “I’m just saying! Come on, they just met, but—”

“They just met in person today,” he emphasized. “They don’t even know each other.”

“Exactly! That’s how it starts!”

Sunghoon gave her a dry look. “You’re lucky I like you.”

She giggled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I know. And I know love when I see it, Hoon. Trust me.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the slightest upward tug. “Just don’t play matchmaker. I don’t think either of them would survive it.”

“Noted,” she grinned. “But if they fall in love on their own, I will say ‘I told you so.’”

Sunghoon groaned again, tugging her along as they disappeared down the street. First day of school and you already wanted to go home.

Everything about the campus felt off—too bright, too noisy, too… full of people smiling for no reason. Sunghoon’s girlfriend had insisted on showing you around, practically skipping through the corridors like this was her favorite place in the world. You trailed behind her like a raincloud, unimpressed by every building she pointed out.

“And this is the student center! Oh, and that’s the little garden where Sunghoon and I first—”

“Don’t care,” you muttered, eyes flicking away.

She just laughed, clearly used to your deadpan tone by now. “You’re going to love it here. Promise.”

You already knew you wouldn’t.

By lunch, you were desperately scanning the cafeteria for any possible corner to disappear into. You even spotted an empty table by the window—peace, solitude, the dream. But before you could escape, Sunghoon materialized out of nowhere and threw an arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said flatly. “Sit with us.”

“I’d rather swallow a fork.”

His grip tightened just slightly. “Let’s go.”

So now you were here, wedged between your brother and an empty chair, staring blankly at the loudest table on campus. Jake and his girlfriend were whispering and giggling over some inside joke. Jay’s girlfriend was mid-rant about something academic while Jay leaned back smugly, looking like he invented confidence. Heeseung was playfully bickering with his girlfriend over bubble tea flavors. Jungwon sat across from you, awkward and quiet, stealing glances your way like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite.

You glanced sideways at Sunghoon.

He glanced at you.

Same expression. Blank. Mildly judging. Deeply unimpressed.

The only sound from your side of the table was the soft tap of chopsticks and synchronized sighs.

Sunoo blinked at the two of you from across the table and dramatically clutched his chest.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “That’s actually kind of terrifying. You two look like serial killers at brunch.”

Jake snorted into his drink. “No, for real. Why are y’all staring like that?”

Sunghoon answered without even blinking. “We’re trying to understand how you all function.”

You didn’t say anything. Just raised a brow, slowly picking at your food.

Jungwon coughed into his hand. “So… do you like the school so far?”

You didn’t even bother looking at him. “No.”

Silence fell over that end of the table while everyone else resumed their conversations. You and Sunghoon returned to your synchronized eating and judging.

Sunoo whispered to Jake, “This is my favorite horror movie.”

Jake nodded. “Same.”

Jungwon tried again.

“So, um…” he said, shifting a little in his seat. “What did you study back in Busan?”

You didn’t even lift your head. “Stuff.”

Sunghoon barely held in a snort beside you, and Jungwon let out a quiet breath like he’d just been elbowed in the ribs.

Jake, ever the peacekeeper, tried to help. “She’s just shy, bro. Takes a while to warm up.”

“I’m not shy,” you muttered. “I just don’t feel like talking.”

Sunoo’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “She’s like if Wednesday Addams and a sleep-deprived cat had a baby.”

You finally looked up at him with the blankest stare you could muster. “I will replace your shampoo with glue.”

Sunoo gasped, scandalized. “Sunghoon, your sister threatened me!”

“She does that,” he said calmly, sipping from his drink.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon’s girlfriend was busy telling Heeseung’s girlfriend about a new nail salon when her gaze flicked to you and Jungwon again. She nudged Sunghoon under the table.

He blinked. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I did. And it’s still no.”

“They’d be so cute together!”

“No.”

“You’re so grumpy sometimes,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re just loud,” he muttered.

“I heard that!”

You rolled your eyes and shoved a fry into your mouth just as Jungwon finally stopped trying to talk. He tapped nervously at his tray, eyes flicking down to his food. You could feel his awkwardness radiating in waves.

And you hated how it made your chest tighten a little.

The table broke into laughter at something Jake said, and you just sat there in the calm middle of it all—quiet, grumpy, unimpressed. But for the first time that day, you weren’t desperate to leave.

Which was weird. But maybe you could blame it on the way Jungwon kept sneaking glances your way.

Even if you didn’t return them. Yet.

Jungwon had that look again. The one that made you want to throw a pillow at his face and storm out of the room for no reason other than how… bright he was.

“Let’s go camping,” he said, plopping down on the couch next to where you were curled up, minding your own business with a book you were only half-reading. “Like a group trip. All of us.”

You blinked at him, slowly. “Why would I voluntarily spend a weekend in the woods with mosquitoes, uneven ground, and people?”

He grinned, undeterred. “Because it’s fun. And because you clearly need to loosen up a little.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You’re always cooped up in your dorm or hiding behind Sunghoon or glaring at everyone during lunch,” he said matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t just signed his own death warrant. “It wouldn’t kill you to try being part of the group.”

Sunghoon, from the kitchen, muttered, “She only goes to lunch because I drag her there.”

“Exactly my point!” Jungwon exclaimed, pointing at your brother like he’d just proven something. “C’mon, Y/N. It’ll be nice. Campfire, s’mores, nature… friends.”

You stared at him. That smile of his, the one that curved just a little more on the right side, the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he was so annoyingly earnest—it made something in your chest itch.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“You can bring a portable fan and three cans of bug spray. I’ll even carry your stuff.”

“I said no.”

He tilted his head. “Are you scared you’ll actually have a good time?”

You shut your book with a snap. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

“You’ll take it as a no.”

“Sunoo’s going.”

You hesitated.

“And Jake. And Jay. And Sunghoon and his girlfriend. Heeseung and his girlfriend said they’ll come if there’s a real bathroom.”

You looked at him, unimpressed. “You planned this already.”

Jungwon smiled, victorious. “I had faith.”

You sighed, long and dramatic, flopping back against the couch. “Fine. I’ll go. Just to get you off my back.”

“Yay!” he said, like you’d just agreed to world peace.

“But if there’s a single spider—one—I’m leaving.”

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a scout.”

“Still counts.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips when he wasn’t looking.

Spring break hit with the kind of anticipation that had the entire campus buzzing. People were packing bags, coordinating snack lists, fighting over which playlist to use for the drive. It was chaos—in a way that made you want to crawl back under your blankets and pretend the world didn’t exist. But unfortunately, Jungwon’s persistence and your impulsive “Fine, I’ll go” had landed you a spot on this cursed trip.

Everyone was gathered in front of the parking lot early that morning, chattering, yawning, stretching. The two rented vans were parked side by side, engines rumbling quietly as everyone shuffled around trying to load their bags.

You crossed your arms and looked up at Sunghoon. “I’m riding in your van.”

He barely looked up from where he was loading his girlfriend’s duffel into the trunk. “No, you’re not.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He finally turned to face you, already exasperated. “Y/N, we’re each sharing a van with our girlfriends.”

You gestured to yourself, deadpan. “I am your sister.”

“Not the same thing.”

“You’re telling me you’d rather spend three hours crammed in a van with Jake and Sunoo talking about anime character types while your girlfriend sings along to every song off key—”

“Yes.”

You scowled. “Wow. What happened to blood being thicker than water?”

His girlfriend popped her head out from the side of the van, smile already in place. “Don’t worry, Y/N! I already packed snacks for you and I think you’re with Jungwon anyway.”

“What?”

Jungwon appeared behind you like some overly peppy ghost. “Morning! I put your bag in our van already. We’ve got good air conditioning, just saying.”

You turned to glare at him. “You what?”

Sunoo clapped dramatically from a few feet away. “Ooooh, you’re sharing with Jungwon? This is either the start of a rom-com or a disaster film.”

“I vote disaster,” you muttered under your breath.

Sunghoon gave your shoulder a pat as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Try not to murder anyone.”

You huffed, trudging toward the second van where Jungwon was already opening your door like some boy-next-door prince. He even had a thermos in hand—probably green tea or some healthy crap. You didn’t ask.

“I didn’t agree to share a van with you,” you grumbled, climbing in.

Jungwon just buckled in and smiled. “Well, you didn’t not agree either.”

You stared out the window, jaw tight. This trip was already feeling too long… and the engine hadn’t even started yet.

The vans were all packed, the skies were mostly clear, and it almost felt like things were going to go according to plan. Keyword: almost.

Jake stood beside Van 1, arms crossed, lips pursed as he eyed the group assignments one last time. “Okay, but I still think it’s a terrible idea to put Heeseung and Jay in the same van.”

Jay’s girlfriend, ever the chaos advocate, waved her hand dismissively. “They need to make up. This is the perfect chance. Think of it as forced bonding.”

Heeseung snorted from behind her. “More like forced suffering.”

Sunoo popped his head up from the back of Van 1, cheeks stuffed with snacks. “Can I switch vans? I’ll go with Jungwon and Y/N. I’m great company!”

“No,” you and Jungwon both said at the exact same time.

Sunoo blinked, then smirked. “Wow. Okay. Guess I’ll just keep my charisma to myself.”

You shot Jungwon a glare, but he was already climbing into the driver’s seat of your van—Van 3, aka the loner van. AKA you and him, stuck together for a few hours while the rest of your brother’s chaotic group pretended to function like normal humans.

You didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Sunghoon before Jungwon was already pulling out of the parking lot.

The ride started out in silence. Then music. Then more silence.

It was about twenty minutes into the drive when Jungwon finally broke the quiet.

“So… you probably feel a little out of place, huh?” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

You shrugged, arms crossed. “You think?”

He chuckled. “Okay, fair. I just mean… they’re a lot to take in.”

“You don’t say.”

“Well,” he said, shifting in his seat, “you’ve probably figured out who’s dating who, right?”

“I’m not blind.”

“Alright. So Van 1—Sunghoon, Jake, their girlfriends, and Sunoo. The stable van.”

You raised a brow. “Sunoo’s the stability?”

“Don’t underestimate Sunoo,” Jungwon said seriously. “He knows everything. I’m pretty sure he could run this school if he wanted to.”

You snorted. “Next.”

“Van 2,” Jungwon said with a grin. “The drama van. Jay, Heeseung, their girlfriends. Basically a soap opera on wheels.”

You glanced at him. “Why? What happened?”

He glanced sideways, then said, “Well… Jay and Heeseung used to be close, until Jay kissed Heeseung’s girlfriend.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Twice,” Jungwon added helpfully. “Once before she and Heeseung were dating, and once after. But Jay swears she kissed him the second time, and she admits to it, but Heeseung won’t let it go.”

You blinked. “And now Jay is dating someone else?”

“Oh yeah. She’s just as chaotic as he is. They’re the perfect match. But she’s also childhood best friends with Heeseung, so it’s awkward all around.”

“Yikes.”

He nodded. “Exactly. That’s why Jake wanted to separate them. But Jay’s girlfriend was like ‘they need to make up’ and dragged them into the same van anyway.”

You let out a low whistle. “No wonder Sunoo wanted to escape.”

Jungwon laughed, and the air settled into something a little more comfortable after that. He explained more as the road wound on—tiny dramas, moments of laughter, stories you’d missed being the new one in the group.

But about an hour in, things took a turn.

The sky darkened suddenly, clouds rolling in like something out of a horror movie. The rain started slowly—just a patter on the windshield—but quickly turned heavy, pelting down so hard Jungwon had to slow to a crawl.

“Uh,” you said, glancing out the fogged window, “should we… pull over?”

“We’re almost at the rest stop,” Jungwon muttered, eyes squinting against the blur. “Just a few more minutes—”

Thud.

The van jolted.

You both froze.

“…Please tell me that wasn’t a tire,” you whispered.

Jungwon sighed, already pulling over. “That was a tire.”

He hopped out into the rain, grabbing his jacket as the wind howled. You stayed in the van, cold seeping into your skin even as the heater ran.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Finally, he ducked back inside, soaked and shivering.

“It’s too dark,” he muttered. “I can’t see anything, and my phone’s got no signal. We’ll have to wait till morning.”

You stared at him. “You’re telling me we’re stuck here? In a van? In the middle of nowhere? Alone?”

He looked sheepish. “Pretty much.”

You sat back, heart racing.

And for the first time that day, you were truly terrified.

You were shaken. Even though you sat with your arms folded tightly across your chest, eyes glued to the pitch-black forest outside the rain-speckled window, your body was stiff—too still. You didn’t say anything, didn’t make a sound, but Jungwon noticed. He always noticed.

Without a word, he shifted beside you in the front seat of the van, then gently wrapped an arm around your shoulders. His touch wasn’t overbearing or awkward. It was quiet, like him. Patient. Warm.

“You’re not okay,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

“You’re lying.”

You didn’t argue, because he wasn’t wrong. But you didn’t respond either.

A silence stretched between you, filled only by the steady tapping of rain on the windshield and the occasional creak of the van shifting under the wind. The dark had settled in deep now, wrapping around the vehicle like a second skin.

“I hate being stuck,” you finally said, your voice low. “I hate not knowing what’s going to happen. I hate not having a signal, not knowing where we are—feeling like I’m not in control.”

Jungwon gave your shoulder a soft squeeze. “Yeah… I figured.”

You fell silent again, until he nudged you gently and said, “Okay. Tell me something your brother did that was so extroverted and humiliating that no one else besides you knows about it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Come on. Distract yourself. Something Sunghoon did. Spill.”

A reluctant laugh slipped out of you, and Jungwon’s grin widened.

“He once got on stage during orientation week and did a full dance cover of Love Divebecause someone dared him,” you mumbled. “And he actually nailed it.”

“Love Dive? Seriously?” Jungwon tried to suppress a laugh, and failed. “No way.”

“He practiced for three days. I have a video.”

He let out a sharp breath of laughter and leaned his head back against the seat. “Okay, yeah, that helped. I’m feeling better already.”

You smiled, just barely, the tension starting to melt off your shoulders. You almost forgot about the storm outside, the flat tire, the cold. Almost.

Until a sharp crack of thunder split through the sky.

You jumped—physically flinched—and before you could stop yourself, you scooted closer to Jungwon, pressing into his side like instinct. His arm immediately tightened around you, steadying, grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, softer this time. “You’re okay.”

And somehow, sitting there with him in the dark, you believed it.

After a while, the front seats of the van started to feel cold and cramped, and Jungwon, sensing your growing discomfort, suggested quietly, “We can pull out the bed in the back… might be warmer there.”

You didn’t answer, but you nodded, following him as he climbed out of the front. He moved slowly, giving you space but also staying close enough to reach if you needed him. Together, you helped tug the folded bed out from its compartment, laying it flat and spreading one of the extra blankets over it.

You sat beside him on the makeshift mattress, legs tucked underneath you, hands buried in your sleeves. The van wasn’t exactly spacious, but the bed was wide enough to sit shoulder-to-shoulder without brushing—barely.

The rain still drummed steadily on the roof, creating a rhythm that was both soothing and unnerving. You hated storms. Always had.

Then, like the sky had waited for your guard to come down, lightning struck again. Closer this time—followed by a crack so loud the whole van seemed to rattle. You gasped sharply and before you even knew what you were doing, you threw yourself toward Jungwon.

Your hands gripped his hoodie, your body curling into his lap as if you could disappear there, your breath coming in short, panicked puffs. You hated this—how vulnerable you suddenly felt, how raw and open your fear was—but your body didn’t listen to your pride. It just needed safety. Warmth. Him.

Jungwon didn’t say a word. He didn’t tease, didn’t even shift awkwardly. His arms came around you immediately, holding you close like he’d done this a thousand times before. One hand rubbed gentle, soothing circles into your back while the other rested lightly on the back of your head.

Then you started crying.

Not the messy, heaving sobs you’d always imagined people cried when breaking down—but the quiet kind. The kind that slipped down your cheeks without permission, burning and soft. You couldn’t remember the last time you cried in front of someone else.

“I hate this,” you whispered into his hoodie. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “But you don’t have to pretend with me, okay? Just for tonight… it’s okay to be scared.”

You don’t know how long you stayed like that—wrapped in Jungwon’s arms, eyes closed against the world, tears drying slowly. The storm eventually began to calm. The thunder faded to distant rumbles, and the rain softened into a drizzle.

Then, with an almost comical sputter, the van’s power flickered back on. The dashboard lights glowed faintly. The heater whirred to life. And just like that, reality came rushing back in.

You blinked and pulled away slowly, only to freeze as you realized where you were: practically curled in Jungwon’s lap, your arms still wrapped around him, your cheek resting against his chest.

You moved quickly, almost too quickly, scooting back and wiping your face with your sleeve. The silence that followed was heavy—awkward and thick and way too loud now that the storm had passed.

“I—sorry,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “That was… a lot.”

Jungwon shifted too, but not far. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Really.”

But you didn’t know how to feel. You weren’t used to people seeing you like that. Especially not someone like him.

And now, sitting side by side in the faint light, with your tears still damp on your skin and the ghost of his touch lingering on your back, you suddenly weren’t sure what scared you more—the storm outside… or the one happening inside you.

The rain had finally stopped, but that didn’t mean you were out of the woods. Literally.

It was 2:07 AM, and the van was still parked on the side of some empty, winding road surrounded by nothing but trees and thick silence. The air inside was warmer now thanks to the heater, but that didn’t fix the flat tire—or the awkwardness hanging heavy between you and Jungwon after what had just happened.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, facing the window, pretending to be way more interested in the foggy glass than the fact that you were very much aware of Jungwon’s presence just a few feet behind you. He was still sitting up against the back of the van, legs stretched out, fiddling absently with the zipper on his jacket.

Neither of you had spoken much since the power came back on. A few quiet “you okay?”s and mumbled “yeah”s, but beyond that? Just tension.

He glanced over at you for what felt like the hundredth time. “So… uh. Still no signal.”

“Shocker,” you muttered, not turning around.

“We’ll fix the tire at sunrise. I can’t see anything in the dark without messing it up more.”

“Mhm.”

Silence again.

You hated this. Not just the situation, but how… exposed you still felt. You hadn’t meant to cry in front of him. You hadn’t meant to let him hold you. And now, it was like that moment had cracked something open, and you didn’t know how to patch it back up.

Jungwon cleared his throat. “Do you want the bed to yourself? I can sleep sitting up or something.”

“No. It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

You finally turned to face him, eyes meeting his. “Can you just… not make it a thing?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Earlier. The crying. The whole… mess. Just don’t make it a thing, okay? I don’t need you looking at me like I’m fragile now.”

Jungwon’s expression softened. “I don’t think you’re fragile. I think you’re human.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back toward the window. “Great. Even worse.”

He let out a quiet laugh, barely audible. “You know, for someone who pretends not to care about people, you sure care a lot about what I think.”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn’t wrong—but you weren’t about to admit that.

“It’s late,” you said instead. “We should try to sleep.”

You heard him shift behind you, and then the quiet rustle of blankets as he laid down on the far side of the bed, careful to leave space between you.

But even with the silence returning and your body exhausted, sleep didn’t come easy. Not when your brain was still replaying the way his arms had felt around you. Not when every beat of the clock brought you closer to morning—and whatever would come after this strange, vulnerable night you never meant to share.

The hours ticked by slowly, stretching the night into something that felt endless.

The space between you and Jungwon wasn’t very big. The bed was narrow, the van cold despite the heater humming faintly, and somewhere between turning to face the wall and trying to ignore how your thoughts spiraled, you realized you weren’t sleeping at all. Neither was he.

You could tell by the way he shifted every few minutes, quietly clearing his throat or sighing like he was trying not to seem restless. Finally, at around 3:15 AM, his voice cut through the stillness—soft, careful.

“Hey.”

You turned your head slightly. “What?”

“Can I ask you something?”

You hesitated. “…Yeah.”

“When you said you’re scared of being emotionally dependent on people… was that about someone specific?”

You stared at the ceiling. You weren’t sure why your chest tightened at the question. Maybe because you’d let that confession slip too easily earlier. Maybe because this was the first time someone actually followed up instead of brushing it off.

You swallowed. “Not just one person. More like… a pattern.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, gently: “Like what?”

“Like I used to trust people. I’d let them in, even when it hurt. And each time, it ended with me being the only one trying to fix things.” You paused, fingers curling slightly into the blanket. “At some point, I just stopped trying.”

Jungwon shifted closer—not enough to touch, but enough to feel it.

“I’m not trying to ‘fix’ you,” he said quietly. “I just want to understand you.”

Your breath hitched slightly.

“And I know you don’t like being seen,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “But you don’t have to hide around me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you turned your body slightly toward him. Not enough to close the distance completely—but enough that he’d know you weren’t shutting him out.

Minutes passed in silence again. But it wasn’t awkward anymore.

At 4:00 AM, the sky outside started to shift, a faint grey creeping into the edges of the horizon. You were still awake, and so was he.

Jungwon sat up first, running a hand through his hair. “It’s almost light enough. I’ll check the tire.”

You nodded sleepily, rubbing your eyes. “Okay. I’ll… come with you?”

He turned back to look at you, his gaze soft but steady. “Only if you want to.”

You gave a small nod, pulling the blanket tighter around you for a second before kicking it off and sliding off the bed.

It was quiet again, but something had changed between you—like a wire had loosened. Maybe things wouldn’t go back to the way they were. Maybe you didn’t want them to.

The air was crisp when you stepped out of the van, the ground still damp from the night before. Dew clung to the grass and your shoes squelched lightly against the earth, but the storm had passed. A faint mist curled in the distance, and the sun hadn’t quite broken over the trees yet—just a soft blue-gray glow painted the horizon.

Jungwon crouched by the flat tire, flashlight wedged under his arm as he examined it. You stood beside him with your arms crossed tightly, partly from the chill and partly because… well, what else were you supposed to do? Last night had been—something. Too much, maybe. And even though he hadn’t brought it up, you could feel the weight of it still lingering between you.

“Looks like it’ll hold until we get to a service station,” he muttered, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “I just need to switch it out with the spare.”

“Need help?” you offered, voice still hoarse from barely sleeping.

He looked up at you and smiled—not that smug, teasing smile he usually wore around you, but something small and warm. “You offering to actually help me instead of glaring at me? Must be a special day.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. “Don’t push it.”

Still, you knelt beside him and passed him tools when he asked, watching him work quickly and efficiently. By the time the spare tire was secured and you were both sitting on the bumper catching your breath, the sun had finally peeked through the trees.

“Thanks,” Jungwon said quietly.

You glanced over. “For what?”

“For… trusting me,” he said. “Even a little.”

You looked away, watching your breath fog in the cool morning air. “Don’t get used to it.”

He chuckled, not pushing further. “Okay.”

Another pause, then he added, “Do you think they noticed we were gone?”

You groaned. “Probably.”

Jungwon smirked. “Should we lie and say we were attacked by bears?”

You gave him a flat look. “That’s so specific.”

He shrugged. “You never know. Might make us more interesting.”

“You’re already interesting,” you said before you could stop yourself.

You both blinked.

Silence.

“…Forget I said that,” you mumbled, turning away.

But Jungwon was smiling again—bright, proud, but not teasing this time. “Too late.”

And when you both climbed back into the van and started the engine, there was still silence—but it was softer now, like a thread connecting the two of you had finally begun to tie itself together. Not forced. Not rushed. Just… a start.

The campsite buzzed with the sounds of life when you and Jungwon finally pulled in. Laughter echoed through the trees, smoke curled lazily from a fire pit where someone was trying to get breakfast started, and Jake was playing some acoustic guitar on a log while his girlfriend swayed beside him.

You had barely stepped out of the van, stretching your stiff limbs, when Sunoo boltedacross the campsite like a heat-seeking missile.

“Oh. My. God,” he gasped, eyes bouncing between you and Jungwon. “You guys were gone all night. ALL NIGHT. I swear to God, if this is a slow-burn friends-to-lovers enemies-to-lovers surprise-romance situation and you didn’t tell me, I’m going to explode.”

You blinked. “What—”

“Did you guys fuck?” Sunoo blurted, voice way too loud.

Everyone turned.

Jungwon nearly choked on air. “SUNOO!”

You grabbed the nearest camping chair and flung a towel over your face. “We did NOT!”

“Well,” Sunoo huffed, crossing his arms. “With that much chemistry, I’m just saying—”

“Sunoo,” you gritted out through clenched teeth.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop. For now.” But the sparkle in his eyes said he absolutely would not be letting it go.

While you tried to pretend you didn’t just become the headline of the group’s gossip board, Jungwon drifted over to the edge of the campsite where Sunghoon was helping his girlfriend unload a cooler from the car.

Sunghoon noticed him coming and immediately groaned. “No.”

Jungwon blinked. “No what?”

“No to whatever you’re about to say.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Jungwon said, exasperated. “I just—look, I really like your sister.”

“Ew.” Sunghoon looked genuinely distressed. “Ew, stop. Go away.”

“I’m serious,” Jungwon said, trying to keep his voice low and calm. “I’m not messing with her. I just… I want your blessing to ask her out.”

Sunghoon paused. Stared. Then deadpanned, “No.”

Jungwon nodded slowly, lips twitching. “Okay. Well… I actually don’t need your blessing. I was just being polite.”

Sunghoon stared harder. “You little—”

But his girlfriend came up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and whispering something into his ear. He grumbled under his breath, scowled at Jungwon one more time, and then turned away.

Which Jungwon took as his cue to walk off, hiding the satisfied smirk on his face.

You, meanwhile, were still dodging Sunoo’s very detailed reenactment of how he imagined the night went down.

Yeah. Spring break was off to a great start.

The rest of the day moved in a weird haze of tension and pretending like the night before hadn’t happened.

You avoided Jungwon. Not in a dramatic way—just enough that you didn’t have to look at him for too long. Just enough that when he laughed with the others by the fire, your eyes would skip past him like he was just another log in the pile. Just enough that every time he glanced your way, you quickly turned back to your marshmallow, pretending to be way too focused on roasting it to golden-brown perfection.

Sunoo didn’t make it any easier.

“You know,” he said, flopping down beside you with a very loud crunch of gravel, “for someone who didn’t do anything, you two are acting real suspicious.”

“Sunoo,” you warned, “if you say one more thing—”

“I’m just saying!” He threw up his hands dramatically. “If I were trapped in a van during a thunderstorm with someone as emotionally constipated as Jungwon, I’d cry too.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward.

Meanwhile, across the fire, Jungwon was deep in conversation with Jay’s girlfriend, who was nodding enthusiastically while pointing toward a picnic table. He looked more relaxed now, laughing softly, shaking his head at something she said.

And still, he glanced over at you.

Again.

You turned away, heart twisting a little.

When the sun began to dip, casting streaks of orange and pink across the sky, someone suggested games. Charades. Then Uno. Then some weird camping version of spin the bottle that you absolutely refused to play.

Heeseung and his girlfriend were the first ones to bow out, heading toward their tent after a playful argument about who knows what. Jay and his girlfriend were in their own world, laughing so loudly it echoed through the trees. Jake and his girlfriend cuddling by the fire. Sunghoon was trying to keep his girlfriend from jumping into the lake at night.

And you?

You were sitting beside Sunoo again, who had finally—finally—gone quiet, head resting on your shoulder as he dozed off.

That’s when Jungwon walked up.

His voice was quiet. “Can we talk?”

You didn’t move at first. Just stared at the fire.

Then slowly, you stood. Gently nudging Sunoo off you, you followed Jungwon toward the edge of the clearing, just far enough away to not be overheard, just close enough to still feel the warmth of the group.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So… are we just gonna pretend last night didn’t happen?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he said softly. “That wasn’t— I just knew you were scared. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to hold it all in.”

You looked away. “I don’t want to be someone’s challenge.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “I swear, you’re not. I don’t want to fix you. I just… I like you. Grumpiness and all. You don’t have to act okay around me. I’d rather have you yell at me and mean it than smile and fake it.”

Your eyes met his. He looked… honest.

It scared you.

So you said the first thing that came to mind. “Sunghoon’s gonna kill you.”

Jungwon smiled. “He already tried.”

You didn’t smile back—yet—but the corners of your lips twitched.

After the camping trip, everything seemed fine at first. The days passed, and you and Jungwon were a little less awkward around each other. You both would talk here and there, but it wasn’t like before—when you could barely stand being in the same room without pretending to not notice his gaze. It was comfortable in a way, like the distance between the two of you had shrunk a little.

The trip had brought something out of you that you hadn’t been ready for, but at least it wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be. You’d even laughed a few times, exchanged some stories, and you might’ve even caught yourself smiling—genuinely smiling—when he said something funny.

But as soon as you heard it, it felt like all the progress you had made came crashing down around you.

You were in the common room of your dorm, just finishing a group project, when you overheard a conversation between Jungwon and Sunoo.

“I think I’m finally getting through to her,” Jungwon said, his voice lighter than it had been the past few days. “She’s not as cold as she used to be.”

Sunoo’s voice responded, teasing. “Well, it’s about time. She’s hard to crack, but you’ve got this.”

Your heart sank. The words hit harder than you expected. It was a stupid thing to be hurt over, but it felt like you were just a project to him. Another challenge to overcome. Just another box to check off, another thing to fix. Like you were something he needed to conquer and not someone he was genuinely trying to understand.

You thought you had found something real in the small, quiet moments between the two of you—when he’d make you laugh, or when you’d share stories that made you feel a little less like a closed-off puzzle. But now, it all felt fake. You weren’t a challenge. You weren’t his damn project. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what had made you start pulling away in the first place. You weren’t ready to be the thing he worked on. Not when it felt like you were just part of his “I need to fix you” list.

You turned away quickly, trying to push the sting out of your chest as you grabbed your things and walked to your room. The tightness in your chest only grew as you closed the door behind you. You didn’t even give yourself a second to think before you did it: you took your phone out and deleted his number.

You couldn’t look at it anymore. Couldn’t keep seeing his name lighting up your screen. You stopped answering his texts. Ignored his calls. Every notification from him felt like a weight on your shoulders, reminding you that you were just another challenge, just another project to him.

And as much as you hated it, you did the same with everyone else. You didn’t reply to Sunghoon’s texts about your plans for the day, didn’t show up for the usual hangouts with your brother and his friends. You couldn’t bear the idea of seeing them and having them ask where Jungwon was. Where things stood. You didn’t want to answer any of their questions. You didn’t want to be reminded that you had let yourself fall for someone who had probably never taken you seriously.

You didn’t even bother showing up to the study sessions anymore. Every day felt like it was getting harder to keep pretending everything was fine when your mind was so tangled with anger and confusion.

Spring break ended, and with it, the brief but quiet connection you had with Jungwon. He was busy now, the semester starting again. But even as the first day of uni came, you found yourself missing the comfort of those small moments. The awkwardness. The laughs. His presence. But it was too late now. It didn’t matter.

At least that’s what you told yourself every time you ignored his message or silenced his call.

You hadn’t expected Sunghoon to show up at your dorm. Not with his hoodie half-on and a scowl already forming between his brows. He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped inside like he owned the place and dropped his bag on your bed with a thud.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, not accusing—just concerned. And that somehow made it worse.

You didn’t mean to say it, not right away. But it all came spilling out anyway. The overheard conversation. The words Jungwon had said. The way it felt like you’d been nothing more than a challenge to him. Something to break through and fix. The way you hated how it hurt.

Sunghoon sat through the whole thing, jaw clenching tighter with every word you said. When you finally fell quiet, his hands were already fisted at his sides.

“He said what?” he snapped, already standing. “That idiot. I swear—”

“Hoon, don’t—” you started, but he was already out the door.

It didn’t take long for him to find Jungwon. He always had a radar for people he wanted to scold.

Jungwon blinked when he saw Sunghoon marching toward him across the quad, his voice sharp before he even fully reached him. “What the hell did you say to her?”

Jungwon’s face fell. “Wait, she heard that?”

“Oh, so you did say it.” Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not what it sounds like,” Jungwon said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to say she was a challenge—God, no. I was telling Sunoo that I finally felt like she was starting to trust me. I was happy. I wasn’t—”

Sunghoon didn’t look convinced.

“I like her,” Jungwon said, more firmly now. “Not because she’s hard to read, not because she’s a mystery or whatever. I like her because… she makes everything make sense. She’s quiet, but when she talks, it matters. And when she looks at me like I’m not completely annoying, it makes my day.”

Sunghoon exhaled and rubbed a hand down his face. “Just fix it. And don’t make her cry again. I mean it.”

Later that evening, there was a knock at your dorm door.

You weren’t going to answer it—until you heard his voice, low and quiet.

“It’s me.”

You opened the door a crack. Jungwon stood there holding your favorite snack in one hand, and in the other, a worn-out poetry book you had mentioned once when you were half-asleep in the van during the camping trip.

“I know you’re mad,” he said softly. “But can I come in? Just for a second?”

You let the door swing open.

He stepped inside, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. For what I said to Sunoo. For how it sounded. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. I didn’t think you’d hear it, but that doesn’t mean it was okay to say.”

You stayed quiet, arms crossed, watching him.

“I talk about you because I like you,” he continued. “Not because I want to win you, or fix you, or prove anything. I talk about you because… I want to understand you. And I want you to trust me enough to let me in. That’s all.”

You glanced down at the poetry book in his hand, and your chest tightened.

After a long pause, you sighed and shook your head. “You’re so annoying.”

He cracked a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

“…You can walk me to class tomorrow.”

He perked up instantly, smile blooming like the sun breaking through clouds. “Yeah?”

You rolled your eyes and turned around so he wouldn’t see the way your lips threatened to smile. “But don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I won’t,” he said, already grinning. “Totally casual. Just two classmates. Walking.”

You shut the door behind him, heart racing in spite of yourself.

The next day, you found yourself back in the cafeteria, still sporting your signature scowl and the sunglasses that hid most of your face. You weren’t exactly thrilled to be sitting with the others again, but at least you had coffee. And you weren’t going to admit it, but you were kind of okay with Jungwon walking beside you—just a little bit.

As soon as you took your seat, Jungwon slid into the chair next to you with a big, goofy grin on his face. He handed you your coffee, still beaming like a dog who had just learned how to fetch.

“Still grumpy?” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

You shot him a quick glance, raising an eyebrow. “Always,” you muttered, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—like you were the best thing he’d seen in a while—that made it hard to keep the edge.

You couldn’t stop the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. Jungwon’s grin widened like he’d just won the lottery. He looked way too proud of himself.

Sunghoon, who had been sitting across from you, groaned dramatically. “Please don’t do that in front of me ever again,” he said, scrunching his nose as if he’d just watched something gross.

You smirked, giving him a little shrug. “What’s your problem?” you shot back, still amused.

Sunghoon’s girlfriend, who had been chatting with Jake’s girlfriend, turned her head and raised her eyebrows. “Hey, you and I are way worse than that,” she said with a mischievous grin.

Jay, who had been in his own world, suddenly looked up at the mention of “worse.” He nodded in agreement, casually leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, don’t pretend like you and Hoon aren’t way more obnoxious than them,” he added with a smirk, looking at his own girlfriend.

Sunghoon shot him a look that could’ve killed, but Jay only grinned wider, clearly enjoying his role in messing with Sunghoon.

“Can you not?” Sunghoon groaned, resting his head on the table like he couldn’t deal with his friends anymore. “I’m not even here for this. Seriously.”

You chuckled under your breath, feeling a little more at ease with the group around you. It was nice, in a way, to be surrounded by people who weren’t as exhausting as you’d initially thought. But as you sipped your coffee, you felt Jungwon’s gaze on you again, making your chest tighten in that way only he seemed to manage.

“So,” Jungwon started, his tone shifting slightly, “when are you going to admit you missed me?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips said everything.

You were walking down the hall, scrolling through your phone, when you heard a loud voice—sharp, gruff, and full of irritation. You looked up just in time to see a girl backing away, holding her hands up in apology. She was drenched in some kind of drink, and standing opposite her, was a tall figure with his arms crossed.

It was Niki.

His dark eyes narrowed as he stared at the girl, his voice cold and direct. “You better be more careful next time,” he snapped.

“I’m really sorry,” the girl stammered, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to—I’ll clean it up!”

He grunted, not looking all that bothered, though the tension in his posture didn’t exactly scream forgiveness. “Whatever,” he muttered, before turning to walk away, leaving the girl still frozen in place.

You couldn’t help but watch as he strode off down the hall, his expression as nonchalant as ever. But there was something about him—something sharp and guarded. It made you curious.

Maybe this would be an interesting story for later.

Enhypen campus series || wanna read my short drabbles? check out @lynbels

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mammons-lover · 4 months ago

Text

Prank Gone Pregnant [Happy New Years!]

MC (grinning mischievously at Mammon's camera): Hey guys, welcome back! Today, I’m going to prank my boyfriend by pretending to break up with him. Let’s see how hard he panics. Spoiler: It’s Mammon, so… a lot. Let’s do this.

MC (fake sniffling, eyes cast down): Mammon, sweetie…

Mammon (striding over dramatically, already looking concerned): Yeah, babe? What’s wrong? You okay?

MC (turning their head away to stifle a laugh, voice trembling for effect): I think… it’s time we break—

Mammon (interrupting with wide eyes, completely serious): I’m pregnant.

MC (now genuinely stunned, blinking): Wait. What?

Mammon (doubling down like his life depends on it, hand over his heart): Yeah, you heard me. Pregnant. Bun in the oven. Lil’ Mammon Jr. on the way.

MC (trying not to lose it, but also trying to keep it logical): Mammon, that’s literally not possible. You’re a—

Mammon (jumping to his feet, hands on hips, voice dripping with indignation): Oh, so now you don’t want OUR baby?!

MC (deadpan): You’re male!

Mammon (scoffing like this is the least of their concerns): And I’m also a demon, something ya didn’t even know existed till you landed here! Maybe you need to stop slackin’ in bio class, MC!

MC (completely breaking character, laughing): Oh my god, I love you, babe. And I love how far you’re willing to go to keep me, but—

Mammon (dropping to his knees mid-sentence, clutching at MC’s hands dramatically): Please don’t leave me! I’ll DIE! I’ll do anything! Beg, grovel, get a second job, whatever you want!

MC (still giggling): Mammon! Let me finish! I was gonna say it’s a prank!

Mammon (pausing, looking betrayed): A PRANK?! You got me cryin’ over here for a PRANK?!

MC (trying to hold in laughter, patting his shoulder): I’m sorry, but once you hit me with the ‘I’m pregnant’, I had to see this through!

Mammon (standing dramatically, wiping his tears): Well, guess what? You’re not sleepin’ in my bed tonight. And we’re OVER.

MC (mock-pouting): Aw, c’mon, Mammon, don’t be like that—

Mammon (cutting them off immediately, arms crossed but already relenting): No, wait, I take it back. We ain’t over. But I’m still mad. You’re on thin ice!

MC (grinning): I’ll make it up to you with snacks?

Mammon (grumbling, but already caving): …Fine. But only ‘cause I’m pregnant and I need to eat for two!

(Enter Leviathan, standing nearby with headphones half-off, looking completely bewildered as he stares after them.)

Leviathan: Wait. WHAT THE FUCK?! Mammon’s PREGNANT?!

Mammon (yelling back over his shoulder): Yeah, Levi! Start plannin’ the baby shower!

Leviathan (suddenly panicking, pacing): Oh my daivolo, I’m gonna be an uncle! We need to babyproof the house! There’s sharp corners everywhere, and that stair railing is a death trap! Do demons even have car seats?! Someone get me a checklist—WHERE’S THE CHECKLIST?!

{Haven’t posted any fics lately? Uhh… do we even call these fics? 🤔 Who knows! Anyway, I seriously miss making them, but college is not what I expected (first semester, woo-hoo! 🥲) and, uh… I'm definitely failing three classes. BUT!! I’ve figured out how to balance college and life, so next semester is gonna be great!. I miss writing, though, so you better believe more is coming soon! Stay tuned, besties!}

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mintyys-blog · 15 days ago

Note

Hellooo mintyyyy !! I was wondering if you'd be willing to write for the different mark variants x a reader who likes to cook? Like after destroying a whole city and going back to the forest they come back to their house with reader to a home cooked meal and a warm bed?

Thanks uuu bbg!!

HEADCANONS | variants with reader who loves cooking.

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: mention of blood, power imbalance, pregnancy, implied kidnapping

MAIN MARK

The door creaked open as Mark stepped in, hair damp with sweat, suit still clinging to him from a day of rescues and debris. He smelled faintly of smoke and city air, but his smile—tired and warm—was everything. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on the kitchen, where you stood finishing up the last touches of dinner.

Your daughter was babbling happily in her little bouncer near the counter, her tiny hands flailing with excitement the moment she spotted him.

“There’s my girl,” Mark murmured, crouching down with a soft grin. He ruffled her curly hair gently, letting her grab onto his finger with a gummy squeal. “You being good for mommy?”

The smell of garlic and herbs filled the house, and Mark’s gaze drifted back to you. You turned slightly, catching him staring, and offered a small, knowing smile.

“You made it back for dinner.”

Mark stood and walked over to you without a word, pressing a kiss to your forehead before capturing your lips in a slower, more tender one. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It felt like home.

“Like hell I’d ever miss your cooking,” he murmured against your lips.

You rolled your eyes and laughed as he peeked into the pan, sneaking a bite before you could stop him.

“Hands off.”

“Too late. You married a menace.”

Later, he sat at the table with your daughter in his lap, making dramatic airplane sounds with a spoon while she giggled and kicked. You watched them from the sink, your heart full. No blood. No war. Just warmth, laughter, and the quiet clink of cutlery in a house where love lived in the smallest moments.

SINISTER MARK

The door slammed shut behind him like thunder, shaking dust from the beams. Another city gone—its skyline now nothing more than molten ruin.

Sinister Mark’s boots thudded across the wooden floor, leaving a trail of soot and blood behind. He rolled his neck, cracked his knuckles. His gloves were torn, smeared with red. But his eyes? His eyes softened the moment they landed on you.

There you were—barefoot in his kitchen, wearing one of his old shirts over your round, pregnant belly. A soft apron tied around your waist, your hands busy stirring the stew he liked just a little too spicy. The air was warm, filled with the scent of roasted vegetables and seasoned meat. Domestic. Safe.

Exactly how he wanted you. “Took your time,” you said, not looking back at him, but you didn’t sound mad. You sounded like someone who already knew he’d return.

He came up behind you without a word, pressing his bloody hands to your hips. You didn’t flinch. You never did. Mark leaned in close, his chin dropping to your shoulder as his fingers slipped to rub over your swollen belly with uncharacteristic care. “Smells perfect. Just like you.”

“You’re tracking blood in again,” you whispered, exasperated, but it lacked heat.

He grinned, low and dark. “You’ll clean it. That’s what you’re for.” You rolled your eyes. He kissed your temple anyway. Then lower, brushing his lips against your neck, your shoulder, the exposed skin of your collarbone.

“You cook,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “You keep warm for me. You give me peace.” You finally turned to face him, spoon still in hand. “You wiped out another city?”

“They had the nerve to threaten this. Us.” His palm returned to your belly. “They don’t exist anymore.”

You said nothing. Just turned back to the food and gave the stew a final stir. “Go sit,” you said softly. “Dinner’s ready.”

Mark did exactly that, like a king expecting to be fed. He leaned back in the chair, still covered in blood, still humming with the afterglow of destruction. Watching you serve him.

“You haven’t seen the sky in months,” he said casually between bites. “It’s overrated,” you replied. “I have everything I need here.”

He smiled. Really smiled. Not the sadistic twist he gave his enemies, but something quieter. Deeper. Because you belonged to him. Perfect. Tame. Glowing.

And he was going to make sure you stayed that way. Always.

MOHAWK MARK

The grand doors to Mark’s personal chambers swung open, the heavy wood creaking in protest as he entered. The faint sound of his boots clicking against the marble floor echoed through the vast, quiet space. His posture was as commanding as ever, even with the weight of ruling the Viltrumite Empire on his shoulders.

But when he caught sight of you in the kitchen, cooking for him once more, his expression softened—just for a moment. You were there, as always, waiting for him. The way you dressed, revealing and deliberate, was all for him. His gaze lingered, hungry and possessive, as he took in the curve of your figure, the glint in your eyes. You had chosen to wear something that was undoubtedly for his eyes only, and he appreciated that.

“You’re home,” you said, your voice a soft but eager whisper. You didn’t stand up immediately. There was no need for formalities between the two of you. You were his equal in the quiet moments when no one was watching.

Mark closed the distance between you in just a few strides, his usual, domineering smirk playing across his lips. He didn’t say a word as he lowered himself to the couch, settling back with his arms draped lazily across the backrest. You didn’t hesitate to join him, sliding onto his lap with the familiar ease that only came with shared trust and intimacy. His hand naturally settled on the curve of your ass as you leaned in to kiss him, soft and slow.

“Been waiting for me?” he asked, voice low and thick with both authority and desire.

You nodded, offering him a teasing smile. “Always.”

He pulled you closer, pressing your bodies together, feeling the heat radiating from your skin. His hand tightened on your waist, before trailing down to rest firmly on your ass. He didn’t bother hiding the way his fingers flexed possessively against you.

“I don’t know what I’ve been doing,” he mused, looking down at you with a mixture of amusement and hunger, “but it always feels like the day’s not complete until I get to have you like this. All mine.”

You tilted your head, feeding him the meal you had prepared with a gentle hand, as if to further prove just how much you belonged to him. The intimacy between you was a world of its own—there was no need to speak about it. He had everything under control; you knew that. His hand on your ass, the way his gaze lingered possessively on you, all confirmed it. You were his.

Mark hummed appreciatively, leaning forward to kiss you again, his tongue sweeping over your lips with quiet intensity. His hand on your ass gave a gentle squeeze as he pulled you closer, and you moved to feed him another bite, making him grin against your mouth.

“Good,” he muttered. “Perfect, as always.”

Your smile was satisfied. “Anything for you.” He leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him so that you were comfortably sprawled on top of him. His grip on you didn’t loosen. His power, his position—it all came to a head in these private moments with you. You were the one thing in his empire he could truly claim as his own. The one thing that made him feel whole.

His fingers ran slowly over your skin, savoring the way your body molded to his as he continued to rest his hand on your ass. His Viltrumite empire could burn, the galaxies could crumble—but you? You were his.

And he would make sure you knew that every time.

PRISONER MARK

The front door creaked open with a familiar groan, the sound of Mark’s boots heavy against the floorboards as he entered the home. His eyes scanned the room before settling on you, standing in the kitchen, waiting for him. He was dressed casually today, wearing a hoodie and a half-face mask with sunglasses— his way of blending in, of protecting you. He hated being seen, but you were his safe place, his retreat from everything the Viltrumites had made him.

Mark’s disguise wasn’t elaborate, just a makeshift cover to hide his identity—he couldn’t risk being recognized by anyone. But as you noticed him enter, a sense of relief washed over his features. He was home. Safe. At least, for now.

You walked up to him with a soft smile and gently took his hand, pulling him into the house further. His tense shoulders relaxed just slightly under your touch, though he couldn’t entirely let go of the constant wariness that had become second nature to him. He was still on high alert, but with you, he could find a semblance of peace.

He placed the groceries on the kitchen table with a sigh, rolling his shoulders back as he stood tall for a moment. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day lifting ever so slightly.

“You cooked again?” His voice was low, a little tired but grateful. There was a genuine smile tugging at his lips as he looked at the spread you had prepared—his favorite dish, steaming on the table, just like you always made.

You nodded, stepping closer to him as you gently removed his mask. His face, though still slightly bruised from whatever skirmishes he’d endured, relaxed at the sight of you, his tension dissipating with every passing second. Your fingers brushed the skin of his face, and his eyes softened, something unspoken passing between you both.

You led him to the table, pulling out the chair for him and sitting down next to him. The smell of the food was comforting, familiar—it made him feel human again, not like the monster he had to be in front of the Viltrumites.

“I’ll get your drink,” you said softly, starting to turn away.

Before you could take more than a step, Mark moved with the speed of a blur, grabbing his own glass and pulling you back into him effortlessly. You gasped, surprised by his sudden movement, but his grin was mischievous, like he knew he’d caught you off guard.

“Just eat with me,” he murmured, his tone low but filled with quiet longing. “I’ve been missing you all day.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. His hand rested on your waist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you closer, guiding you to sit beside him. The sound of his breath was steady now, no longer rushing, no longer worried. You made him feel safe, like the world outside didn’t matter as long as he was here with you.

And as the two of you shared the meal, the mundane warmth of being together in this small, quiet moment made the danger of the Viltrumites, the secrecy, and the tension outside all seem far away.

He was still the prisoner, still running, still fighting—yet in your presence, he could simply be Mark. And for once, that was enough.

OMNI MARK

The door to the house creaked open, and Omni Mark stepped through, his presence filling the entryway. He stood there for a moment, scanning the familiar surroundings of the house he barely let himself enjoy—his expression as neutral and unreadable as ever. The weight of his duties was always in his posture, the unspoken tension in the lines of his body.

You were already there, waiting. You always were, patiently keeping the home fires burning for him. It didn’t matter what world he’d just saved, what chaos he’d caused, or what new threat had appeared on the horizon. You were always there, waiting for him to return, to shed the cold shell he wore out in the world and be… something else.

He didn’t speak at first. Just dropped the bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter. The faint noise of bags being tossed aside echoed in the otherwise quiet room.

Then he turned, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Dinner’s ready?” His voice was calm, even flat, as if he weren’t already expecting it.

You smiled, unbothered by his distance, and nodded, setting the plate down with a flourish on the table. “I made your favorite.”

There was a brief flash of something in his eyes—something like a flicker of warmth, before it was masked again by the cold indifference that often ruled him. You could tell he appreciated it, though. You always knew.

He moved toward you with the slow, deliberate pace of someone who was never in a hurry to get anywhere. His movements were almost predatory, like everything in his world revolved around control. But when he was here, with you, he didn’t need that control. He didn’t have to be Omni, the cold, calculating hero. Not with you.

You led him to the table, where he sat down, already taking off his gloves. His posture was rigid, but his eyes softened as you went about the simple, domestic task of making sure everything was just right for him. You pulled the chair out for him, your hand briefly brushing his as you set down the glass of water in front of him.

You slid into the seat beside him, just close enough that your arm brushed his. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he reached over and placed his hand on your waist. There was something possessive, something unspoken in that simple touch. Even in his cold detachment, he couldn’t help but want to pull you closer.

He picked up his utensils, taking a bite of the food you’d prepared. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and he let out a small hum of approval. For a brief second, the mask he wore for the rest of the world slipped.

“You’re the only thing I look forward to,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, though his voice remained as level as ever. “The rest of it doesn’t matter.”

You gave him a soft smile, one that told him you understood. “I’m glad I can make it easier for you, Mark.”

He didn’t respond right away, but there was a quiet change in his demeanor. The harsh lines around his eyes softened, and he leaned a little closer, his thumb lightly tracing the edge of your hand where it rested on the table.

“Don’t get used to me being this… comfortable,” he muttered, but there was an undercurrent of something gentler in his tone. “I’m only this way for you.”

For a second, you didn’t say anything. You just squeezed his hand and held his gaze. With all the power, the worlds, and the responsibility on his shoulders, you were the one thing he would always make time for, always come home to. And in this quiet moment, you didn’t need him to say anything more.

He didn’t need to protect you from the universe right now. He just needed you.

“I’m just glad you’re home,” you said softly, leaning into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. You felt his body relax slightly as his free arm settled around you.

SHIESTY MARK

The door swung open with a loud thud as Shiesty Mark entered the house, his eyes scanning the room with the cool confidence that was always present. His swagger, the way he moved like he owned every damn thing in sight, was in full effect as he kicked off his boots, stepping into the warmth of the home. But that cocky grin he wore was quickly replaced with something a little more sincere, though still masked by his usual bravado, when he spotted you.

You were there, just like always. The center of his world—though he’d never admit it, not with that big ego of his. You were wearing something casual, and Mark couldn’t help but appreciate the way you moved, the way you were. It was a mixture of both relaxed and teasing, that effortless appeal that drove him wild.

“You back to your little domestic duties, huh?” he said with a chuckle, tossing a bag of groceries onto the counter, but his tone wasn’t as dismissive as usual. There was a glint in his eye, something that betrayed the usual arrogance.

You smirked, wiping your hands on a towel before walking over to him. “Well, someone has to keep you fed and happy.”

He raised an eyebrow, impressed, his grin spreading wider. “You really think you can handle all this?” He motioned to himself, a cocky gleam in his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I mean, I’m a catch and a half, babe.”

You shook your head, laughing, before stepping closer and tugging at his arm to guide him into the dining room. “Oh, trust me, I can handle you just fine.”

He followed you, his hand sliding over your waist as he sat at the table, eyes still scanning you like you were the most interesting thing in the room, even though he’d seen you a million times. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he loved these moments—when it was just the two of you. No world-ending events, no enemies lurking around, just you and him, sharing a moment.

You began to serve him his food, and his eyes softened as he looked at you. He had to admit, you always did a damn good job cooking. The meal you made was exactly what he needed after a long, grueling day of making deals, fighting, and doing what he did best. He didn’t say it, but the appreciation was clear when he looked at the plate you’d prepared.

“You really outdo yourself, huh?” he said, his tone a little less cocky, a little more genuine.

You smiled, walking around to the other side of the table and sitting down next to him. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into his lap, his hand resting possessively on your hip. His fingers traced lightly over your skin, though there was a bit of urgency in his touch.

“Guess I just can’t stay away from you,” he said with a grin, clearly trying to keep the mood light, but the sentiment was there.

You leaned in to kiss him, just a soft peck on the lips, before breaking away with a teasing smile. “You never can. Not when I’m the one who keeps you fed and sane.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, but the smile he gave you was different this time—something tender behind all the bravado. “Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually care about me.”

“Oh, I care,” you said, leaning into his chest. “Just don’t go getting too cocky now.”

He chuckled, rubbing your back slowly. “I’m always cocky, babe. Comes with the package.”

As you sat there, you could feel the weight of the world lift from his shoulders—just for a moment. He was still Shiesty Mark, still ruthless and cunning in his dealings, but here, with you, he could drop the mask, just for a while.

The food was still warm, and the quiet comfort of the moment settled between you both. Mark may have been a cocky, materialistic, unfiltered bastard to the world, but when it came to you, all that bravado was just a cover for how much he truly needed you.

And as you fed him, he didn’t speak much, but there was something in his eyes—a gratitude for this peace you gave him that words couldn’t describe.

EMPEROR MARK

The sharp echo of bickering filled the hallway as Emperor Mark stepped into the quiet entrance of the royal home. His expression unreadable as always—sharp jaw set, golden eyes gleaming with authority. He didn’t need to raise his voice to command attention—his presence alone was enough.

And he could already hear them. The sound of high-pitched whines and soft thuds—his children refusing to sit still, refusing to listen to their mother. Again.

You stood in the grand kitchen of the palace, sleeves rolled up, trying to plate the dinner you’d worked hard on with a tired but determined expression. One hand on your hip, the other lifting a spoon, your eyes flicked toward the sound of the chaos behind you.

Two of your children were already wrestling over a toy in the dining room, the third climbing into a chair that wasn’t theirs, all while your back was turned.

You sighed, barely getting a word out before a deep, commanding voice sliced through the noise.

“Enough.”

It was calm. Cold. Unyielding.

Silence swept through the room like a sudden drop in temperature. The children froze mid-motion, heads snapping toward the doorway. Emperor Mark stood there now, fully revealed, the kind of stillness radiating off him that warned anyone nearby not to test him.

Their little bodies straightened immediately.

“Sit. Now,” he ordered.

All three obeyed without question, scampering to their seats like frightened kittens. Not another peep came out of them. You turned, exhaustion melting off your face as your eyes met his.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, walking up to him. You were still holding a serving spoon, a streak of sauce on your apron. “I was about to lose my mind.”

He stepped closer, his hand resting gently on your waist, the touch a quiet comfort that only you were ever allowed to feel from him. “They should’ve listened the first time.”

You smiled, brushing a hand over his chestplate before nodding toward the dining table. “Dinner’s ready. Sit. I’ll serve.”

Mark moved with that same controlled confidence, taking his place at the head of the table—his usual seat, even when he wasn’t in formal regalia. He watched you from his chair, the way you moved so effortlessly, how you handed out each plate with care. Despite being a queen in title, you never lost the softness in you—the kindness that balanced his ruthless nature.

The children stayed quiet, glancing at their father every so often, still very much aware of his presence.

Once everyone had their plates, you set Mark’s down last, smoothing your hand over his shoulder as you did. He looked up at you with a glint of something fond in his eyes—brief, subtle, but there.

“You made it home in time,” you murmured with a soft smile.

“I always do,” he replied, reaching up to briefly rest his hand over yours.

You sat beside him, your eyes flicking toward your now-behaved children. The peace wouldn’t last long—you knew that. But for now, the family was together, and things felt… right.

Even as Emperor of the strongest empire in the galaxy, Mark always returned home. Because this, right here—your voice, your cooking, your tired smile, and your chaos-bringing children—this was his empire too.

VILTRUMITE MARK

The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft bubbling of sauce and the occasional clink of a spoon against the pot. The warm aroma of seasoned meat and roasted vegetables hung in the air like a comforting cloud, rich and earthy.

She stood at the stove with her sleeves rolled up, an apron tied snug around her waist—tighter than usual to accommodate the gentle swell of her belly. Only a few months along, but it was already enough to slow her movements just slightly, enough that Mark had noticed… and had nearly banned her from the kitchen again.

But she’d insisted. Begged him, even. Not out of desperation, but for some piece of normalcy—something she could hold onto in a world where she was otherwise protected, sheltered, and, at times, restricted. So Mark, Viltrumite warrior, conqueror, and protector, had granted her that one small freedom with a gruff warning and his hands resting over her stomach like a shield.

She could cook—but only when he was around. Only when he could watch her. Ensure she didn’t lift anything too heavy or strain herself.

And tonight, he was already home.

Mark leaned against the archway of the kitchen with his arms crossed, his white and gray viltrum uniform. Still, unmoving as he silently watched her work.

His sharp gaze dropped to her exposed bump, the apron tied just above it, framing the subtle curve in a way that stirred something primal in him. His child. Growing inside the woman he claimed as his own. It didn’t matter how many worlds he’d fought to keep, how many enemies had fallen under his fists—this was the only thing that truly made his chest ache with possessiveness.

She turned slightly, catching sight of him, and her face lit up in a soft, breathless smile.

“You’re staring again,” she teased, her voice gentle, affectionate. “Dinner’s almost ready. I didn’t overdo it.”

He didn’t smile back—not the way a normal man would—but there was something unmistakably warm in the way he moved toward her, hands slipping around her waist as he stepped behind her. His palms settled over her bump, thumbs brushing slow circles.

“I allow this one thing,” he said lowly, voice deep against her ear. “That doesn’t mean I won’t stop it the second you push yourself too far.”

She leaned into his chest, sighing contentedly. “I know. But I’m alright, Mark. This… it makes me happy. Feels like I’m doing something for us.”

“You’re growing our legacy,” he replied, his breath brushing over her cheek. “That’s more than enough. But if cooking gives you peace, then I’ll allow it.”

She chuckled, placing a warm hand over his. “Just wait until the cravings really hit. You’ll regret letting me in here.”

“I’ll get you whatever you need,” he said simply. “Even if I have to take down a planet to get it.”

He let her go after a moment, but not before placing a firm kiss against the side of her neck. As she turned to plate the food, he moved to sit at the head of their table, his eyes never leaving her.

There were no enemies here. No conquests. No blood to spill. Just the woman he adored and the future growing inside her.

And for a man like Mark, who had everything a Viltrumite could want—power, command, fear—this was the one thing that made him feel truly victorious.

NO GOGGLES MARK

He was never one to pretend. He didn’t soften things for comfort, didn’t offer tenderness unless he felt it was earned. Sadistic, cocky, and often full of himself, he thrived off power, off dominance. And yet—despite the blood on his hands and the chaos that often followed in his wake—there was something uniquely possessive about how he treated her. His woman. His home. His future.

So when he opened the door to the scent of sizzling spices and slow-cooked meat, his expression twitched—not with surprise, but smug satisfaction. His sharp gaze landed on her, apron tied around her waist, her pregnant belly rounding out slightly beneath the fabric. She was glowing in the low light of the kitchen, focused, humming softly as she stirred the pot.

“You’re still up,” he said casually, voice low and slick, the kind of tone that made people flinch when they didn’t know him. But her? She didn’t flinch. She turned to him with that familiar smirk, one brow arched in amusement.

“You think I’d let you come home to nothing?” she replied. “Please. I’ve been waiting on you.”

He licked his lips as he stepped closer, boots heavy against the floor. He didn’t even take off his blood-splattered jacket. “Damn right you have.”

Mark didn’t ask if she needed help. He didn’t apologize for being late or ask how she was feeling. He never did that. But his eyes? They dropped to her belly, lingered there with a slow, possessive hunger—something almost reverent hidden beneath all that ego.

His hand reached out, fingers curling under her chin, lifting her face to his.

“You know I could’ve just ordered someone to cook for you, right? Someone to serve you, carry you, give you whatever you want.” His voice dropped as he leaned in. “You’re carrying a Viltrumite. My child.”

“I know,” she whispered, lips brushing his, teasing. “But you let me cook. Said I earned it.”

“Damn right you did,” he growled before kissing her, deep and unrelenting, like he was claiming her all over again.

When he pulled back, he was smirking. “I kill for you all day. You feed me at night. That’s balance, baby.”

She chuckled, turning back toward the stove. “Food’s almost done. Sit your ass down.”

He did—only for her. Slouched in his seat, eyes sharp and gleaming, he watched her serve their plates. She moved slow, deliberate, graceful even with the weight of pregnancy curving her body forward. It made his jaw clench. He never thought he’d have something like this. He never thought he’d want it.

But the way she looked in his kitchen, with his child in her belly, cooking just for him? That was power. That was control.

And as she placed his plate down and kissed his cheek, he let out a breathless laugh.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” he muttered.

She leaned in closer, brushing her lips over his ear. “You love me.”

He paused, smirk curling sharp. “Maybe I do.”

And for Mark, that was a confession no one else in the galaxy would ever hear.

484 notes · View notes

chanelrolls · 1 month ago

Text

Love and Deepspace Men as College Students AU

pairings. sylus x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, xavier x reader, caleb x reader

notes. my headcanons of how and what would they be if they were set in an alternate universe of a college setting. requests are open!

SYLUS

Everyone knows Sylus. Whether it’s because of his absurd wealth, the way he dominates the racing scene, or how he carries himself among the crowd, he’s the kind of student people admire from afar but rarely dare to approach.

Definitely owns the most expensive bike on campus. He would pull up to lectures late, engine roaring, only to park in the most inconvenient places. The professors hate it, but no one dares to tell him to stop.

Never attends classes on time. He shows up whenever he feels like it, slides into his seat without a care, and still manages to ace every test like it’s effortless.

His major is a mystery. Seriously. Some say he’s in business because of his family’s influence, others think he’s in engineering because of his obsession with bikes. The truth? He’s studying something completely unexpected. (Design)

The one who gets professors to bend rules. He hands in assignments late, yet somehow convinces the professor to accept them. Probably through sheer confidence and the undeniable fact that his work is always top-tier.

People constantly try to get on his good side. Fake friends, clingy admirers, opportunists, he sees through them all. It’s a rare feat to actually earn his trust.

People think he’s cold, but he’s actually just selective. He doesn’t waste words on people who don’t matter. But when he does care? His presence is all-consuming, and he keeps those people close to him.

Has a reputation for getting into fights. He doesn’t start them, but if someone dares to push him? He ends them. Fast. Brutally. Efficiently.

Despite his reputation he's ridiculously smart. No one expects him to be the guy who casually dismantles complex theories in class. He doesn’t even study much, his mind just works differently.

He doesn't date, at least not publicly. People wonder if he’s ever been in a relationship, but no one has proof. His affairs, if they exist, are shrouded in complete secrecy.

He knows the underground side of the university too well. He’s got plenty connections, some legal, some… not so much. The kind of guy who could get his hands on things no regular college student should have access to.

SCENARIO

It’s late. The campus parking lot is empty, except for the flickering streetlights and the distant hum of a few motorcycles.

You’re walking toward your dorm when you hear the deep purr of an engine slowing to a stop.

You glance over your shoulder. It turns out to be Sylus.

He’s sitting astride his bike, helmet balanced on his thigh, one hand gripping the handlebar loosely. His gaze? Fixed directly on you.

"Didn’t take you for the type to stay out this late," he murmurs, voice low.

You shrug, trying to ignore the way the cold air makes you shiver. "Didn’t take you for the type to care."

A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips. "I don’t." A lie. You can tell.

He watches as you move closer, eyes flickering down for a fraction of a secon, too quick, but you catch it anyway. You don't want to make your conversation longer with someone this well-known, so you walk ahead, hoping that that's the end of it. Until you hear him speak again.

"Need a ride?" It’s an invitation wrapped in something dangerous. How unexpected.

You hesitate, then tilt your head. "Why would you...?"

Sylus chuckles deeply, like he wasn’t expecting the challenge. "Guess there’s only one way to find out."

And just like that, he tosses you the helmet. As if he already knew you’d say yes.

ZAYNE

The epitome of a model student; Perfect attendance, straight A’s, every professor’s favorite. If there’s a student the university would use in a promotional video, it’s certainly him.

Teachers' favourite

Always impeccably dressed. Button-down shirts, slacks, polished shoes—never a wrinkle, never a stain. He treats college like a corporate internship, and it shows. He also often walks around with long trench coats, it's his favourite piece of clothing.

Sits in the exact same seat every lecture. Second row, dead center. First row is too eager and attention-seeking, but anything further back is inefficient.

Has the most organized notes you’ve ever seen. Typed, color-coded, formatted like a research paper. If you ask to borrow them, he’ll hesitate before sighing and handing them over.

Never late, never rushed. His schedule is meticulously planned. If he’s ever late, something catastrophic must have happened.

Carries a leather-bound planner around. Digital calendars are unreliable for him. He writes everything down, from deadlines to coffee appointments, in perfect cursive.

He's always chosen as a delegate for external competitions or division-level activities, earning several awards.

Rarely seen at campus cafeterias. If he does eat on campus, it’s either a perfectly balanced meal prepped in advance or something minimal like black coffee and a protein bar.

Always smells expensive. Not overpowering, just subtly present. Clean, crisp, like fresh pages of a book mixed with something chic and sophisticated.

Somehow has dirt on everyone. He doesn’t gossip, but he listens. A passing remark, a detail others overlook, he collects information without even trying, possibly even using those against those people when needed.

Once you earn his attention, it’s hard to shake it off. If he chooses to focus on you, it’s deliberate. And his attention is the kind that lingers, even when he’s gone.

SCENARIO

It’s late. The campus library hums with a quiet stillness, the air thick with the scent of old books and freshly brewed coffee. You’re seated at a wooden desk, buried under an avalanche of textbooks and half-written notes, struggling to finish an assignment.

“Your handwriting is inefficient,” comes a smooth voice from behind you.

You glance up, blinking as Zayne pulls out the chair across from you, uninvited but completely assured of his place there. He sets down a sleek leather journal, flipping it open with precise movements.

You scoff. “Not all of us are programmed for perfection.”

His lips quirk—just slightly. “Clearly.”

You glare, but he’s already scanning your notes, his sharp gaze dissecting your work with effortless precision. Without asking, he reaches over, flips your notebook around, and rewrites an equation.

“You missed a variable.”

You stare at his elegant script, then back at him. “Do you enjoy making people feel incompetent?”

Zayne exhales, amused. “No.”

His fingers brush against yours as he slides your notebook back. It’s fleeting—so subtle you might’ve imagined it.

"Then what?" You ask. But when you meet his gaze, there’s something else there, something unreadable, something intentionally left for you to decipher.

And for the first time tonight, your exhaustion is replaced with something else entirely.

RAFAYEL

Skips classes religiously, claiming the "academic system is a plague on creative minds." He’s only seen in class when he’s legally required to be there—or when he’s bored enough to entertain himself with a professor’s suffering.

If he does attend, expect dramatic sighs, exaggerated eye rolls, and the occasional muttered insult about how the syllabus is “the death of passion.”

Knows everything about everyone. It’s not that he seeks out gossip—it simply comes to him. He has a way of prying secrets out of people with nothing more than a lazy smirk and a well-placed question.

Unapologetically nosy. If you so much as whisper in the hallway, he’s tilting his head, eyes alight with curiosity, waiting for the drama to unfold.

Despite his disdain for academics, he has the highest scores in philosophy and art history—because, according to him, “those are the only things worth knowing.”

Causes scandals effortlessly. One time, he casually implied that two professors were having an affair, and within a week, half the campus believed it. Was it true? He won’t say.

His art is chaotic, emotional, sometimes terrifying, and always raw. Professors either worship him or think he’s insane—there is no in-between.

Constantly broke despite having expensive tastes. Has a habit of buying ridiculously overpriced lattes just for the aesthetic of holding them.

Everyone thinks he’s a flirt, but he’s actually just very comfortable with physical affection. Will drape himself over his friends, lean against them, play with their hair—but the moment it’s turned on him? Flustered beyond belief.

The type to disappear for days and then show up like nothing happened, holding a new painting and a cryptic comment like, “I was emotionally exiled to the mountains.”

Claims to be a “nihilist” but secretly gets way too invested in people’s love lives. Will drop devastatingly accurate predictions about who’s going to break up next.

Often idles in the clinic when it's physical education time, just because he doesn't want to sweat.

SCENARIO

It’s midnight when you find him, half-sprawled on the studio floor, surrounded by unfinished canvases. The room smells like paint thinner and something distinctly him—smoky, a little sweet, like the remnants of a late-night adventure.

“You’re out past curfew,” he drawls, not even looking up. He’s playing with a paintbrush between his fingers, tapping it idly against his knee. “Breaking the rules? How rebellious of you.”

“Rafayel, I need to close this room now. Ms. Evans told me so.” You cross your arms, stepping over a discarded sketchbook. “You aren't allowed in here this late.”

He finally looks up, eyes gleaming with mischief. “No. But neither are you, so now we’re both criminals! How romantic.”

You roll your eyes but step closer anyway. He’s watching you now, head tilted in that way he does when he’s analyzing something—or someone.

“You should go,” you tell him.

“So should you.” His lips twitch. “But instead, you’re here. Seeking me out. Really suspicious of you, but it's okay, I get people who have crushes.”

You sigh, exasperated. “Rafayel—”

“Shh.” He shifts, suddenly closing the space between you, paint-streaked fingers brushing against your wrist. His touch is warm, even through the cold air of the studio.

“I have a theory,” he murmurs, voice lower now, softer. “I think you like me.”

Your heart stumbles. “Excuse me?”

“I think,” he continues, ignoring your attempt at indignation, “that you pretend I annoy you, but you keep coming back.” His fingers trail higher, barely grazing the inside of your wrist. “I think you’re more interested than you want to admit.”

You swallow hard, pulse betraying you. “You’re insufferable.”

He grins. "That's what you like about me."

XAVIER

Rarely speaks in class, but when he does, it’s always something unexpectedly insightful. Professors are lowkey impressed.

His navigation skills are atrocious. He’ll confidently walk into the wrong lecture hall, sit through 20 minutes of an advanced physics course before realizing he’s supposed to be in philosophy.

Has a perfectly neutral expression 99% of the time. No one ever knows what he’s thinking, and it drives people crazy.

Falls asleep in the most inappropriate places. He’s been found dozing off in stairwells, under trees, and even once, standing up in a crowded elevator.

He doesn’t understand social norms at all. If someone tells him a joke, he’ll just stare at them before giving a delayed, monotone “Ha. Ha.”

Awkward in a way that somehow makes him more attractive. He doesn’t try to be charming, and yet, that’s what makes people drawn to him.

Has absolutely no idea he’s a campus heartthrob. People whisper about him, but he’s too oblivious to notice.

Has an oddly intense gaze. Even if he’s not trying to be, the way he stares at people makes it feel like he’s reading their soul.

Carries a handkerchief like some 19th-century nobleman. And yes, he will hand it to you if you’re crying.

Oblivious to flirting. Someone could directly say, “I like you,” and he’d just nod and go, “Noted.”

His humor is so dry it’s almost undetectable. Half the time, you can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious. One time he approached you suddenly while you read a book about being different, "How many yous would I find in the next school year?" Huh? "Being different, right?"

The most inconveniently attractive person on campus. He’s not trying, but the rolled-up sleeves, the lazy ruffled hair, the calm but unreadable expression? Yeah. It’s a problem.

A student council member but always absent during meetings.

SCENARIO

It’s late, probably too late to be out walking around campus. But here you are, beside Xavier, the cool autumn air pressing in around you.

“You should go back to your dorm,” he says, his voice as calm as ever. “It’s getting late.”

“You’re literally out here too.”

He tilts his head, like he hadn’t considered that. “…Fair point.”

The two of you walk in silence for a while, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. He doesn’t say much, but that’s normal. Being with Xavier isn’t about filling space with words.

Then, out of nowhere...

“Do you want to hold hands?”

You nearly stumble. “What?”

He just looks at you, expression unreadable. “It’s statistically safer to walk in pairs. Handholding ensures proximity.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s… the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugs. “I know.” But his hand is right there, fingers slightly curled, waiting.

After a beat, you sigh and take it. His grip is warm, steady—but then, a slight squeeze. A tiny motion, but enough to send a shiver up your spine.

When you glance up at him, there’s something different in his expression. Just for a second, an almost-smirk. A teasing, knowing glint in his eyes.

Like he’s enjoying this.

You squeeze his hand back.

And he lowers his head to smile.

CALEB

The golden boy of the campus. He’s effortlessly popular—everyone knows him, everyone likes him, but he doesn’t care for any of it.

A natural-born athlete. Captain of the basketball team, but he’s also good at soccer, swimming, and anything that involves physical endurance. He lives for competition.

Too charismatic for his own good. People are drawn to him, but he keeps a natural distance, his warm exterior masking the fact that his attention is extremely selective.

Flirty without meaning to be. It’s not intentional. He’s just too smooth, and it drives people crazy. A smirk here, a casual arm around someone’s shoulders, it all means nothing to him.

Has had dozens of love confessions, but never accepted a single one. No one knows why.

Straightforward and assertive. If he wants something, he takes it. If he doesn’t like someone, they know.

Has a ridiculous amount of stamina. Can play a full game, go to the gym, and still have energy left to pick someone up and carry them effortlessly.

Would rather fight than argue. He’s not one for petty debates, he settles things physically or with an unshakable finality in his tone.

Territorial as hell. His seat in the cafeteria? His parking spot? His people? All his. No one touches them.

Cooked once during a cookery lesson and was annoyingly good at it. Now people keep begging him to make food, but he only ever does it for someone specific.

A terrible tutor. He has zero patience for slow learners and will resort to bribing, challenging, or outright intimidating someone into getting the right answer.

He doesn't always resort to violence, no. When someone pisses him off, tying the person's bag around their chair is all that he needs to do. Sometimes, secretly putting huge rocks inside the bagpack.

Cannot sit still for long periods. He’s either tapping his foot, spinning a pen, or stretching every five minutes.

Despite his unpredictability, he's ranked as the valedictorian of his batch.

SCENARIO

The student lounge is crowded. People are chatting, studying, and lazily scrolling through their phones between classes. You’re sitting on one of the couches, laughing at something your friend just said when Caleb suddenly slides into the seat next to you.

No warning. Just an unbothered, entirely possessive claim of the space beside you.

“Hey—” You barely have time to react before he does something even bolder.

His arm slings over the back of the couch, effectively caging you in. His fingers tap lazily against your shoulder, casually.

You turn, confused. “Caleb…?”

He doesn’t look at you. He’s staring at your friend instead with a forced smile, his usual easygoing nature laced with something colder.

“Are you leaving?” Caleb asks in a deceptively polite tone.

Your friend hesitates. Then, after a forced chuckle, stands up. “I—yeah, I have class.”

They’re gone in seconds.

You blink, not being able to say anything.

“What?” Caleb finally turns to you, his smirk lazy, but his eyes? Entirely unrepentant.

You frown. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He hums, tilting his head slightly, watching you too closely.

“Didn’t I?”

The implication hangs in the air. Like he knows something you don’t. Like he’s already decided what’s his.

439 notes · View notes

neopuppy · 2 years ago

Text

Cookie Jar (M)

pairing. Jeno x female reader x Jaemin

genre. stuck in a dryer AU(because why not), meany step-brothers Jaemin/Jeno, pwop(and yet a plot twist), crack if you squint, M/F

warnings. dubcon(don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable. thanks.), stepcest, profanity, smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

wc. 7000

now playing. Cookie Jar//Doja Cat

smut warnings. baby oil, pet names, threesome, unprotected vaginal sex, double penetration(one hole), degradation/praise

“God damn, your step-brothers are so hot.” Your friend says, sucking a hissed breath between her teeth. “I’d do anything to get stuck between those two.”

“You’re sick,” you mutter, slapping her oiled up shoulder, warmed and glistening under the last days of summer sun. “They’re my brothers.”

“Step-brothers.” She shrugs, continuing to eye the two dunking each other underwater with headlocks. “Come on, that’s like… universally a big turn on.”

“Yeah, well not to me.” You say, rolling your eyes before returning to watch the commotion in the pool travel closer, splashing too close to where you lay. “You wouldn’t think they’re so hot if you had to live with them like I do.”

“Believe me, I definitely would.” She sighs, dragging one of the legs of her sunglasses between the seam of her lips. “Don’t know how you resist, I swear they get bigger and buffer every time they visit.”

Now that is true, you silently agree, shielding your eyes from the sun to take in a better look.

“Jaemin’s so broad,” she continues, nibbling at her glasses. “And Jeno’s so lean.. nothing but muscle on him. I bet they get real rough.”

“You need to get laid.” You mumble, focused on the way Jeno’s veins ripple with each squeeze around Jaemin’s neck. The two red in the face from rough-housing for the last hour. “And not by one of my brothers.”

She whines, pouting and sticking out her tongue. “You’re no fun, if you’re not gonna allow me to do it… one of us should.”

Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively, leaning back and fanning herself as they begin to exit the pool. Jeno smiles, eyes more squinted with the sun beating down on his face and tight sculpted chest. “Hey, we’re going to head inside. You want anything?”

The dreamy sigh your friend let’s out doesn’t go unnoticed, whether it be from Jeno’s charm or Jaemin’s perfected way of continuing to not acknowledge your existence; too busy patting his flat smooth stomach dry. It’s all a show of course, he knows he looks too damn good.

“I’m okay, thanks Jeno.”

He nods, throwing an arm around his brother's shoulder to continue their playful match as they pass through the sliding doors back into your house.

“He’s so cute,” your friend continues to fawn over the two, squealing that you must have been a saint in a past life to have ended up in such a lucky situation.

“It’s not luck.” You disagree, shushing her. “Anyway enough of this, I have a date to get ready for tonight, the last thing on my mind is Jeno or Jaemin.”

She sighs, shoulders slumping as she lays back. “Meanwhile, I’ll be home dreaming about your step-brothers railing me into the next universe.”

Yeah, in your dreams they’ve had their way with you once or twice.. maybe more than a couple handful of times. It doesn’t help that neither of them has ever attempted to be discreet about their sexual conquests when they’re home. It’s the main reason you can’t even stare at a phallic shaped object for too long without venturing into lewd thoughts of your step-brothers acting out their usual horny himbo behavior with you.

The headache you currently have for example is all Jaemin’s fault, keeping you up into the late AM hours with two sluts screaming from his bedroom akin to something straight out of a horror film. That’s how you found your way to the kitchen to distract your mind from the deeper throaty moans between their banshee-like cries. Maybe water would quench the thirst closing up your throat, but how to stop the aching heat between your thighs..

“What’re you doing up?” His groggy voice emerged, feet patting their way across kitchen tile toward the open fridge you’ve been standing in front of for a minute now contemplating if you should make a sandwich or not.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you sneer, side-eyeing him with a mean look. Your step-brother's afterglow has his eyes dropping at the corners, smiling lazily as he reaches past you for two water bottles.

“Try counting sheep?” He doesn’t even acknowledge you with a glance, moving to sit at the kitchen island and chug down one of the waters. Not even bothering to pull on a shirt before coming down, because why would you question the bright red and pink scratches lining his upper back. It’s dim enough to make it weird if you mention it, too observant on your part.

“I don’t think that will help.” You say, rolling your eyes and shifting down to the cabinet filled with snacks. “Too much noise, not even sheep can drown that out.”

“Hmm,” Jaemin hums, fixing his messy hair still sweaty at the roots. “That’s weird, I never hear anything.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?”

The sound of a chair scrapes across the tile, feet patting toward the same way he came in from but coming to a stop too close, right behind you.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He whispers, hovering near the back of your ear. “Am I doing something to keep you up at night?”

Jaemin knows you hear everything with your bedroom being right in-between his and Jeno’s. Only a wall apart from the debauchery taking place mere feet away from you. “You’ve never complained before..” he reaches for your hair, tossling it behind you and gathering most down the center of your back.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Hmm, sounds to me like you’re eavesdropping?” You can pick up a smirk in his tone, shivering down your spine as his palm weighs down on your shoulder. “Don’t tell me my sweet innocent little sister is a pervert? What would your father think.”

He presses closer, reaching out in front of you to grab a protein bar, groin rocking against your backside as he leans up to reach for it above both of your heads. “It’s—it’s not that.” You bite down on your lip, eyes squeezing shut to push away the thought of just how thick he feels pressed against your ass. The shape of his length prominent and hot, half-hard where he digs into you.

“Then what is it?” Jaemin grunts, pushing down on your shoulder heavier for leverage to reach higher, lightly grazing the bar with the tips of his fingers. “What’s keeping you up?”

“Neighbors.. neighbors dog.” You lie, shaking away the memories of high-pitched moans and screams buried into pillows. “Barks a lot, near my window.”

Jaemin tsks, successfully pulling down the snack he’s been reaching for but not without aligning the dip between your ass with his growing size. “What a pesky dog.” He leans forward, lips brushing your ear. “Maybe you need some new headphones, I’ll buy you some this weekend. Can’t have my baby sis losing out on precious sleep.”

With one last dig of his hips against yours, he grins, patting the top of your head. “Get some sleep baby.”

You had to grip onto the end of the cabinet to keep your knees from failing you, dropping your head down to suppress a whimper. Jaemin’s so mean, so fucking mean for what? Maybe you are a pervert though, secretly lusting after not just one—but both of your step-siblings. God your parents would ship you off to boarding school if they knew you couldn’t catch a wink of sleep after that.

No, not with your ear pressed up against the wall trying to mute every sound that couldn’t have come from one of the main characters of your daily fantasies. Between having both Jaemin and Jeno back home for summer, you haven’t seen a day of peace.

Your friend was right, maybe she needs to get laid, but more than anything you need to be fucked. Fucked hard enough for your soul to leave your body and make a trip to heaven and back.

That explains the deep set bags under your eyes today, hidden under the sunglasses that also do a great job of masking your lack of ability to take in each wet rippling muscle lining Jeno’s stomach, or Jaemin’s thick biceps flexing and gripping around his neck.

A defeated sigh solidifies your decision to get in a quick nap before it’s time to get ready for your date tonight. You won’t be of much use for another man if you’re still stuck in a horny whirlwind fantasy anyway.

What was that Jaemin said to you last night? Count sheep?

One. Two. Three..

“Where are you going?”

Jeno’s sitting on top of the dryer mindlessly scrolling through his phone, double-taking at the sound of you entering the laundry room; his eyes nearly falling out of their sockets at the length of your skirt.

“Out.” You say, squatting a bit to sort through your clean basket of clothes. “Have you seen my favorite bra?”

Jeno jumps off the machine, head ducking lower, catching a glimpse of sheer lace baby pink between your thighs. “What?”

“My bra,” you stand, cupping around your chest. “It’s light pink, floral trimming, the cups are see-through.”

He gapes, mouth going dry taking in the rest of your appearance. “Where are you going?”

“Hello, earth to Jeno!” Waving around, you reach out to flick his forehead, wrist caught mid-air before you reach. “I asked you a question!”

He scoffs, tugging you closer. “Why would I have your bra?! Are you not wearing it?” The realization has Jeno pulling you arm up to better stare at your chest, a faint shadow of nipple peeks through the cotton material hugging your breasts.

“What the hell are you wearing?!” He’s flabbergasted, scanning up and down your figure and shaking his head in disapproval. “You can’t go out like this.”

Pulling free from his hold you roll your eyes, returning to the basket of fresh laundry in search of your undergarments. “You don’t like it?”

Jeno pauses, mouth opening and shutting again, lips pouting out. He definitely likes it, but you shouldn’t be out in public revealing this much of your body to anyone.. it’s different at home; no one other than him and Jaemin to see you prance around in oversized t-shirts barely hitting beneath your ass. Not that they’ve ever wondered what would happen if you bent down to pick something up in front of them, not that they’ve ever caught themselves turning their heads toward the stairs in unison when you come skipping down, bouncing away.

“You look..” Jeno hums, taking too long to admire the smooth backs of your thighs leading up to the plump roundness your skirts doing a poor job of hiding. “..it’s just.. would your dad let you wear that out??”

Snorting, you stand up to glare at him with your hands on your hips, head cocked to the side. “He’s not here to stop me, is he?”

“No but he asked us to watch over you, I don’t think your dad would like it if he knew I let you leave the house looking like..”

“Like what?” You snap back, stepping forward to get in his face.

“Like..”

“Go on.”

“Like a common street whore.” Jeno straightens out, clearing his throat, chin tilted in to appear serious. “Walking around like you’re asking for it.”

Smiling, you poke at his chest, your step-brother’s resolve crumbling as you softly laugh. “Maybe I am.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?!” Jeno groans, shaking his head again. “I can’t let you go out like that, I won’t allow it.”

“Oh you won’t allow it? Do you think you’re my daddy?” You ask, taunting him further with another prod at his chest; mascara heavily coated eyelashes batting mischievously.

Jeno swallows, biting at the sides of his tongue, annoyed and aroused by everything. The way you’re dressed, the way you keep touching him, the silky tone you say that word in.

“Where exactly do you need to go dressed like that?” He repeats, the sound of the dryer cycle coming to an end clearing his foggy mind for a moment.

Sighing, you roll your eyes, adjusting the loose bolero cashmere slipping from your shoulders. “The new neighbor invited me over for dinner and a movie, we’re not going out. He’s gonna cook me a nice American meal because I mentioned how much I miss it back home when we met.”

Jeno’s eyes dart back and forth in thought, a light bulb coming to life behind them. “THE AMERICAN GUY? THAT GROWN ASS MAN?!”

“He’s 28!”

“Exactly!” His demeanor changes drastically, arms flailing angrily. “Oh you are not going out to see him dressed like that! In fact! You aren’t going anywhere near that creep!”

“He’s not a creep! God Jeno.” Shoving past him you continue muttering about how he needs to calm down, you don’t need to take orders from him or anyone. “I’m an adult.”

“He’s way too old for you.” Jeno paces behind you, too frustrated to notice you’ve begun to pull out his dry laundry, sorting through it in search of your bra. “I’m gonna have to call your dad.”

“Jeno! Do not!” You snap again, letting out an annoyed huff. “I never snitch on you and Jaemin all the nights you sneak out and bring back girls to fuck!”

Jeno gapes again, moving to stand by your side and snatch his boxers before you grab them. “We don’t do that!”

“Oh you don’t? I must have imagined those girly moans coming from your bedrooms screaming oh yes! Daddy please! Rip my ass apart! Your cocks so fucking big!” You slap down on the dryer moaning out, arching forward pressing your breast against the machine, eyes rolling up sarcastically. “Ugh yes daddy! Cum on my ass!”

Jeno gulps, eyebrows twisting together as his cock jumps inside the confines of his jeans, gnawing at his bottom lip to contain an anguished groan. “That’s..”

“Piece of shit dryer,” you curse, bending down to reach further inside, the strap of your bra meeting your fingers. “I swear if this thing ate my bra!”

Jeno runs his hands through his hair, tugging at chunks trying to regain his composure. The position you’ve dropped to on your knees, ass shimmying in the air further pushing him to his limit not helping one bit.

There’s no way he can let you leave this house dressed like this, no way he can let that pervert down the street take advantage of his little innocent step-sister, no way he can let anyone ruin you other than him.

His hand trembles inches away from your backside, soft supple skin fully exposed just aching to be slapped, marked up and bruised by his hands.

“Jeno! Help me!” You whine, shaking and kicking out your feet annoyed. “I think I’m stuck!”

Oh fuck.

“Wh-what..” Jeno’s eyes travel around quickly, ending back on your ass wiggling around in a weak attempt to free yourself from the machine you’ve gotten stuck inside of. “W-what… quit fucking around.”

“I’m not! I’m stuck, Jeno! You have to get me out!” Your sad excuse of a skirt flares up as you start to kick, ankles knocking together the more you whine and yell at him. “I can’t believe this!”

Me either, Jeno thinks, swallowing a thick wad of saliva to coat his throat. “This has to be a joke, you’re…you’re trying to..” he pauses, mewling over what exactly it is you’re doing to him. On your knees, ass rippling under your cute little panties, back arched low in this much too perfect position.

“I’m not joking! Jeno I’m really stuck! I think my sweater got caught in the machine!” Your whiney high-pitched tone doesn’t help Jeno’s growing problem twitching against his inner thigh.

“What am I supposed to do?! Break the fucking dryer?!” Jeno splutters, forcing himself to look away and draw in shallow breaths.

SHE’S YOUR SISTER.

The chant shouting in his head gets interrupted by the devil on his shoulder, speaking in an oddly similar tone he’s more than familiar with. ‘She’s just our step-sister Jeno, it’s not a crime.’

That’s what Jaemin’s always said whenever they’ve drank a little too much and toyed with the idea of hooking up with you. ‘Believe me, I’m gonna fuck her at some point, you know I can’t keep it in my pants this long.’

Jaemin had a point, but even then Jeno can’t deny the guilt he feels as his gaze retreats back to your ample backside, arched out pathetically, fully pushing your plump folds out against the thin layer of underwear leaving nothing to his imagination.

“Do something!” You shout, near tears from the dryer's heat sweating your makeup off. All this effort to look pretty for Johnny only for it to be completely wasted over this stupid damn bra. This is all Jeno’s fault! He never even clears out the lint before throwing his clothes in!

“Okay okay!” The existential crisis your step-brother’s going through fails to transcend through his response, even if he’s fully messed up his hair style by ripping at tufts while pacing behind you. “What if.. I can try to pull you out?”

“Hurry! It’s so hot in here! I’m melting!”

Could you be more dramatic? He wants to scoff, rolling his eyes as he drops down to his knees and his hands hover over your hips. “I’m going to try and reach in, alright?”

“God damnit Jeno! Fucking hurry up!” You screech, feet stomping against the ground between his thighs.

“Oh shit,” Jeno presses in closer to avoid your heels colliding with his sack, eyes going wide upon contact with your core, all warm and damp where his lower stomach meets the forbidden area between your thighs. “Fuck.”

He has to catch his breath again, sliding his hands through the space left at your sides. He definitely could avoid touching you given the amount of space, but that doesn’t stop him from smoothing up your hips and waist, squeezing his way up as he bends closer with his chin resting atop the dryer. The new angle aligns his hips with yours, his now fully hard length digging into your thigh the more he leans his body in to lock under your armpits and pull your shoulders back. “Come on, work with me here.”

“That hurts! It’s my sweater Jeno! My sleeves wrapped up in the machine, I can’t get it out!” He can feel you tug, shifting back further into his groin the more you attempt to move and release your arm from the uncomfortable position you’re trapped in.

“Sorry sorry..” he gasps, unable to stop himself from rocking forward against your warmth. “Should I try to take your top off?” Shaking his head in disbelief, he circles against your ass, biting down on his teeth to suppress a groan when his length slots between your folds. Even with the material of your clothes keeping you apart, the idea alone of having you so vulnerable to his ministrations is more than enough. High alone off how unsuspecting his every calculated move is, because why would your big brother take advantage of you like this? Jeno would never, he loves you too much.

“Ughh…” you whine, head drooping with sweat pouring down your face faster than a river flow. “This is so stupid!” You cry, shimmying back again, too exhausted to pick up on the hard shaped rod pressed flush to your core.

“I’m so tired..” blinking slowly, you wonder how stupid it may be to call up 911 for this.

‘Hey my step-sister got stuck in a dryer trying to find a bra. Can you make it fast? She’s supposed to have a hot date tonight with this sexy American beef cake that lives down the street.’

Because that’s something that could only ever happen to you. Public humiliation that would only draw attention to your house with a blaring fire truck uselessly parked outside only to decide that the jaws of life would be necessary to free you from this comedic porn scenario mess of a situation you’ve landed yourself in.

“I’m doing my best baby.” Jeno soothes, maneuvering his hands to your back in search of a bra clasp to release. Oh right.. hard nipples, no bra. The entire reason you’re stuck to begin with. “I’m going to take your top off, okay?”

No bra, that should make this easier, he gulps, untying the halter strings connected at the back of your neck. “Maybe if we can get you out of this..” he tries to imagine your tortured cute face, tear stricken the longer you suffer in there. The image of your distress only makes his cock jump, rutting harder against your ass.

“Fuck, I can’t do this.” He whispers quietly to himself, too caught up in his own form of torture. What are the chances of pulling you out, tits bouncing freely as you fall back and land ass first onto the seat of his lap. Jeno nods to himself, pulling your top lower until he can sense the release of your breasts, likely resting against the still warm metal insides of the dryer.

“Try to pull your arms free now baby.”

Maybe it’s due to your exhaustion, lazily pushing back only to be met with your step-brother’s hips and a low groan. “I can’t Jeno, I can’t anymore.” You sob, pathetically dropping flat with your arm strung up still locked in place.

“I’m going to have to cut your sweater.” He thinks fast, glancing around quickly before noticing you’re no longer alone.

“Jaemin?!”

“Jaemin!” You shout, shocked by the mention of your other brother. “Huh?!”

An amused laugh traces up your back, followed by a round of applause and feet shuffling forward. “No no, keep it going Jeno.”

He leans against the washer, smirking to one side. “All this fun without me? You dirty fucking dog.”

“Jaem, it’s not what it looks like! She’s st—“

“No no, seriously, by all means—go on, don’t let me interrupt. I’m dying to know what you’ll do next.” He says sarcastically. “You’re really the luckiest motherfucker I know, Jeno. Found her like this before I had the chance.”

“Dude, it’s not like that!” He groans, gripping around your waist roughly out of frustration.

“Ow!” You squeak, pushing back harder against his crotch. “Jaemin, do something!”

“Do something?” He muses, squatting down near his brother to get a good look at your connected lower halves, skirt pushed high above your hips and underwear scrunched up between your buttcheeks. “I can do a lot, if you really want me to, princess.”

“Jaemin, no..” Jeno begs quietly, knowing his sibling better than himself. “You can’t.”

“Oh, but you can, right?” He snickers, snapping his fingers. “All this struggling and neither of you idiots has considered oil yet?” He laughs, patting Jeno’s back roughly before exiting.

“Where’d he go?!” You kick at the ground again, maybe Jaemin could get you out of here, he’s buffer than Jeno.. always flexing his muscles in front of you talking about ‘gains’.

“Uh..” Jaemin walks back in before he’s able to coin up a lie, a clear bottle of baby oil in hand. “Man, why do you even have that??”

“You know why.” He grins cockily, returning to match Jeno’s position on his knees. “We’ll just lube her up real good and she’ll slip right out.”

“What is this?” Jeno asks, genuinely bewildered. “Am I dreaming?” He raises an eyebrow, reaching to pinch your buttcheek.

“Ow! What the fuck!”

Oh right, he’s supposed to pinch himself. Not you.

“Don’t think you are but either way, hope we don’t wake up.” Jaemin chuckles, nudging his elbow into his brother’s side. “I think you’ve had enough failed attempts at this, it’s my turn.”

Reluctantly Jeno’s shoulders drop and he shifts off to your side, hard-on pressed to your hip as if that will help hide how insanely turned on he is right now.

Jaemin makes a face, whistling quietly as he leans in to whisper for you not to hear. “I’d be 8 deep in her right now, you’re an idiot.”

“Whatever man, I’m trying to be a good brother.”

“Step.” Jaemin rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t count, besides, look at us and look at her—we’re like some PornHub dream come true. Think of the money we could make if we filmed this..”

“Hello?!” You cry out, unable to hear anything aside from muffled voices. “Are you going to help me or what?!?”

“Of course princess.” Jaemin says reassuringly, handing Jeno the bottle of baby oil to free his hands to grab onto your hips. “You’re stuck real good in there unfortunately, but your big brother has a great plan to get you out.”

Jeno shakes his head, mouthing ‘you sick fuck’ to the other, receiving only a much too cheerful smile in return.

“Okay, thank you..” you don’t sound too convinced, but at this point with your makeup all sweated off and hair ruined, you don’t have much of a choice other than to just go with it.

“I’m going to try oiling you up, but I don’t want to ruin your pretty outfit baby.” He winks at Jeno, mouthing ‘watch this’. “Is that okay with you?” He tugs on your underwear to ask without flat out asking.

“Take off my clothes?” With your top already rolled down to your waist and this bent over position you’ve been stuck in for too long now, you can’t fathom how much more humiliating this situation can get at this point.

“Yeah, sort of like when you use butter to help remove jewelry that’s too tight.” Jaemin shrugs, convinced he made that up. “It’s worth a shot to try, or would you rather I call the fire department to have you craned out of here. Might be hard to explain the hole in our roof to mom and dad later, and think of how much that repair will cost them.”

“Fine, fine! Get me out of here, please Jaem.” You whine again, lazily collapsing onto your stomach and chest.

“You don’t have to beg baby.” Jaemin can’t stop the smile on his lips from growing, slowly rolling your panties down to unveil your bald smooth cunt. He sucks in a hissed breath between his teeth. “Fuck, even prettier than I imagined.”

Jeno leans in closer, swallowing down a sob. “Yeah, real nice..” his hand lifts, hovering close by. “You’re right, fuck, I’m an idiot.” His hips jam closer, digging his painfully hard length into the side of your thigh.

“We should oil your entire body.” Jaemin pipes up. “You know, to make sure you slip free easily. I wouldn't want my baby sis to get hurt.”

That doesn’t make a lick of sense, you think, but who fucking cares anymore. Jaemin skims his palms beneath your skirt, tugging it over your hips ever so gently. Clueless to the visual of your ass bouncing against the material with each light tug, he curses under his breath.

“You see that Jeno?” He nods to your exposed rim, tight as fuck, as if nothing’s ever penetrated back there. “That’s a damn shame.. Our poor baby, so neglected..”

You hate to admit but everything your step-brother has said in his usual monotone calm voice has your thighs rubbing together anxiously. Because when you weighed the pros and cons of sacrificing your pride and ego, you failed to consider the most humiliating one: leaking down your thighs for your step-brothers to watch from a front row seat.

“Fuck.”

“What was that my angel?” Jaemin chimes, reaching for your top to drag down over your wide hips, the material showing resistance as seams pop open passing over the round pert of your ass. “You’re doing so good for me.” He says, acknowledging Jeno with his arm slung atop the dryer to stop himself from hunching forward and burying his face between your butt. “Well, for us.”

This has to be some type of punishment, you can’t even bite down on your fist to drown out the moan you let out next. Jaemin uses your weakened state to fully control the dip in your back, hoisting your hips higher to make your cheeks spread naturally and leave you completely exposed.

“God damn.” He grits pushing down on your waist and pressing his crotch to the back of your thigh. “Hurry up Jeno, soak her up.”

“You have to say it like that?” Jeno sounds near the verge of tears trying to uncap the baby oil in his tight grip. “Isn’t this—sort of..”

“If you don’t hurry the fuck up I’m gonna shove my dick inside of her in the next five seconds!” Jaemin hisses at his brother, reaching for the string keeping his sweats up. “Five! Four!—“

“Okay okay!” Jeno practically drops the bottle out of fear, squeezing its contents out rapidly with his jaw hung at the sight of your ass gleaming back at him absolutely drenched. “Can’t do this, Jaem! I need—need to fuck her!”

“What?? What’s going on!?” You shriek, jumping back as the oil dribbles up your back, only magnifying how obscene your ass looks shining with a thick coat of oil.

“This is insane.” Jaemin mumbles, shoving his sweats and boxers down in one go. He lowers down to speak into the dryer, snaking in to smear the oil higher up your back. “Hey, I don’t want to get my clothes dirty either, right Jeno? I’m sure you understand, baby.”

“What?” You sigh, eyes flying wide open when you feel it, hot and thick against your soaked ass. “Is that?—“ to make matters worse, you feel it again against your other thigh, bigger even, pulsating where he’s pressed, nearly burning your skin from how hot he feels. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” Jaemin moans, smoothing his oily hands to your chest, squeezing the second he cups your breasts. “Fuckfuckfuck, I think it’s working!” He pulls you back more, the top of your stomach sliding against the dryer making the nastiest squeegee-like sound.

“You’re doing so so good for us.” Jeno finally manages to speak up, pouring out the entire contents of the now empty bottle in his hold, tossing it aside to massage in the mess pooling between the crevice of your ass. “Shit. What the fuck. You’re so fucking pretty down here. Of course you are, so damn pretty everywhere aren’t you?”

“Jaem, Jeno—what’s—“ you huff out, short of breath the more you get pulled out but your step-brothers thick biceps caging your hips.

Jaemin hushes you dismissively, gaining better leverage around your middle to pull you out, your sweater barely clinging to your arm anymore. “Come on Jeno, grab her legs for me.” He grunts, exuding strength he’s only had to use in the bedroom before. Lucky for you his favored positions have always left him in complete control, tossing whoever he’s fucking around to his will.

Jeno’s fast to listen to orders, especially if it means he’ll be in the perfect position to actually have you landing in his lap as if he manifested it to happen.

“Ahhh!”

Once your elbow unhooks from your sweater, you shoot out of the dryer like the log ride and Disney world, hurdled back by the extra force you and Jaemin had been using to free your upper half. The relief of finally being free washes over you, panting for breath that doesn’t reek of lint and musty heat. “Holy shit, I can’t believe it!”

Too stunned and eager to fix your sweaty locks, you nearly miss the sad pathetic groan Jeno lets out, clutching around your waist to keep you slotted against his rock hard length. “Je—oh fuck.”

Jaemin sits up on his knees, regaining his composure and breath as he wipes off his greasy palms by slapping them together repeatedly. “That was some show, look at what you’ve done. Poor Jeno looks about ready to burst.”

He crawls forward, grabbing onto your knees before you even think to slam your thighs shut, too caught up in the thick size nestled between your ass to even fully understand how naked all of you are. Naked and completely doused from neck to toe in baby oil, it almost seems too ridiculous to be real…

“Now now,” he drawls, relaxing between your thighs only held open by his palms cupped under the pits of your knees. “In a sense, this is like pulling out the Excalibur..”

“Dude, I’m fucking dying here! Be fucking for real!” Jeno sounds more desperate than you’ve ever heard him, whining like a puppy into your shoulder and apologizing with a feather light kiss.

Jaemin laughs, could even qualify as a cackle, smoothing down to your inner thighs. “Don’t you think we’ve earned a prize from our princess?”

The sweet charming smile you’re used to seems more menacing than ever now as he inches lower, heavy palms cupping your inner thighs and pulling apart your cunt with his thumbs to show off how wet you are. “Is all that for us? You nasty dumb little slut. Want your big brother’s to fuck your holes so bad don’t you?” Jaemin finishes with a hot wad of spit landing at your entrance to further drill in your shame, shivering back into Jeno’s hold as he sets a searing kiss on your clit.

“Fuck Jeno, she’s so tight.” Dragging through your folds he stretches his digits out for you to see the thick mix of baby oil and slick arousal forming clear strings between his fingers.

“Wetter than a fucking slut.” Jeno bites your earlobe, trailing one of his palms down the smooth expanse of your stomach to your clit. “Let me fuck her ass first at least.”

“Huh? N-no—not there, I haven’t before.”

Jaemin’s tongue clicks, kissing the backs of his teeth and squinting his eyes as if to call your bluff. He reaches between your split ass, thumb pressing to your rim meeting tight resistance. “Fuck, she’s not lying.”

Jeno can feel a prickle of tears burning at the backs of his eyes, his sack drawn up tight and heavy from being edged this long. “I can’t anymore!” He really can’t, he’s been hard since you mimicked the forgettable skanks that pass in and out of his bedroom. None of them would ever match up to you, only confirmed as his hips lift up and the tip of his cock struggles to penetrate past your wet tight circle of muscle. That doesn’t stop him from using his hold around your waist to his advantage, gliding you down his length with ease the more pilant you turn in his arms.

“Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk.” He thinks he might cum from this alone. Pussy walls too smooth around his size, sucking along each pulsing vein as he inches in until he meets resistance and has to bite down on your shoulder to stop himself from screaming out.

“Greedy motherfucker.” Jaemin mutters, pushing the backs of your knees up higher until you’re pretzeled between the large sculpted bodies of your step-brothers, the same two whose names you’ve cried into your pillow with your hand down your pajama pants many nights.

Jeno rips a fresh batch of tears out of you, the stretch of his cock bordering painful if not for how obscenely wet you are, but the moans singing from deep within your chest are short lived; cut off by a thick prod at the top of your entrance right above the length already filling you up.

“I’ll fuck your ass next time.” Jaemin groans, shoving his cock in against the push he’s met with between your tight hole and his brother’s unrelenting thrusts. “That’s it, taking both of our dicks baby? So easily too? Who knew my baby sister was such a fucking slut.”

“N-no, not—a slut..” you wail, unable to handle how hard and big they both feel thrusting inside of you at different times. The friction cuts off your breath, sucking in your stomach to pull away from the fast unforgiving speed they both fuck into you. “S’too much! Too full!”

“Like that baby? So fucking full with both of us inside of you.” Jeno sounds strangled, pouring sweat the more he exerts himself to fuck into you faster and harder than Jaemin. He should have fucked you first to begin with. “Feel us both sliding into you? Taking two dicks like nothing, you know what that makes you?”

“A dirty fuck hole,” Jaemin says between clenched teeth, reaching for your neck to hold your head up and watch your eyes well up with tears, nodding and agreeing with everything they say just like the good little fuck toy you are, only for them.

“You can’t even wait for it, can you?” Jaemin manages to rasp out, throat locking up with each bury of his size engulfed in your tight heat. He grips your cheeks roughly with his palm cupping your chin. “What. A. Fucking. Whore..” He says it in a nasty tone on purpose to make your stomach turn, hitting deep inside with pointed demanding thrusts between each word. The shame of letting both your step-brothers fuck you is already enough to weigh 500 pounds of guilt down on your chest, but letting them both do it at the same time..

Everything crashes hard, unable to fall back or arch forward between their burly builds. Too overwhelmed, overheated and crazed with each sheathing thrust, your neck drops back gasping for air; weakly slapping Jaemin’s shoulders as tremors roll up from your toes to your shoulders and your eyes roll up. The squeeze around their lengths almost has them both slipping out as you cum and pour out more arousal around them, both using the extra glide to fuck you faster through your orgasm.

“I’m cl-close.” Jeno’s eyes practically match yours, wet from the maddening clamp around his throbbing member. “Can’t… fucking..” Pushing you forward against Jaemin’s chest he pulls out, pussy snapping around his cock noisily with gushing wetness following. It only takes one stroke to have him spilling out onto your ass with a chorus of curses and muffled shouts, slapping his length down on the rounded part of your butt to watch his cum dribble down between your ass faster. “Fuck me.”

He’d pass out clean if not for his brother pushing you right back to where you were against his chest, slamming his dick back into you without anything to hold him back anymore.

“Jaemin!” You scream, reaching for his shoulders to slow down the viscous grueling slap of skin colliding with skin, bounced up and down his length as if you weigh nothing to him.

“Fucking take it.” He growls, thrusts turning erratic as each vein lining his neck bursts out, skin pink and hot from driving all of his power into each ram of his hips. Each plunge of his size backed with intent to leave a mark. Stuttering forward, his head falls back releasing a long winded groan, chest rising against your face as his eyes roll up and he hits peak deep within you.

“Y-you—you came inside?” You ask, still coming down from your high, neck rolling against Jeno’s shoulder. “I-inside of me?”

Jaemin grunts, slamming in one final thrust with a pained expression, you just feel too good to stop. “You’re on the pill anyway, don’t be so dramatic.”

Jeno scoffs behind you, shoving between your bodies to push Jaemin’s weight off of you. “You’re such a dick.”

Jaemin smirks proudly, slowly drawing free from your wrecked cunt. “God baby, how am I supposed to stop now?” He lets out a deep breathy sigh, reaching between your tighs to circle your entrance for the rest of his cum to trickle out onto the floor and run down your ass. “Such a perfect pussy.”

“C-can’t— no more Jaem.” You mumble half-asleep, turning your face to burrow in Jeno’s neck. “Tired.”

“You heard her, Jeno.” Jaemin raises his full eyebrows up and down, sneaking his brother a knowing look. “She can’t handle me anymore.”

Jeno nods, dragging his lips down the side of your face to your mouth. “He’s right angel, how are we supposed to stop now?” With that he moves your hips back, lining his hardening length up with your gaped entrance. The space molded from your step-brother's combined cocks allows him to fully enter you with one hard thrust, cursing against the corner of your lips.

“Je-jeno—please..”

“Yeah, it’s all for you baby.” His arms wrap around your waist, pushing you down until you’re crushing his balls.

“Ca-can’t—“ the last thing you hear is Jaemin cooing on and on about how adorable you are, still squirting out a mess of arousal even as your eyes fall shut and Jeno continues to brutally snap his hips up.

“Didn’t she say something about a date tonight?” Jaemin’s voice comes through muffled, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since the three of you finished, judging from the burning crave for more between your thighs.

“Yeah, about that..” Jeno whispers, sounding more distant. “Think I heard her telling her friend she’s going out with that guy from Chicago, you know that big motherfucker down the street.”

“What??” Jaemin barks out much too loud, completely erasing the last bits of exhaustion away from your body. “He’s way too old for her!”

“I know. We can’t let her go, right?” Jeno sounds more stressed than his brother, mumbling like he’s chewing on one of his nails. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable knowing she’s out there with him of all people. That guys a dick..”

“He has a huge dick too.” Jaemin retorts, clicking his tongue annoyed. “Why don’t we tell her he called and said he couldn’t make it tonight? Change of plans or something.” He nods to your phone, inching closer to sneak it away, pinching the device between his fingers.

“She’s going to hate us if she finds out.” Jeno snatches your phone from him, typing in the code he’s seen you punch in while peeping over your shoulder. “It’s for her own good.” He finds your chat with Johnny in an instance, scrolling through quickly and sending himself the different scandalous selfies you’ve messaged. “Little slut..”

“Send me those too.” Jaemin pipes in, nudging his brother's side. “We should wake her up, it’s getting chilly out here.”

“Can’t believe she knocked out like that, her friend even left already.”

“Mmmhhhmm.. Jeno..”

They come to a pause, locking your phone after successfully deleting your chat with Johnny and blocking his number. Jaemin mouths ‘wake her up’ to his brother, shoving his shoulder to move closer to you.

“Hey..” Jeno sits at the edge of the pool chair you’re laid out on, reaching to tap your arm. “You should wake up.”

“Few more minutes..” you grumble, slapping his hand away. Jeno coughs, grabbing both your shoulders to shake you awake.

“It’s been long enough, come on, time to wake up!”

“Wh—how long have I been asleep?” The sun’s still setting behind the expanse of Jeno and Jaemin’s broad frames, making your eyes squint shut as you sit up quickly and pat around. “What.. what are we doing out here?!?”

Jeno helps you sit up, patting your back. “Hopefully you don’t get sick from sleeping out here for so long, we thought you’d gone inside.” He leaves out the mention of your date, sneaking a look at his brother.

“Wha—“ a fast glance around clears up your confusion. You had fallen asleep in the backyard. “It was all a dream?!”

“What was?” Jaemin asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow at your frazzled response. “What was all a dream, huh?”

“I—uhm..” your step-brothers eye you quizzically, both intimidating as they stand above you waiting for an answer. “Nightmare! I mean, about the dog next door.” You scramble to get up, stumbling forward as you try to shove your feet into your sandals.

“Where are you running off to?” Jeno says, arm looping around your waist before your knees can meet pavement. “Can’t be that silly date, he called while you were knocked out to cancel anyway.”

Hoisting you up he pushes you toward Jaemin, back crashing against his chest to easily lock you in place with his thick biceps caged around your sides, lips finding your ear to whisper. “Now, tell us more about this dream.”

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