#i just can't write him straight sorry

[redbootsindoriath]

Apparently in my absence this post had its 1000-notes-iversary.

This time we get to see the culprit responsible for ruining our heroes' lives as well.

I've really missed you guys, by the way. I know I've said that already, but I'm serious. Once or twice this year I've been right on the brink of coming back but schedule stuff always keeps me from letting myself commit to that again, and that in turn has kept me from posting anything at all. But I've been in an unexpected drawing mood lately and so if I can get enough stuff to set up a queue we might pretend I'm back for a month or so sometime this year. Maybe. Hopefully. We'll see. No promises though. That's why I'm hiding this paragraph under the cut.

Transcription:

[Beren:] "Uhhh...barkeep...I think he's had enough now..." [Tolkien:] "No, I don't think he has...!"

[a-gay-bloodmage]

One of my favorite hobbies to engage in is ignoring the canon course of video game romances

[adhd-merlin]

I'm a bit jealous of english native speakers you guys can just write a silly little ficlet without agonising over prepositions or checking the dictionary 3 million times do you even know how lucky you are

[watchyourdigits]

I am re-reading Night Letter and am realizing I didn't do nearly enough research into scar tissue as I should have 💀 I spent hours researching lavender marriages and U.S. Army dog tags from the 1950s (as well as ranks and dismissals and such) instead of researching one of the defining characteristics of the main character, aka his severe facial scarring.

Anyway here I am retconning his scars - they are hypertrophic NOT keloid. That is entirely on me because I didn't know what the fuck the term was for it and assumed that if they were raised then they HAD to be keloids. I'm so sorry for this. Like deeply.

For those who don't know the difference, I don't recommend looking up pics unless you're okay with seeing mild medical g*re. Brief description of the aforementioned scar types:

Keloid: raised, shiny, firm & rubbery in texture with no distinct pattern. Caused by an excess of collagen deposits during the healing process. These scars invasively extend PAST the area of the original wound and do not regress over time. Hard to treat. Can form over months to years after an injury. More common in black folks and other melanated people who have a family history of keloid scarring.

Hypertrophic: raised, but not to the degree of keloids, and can also be different colors and usually have a distinct wavy pattern due to collagen deposits. Also caused by an excess of collagen, but not to the extent of keloids. These scars do NOT extend past the area of the original wound, typically do not recur, and CAN regress over time. Typically appear within a month of two of an injury and do not continue to progress (typically begin to regress actually).

I'm attaching an image below the cut comparing the two.

Left is keloid, right is hypertrophic. You'll see the difference. It's easy to confuse them because they're similar in depiction, but this is a good visual example of exactly HOW they are different. Raised scars =/= keloids!!! Do NOT be a fool like me!!!!

[redwayfarers]

what if nika and artoirel had each other's courtship tokens?? they already possess the same pair of earrings but what if artoirel kept one of nika's hats by his bed and nika had a little kerchief with the fortemps family sigil on it. and when asked about it, artoirel says yes, they're courting and doesn't give any details bc it's, well their thing. meanwhile, nika doesn't respond but his expression is proof enough.

(anyone who knows him knows he can count the people he likes on one hand, and he does mention artoirel often, so it's easy to piece it together. but still the idea of him being in love being so obvious that he doesn't have to say anything is just <3 to me)

[mushroom-for-art]

Another movie au silly XD probably takes place after the incident, imma be real I feel like they've done some kind of drugs or girls night just hits different one of the two! Anywhos @oogaboogaspookyman ur boi is getting to enjoy girls night good for him, this one's more dialogue heavy

Girls Night and Serious Questions

May's tail swayed and swished softly as she rested comfortably on some cushions on the floor of her actors' room leaning back against a beanbag for back support. The pink strawberry scented face mask was cool on her skin as were the cucumber slices on her eyes as she exhaled peacefully with some quiet background music for ambience. She raised a hand carefully, taking a cucumber slice from a bowl and putting it in her mouth, crunching it with satisfaction.

"I don't think you're meant to eat the slices off your face May."

The monochromatic two commented, he was also wearing a face mask. It was blue and blueberry scented with cucumber slices over his eyes, he was also lounging comfortably, tail swaying in contentment.

"I know that's why I sliced extras," her voice was sing song like as she carefully rattled the bowl for him to hear, "you know you wanna crunchy crunch on a cucumbee~" He snorted a soft laugh but reach out clumsily finding the bowl and taking a slice happily popping it in his mouth with a grin as she lightly gasped to herself, "He got the cucumberrr."

"Yes he dooo~"

The other two singsonged back and sighed.

"Gosh this is nice, and you say you and Matt try to do this once a week?"

"Yup, sometimes we make little fruit salads with slices and chunks of all kinds of fruits. God it's so good, unfortunately I didn't have any fruit in so we got cucumber masks and unhealthy snacks. Peak girls night material." the other two snorted in soft laughter.

"Girls night Girls night."

He playfully chanted before settling back into a comfortable quiet.

"So, I heard your manager had a baby?"

He queried too curious not too.

"Yup, indeed she did."

"I heard she had it naturally?"

"Al dente indeed yea, no cloning, didn't know that could happen."

He hummed softly in agreement.

"What does that mean for you then?"

"Uh, my manager is more busy than usual and I'm probably gonna have to babysit I guess."

He made a soft ah sound as he chewed the inside of his mouth.

"Does it bother you?"

"What you mean?"

"Well, you and your manager have a complicated uh relation to one another."

"Yea she's cloned from me."

"And she had a baby, does that mean you could too?"

May went quiet and thoughtful before clumsily stretching a leg to try to kick or at least nudge the other two.

"Why? Wanting to get me pregnant or something ya dork, you're an absolute pervert." Her voice was entirely playful and jokey.

"Hey!"

He reached to nudge her back.

"That is slander my good woman I hope you have a good lawyer that is not why I was asking!"

His tone was mostly mock offended easy in nature as they continued to lightly kick and nudge the other with May giggling softly.

"I just meant like, is that something you could see happening for you down the line?"

"Girl time really unlocking the deep personal questions, what is girls night if not for crimes and personal stuff I guess." May laughed softly before humming in thought, "I dunno, I don't, think about my future a lot, but I can't really see myself with a kid personally I'm not responsible enough for that."

"You take care of Matt don't you."

He joked playfully as she mock gasped in joke offense at him being right.

"Yes but that's differentt, he's my optional pest whereas a baby is full time pest." the two snorted out loud giggling and kicking his feet a bit at May referring to her hypothetical child as a pest.

"You're so mean to your babyyy."

He joked as she laughed.

"Fuck them kids."

He snorted a laugh as she started to giggle.

"Fuck them kids."

He repeated, laughing to himself at the absurdity.

"What about you huh, babies on your bucket list? I can see you settling down eventually with a lovely woman," she nudged him playfully with her foot, "you two could make a cute little baby."

"You two?? Me and who??"

He asked, completely baffled.

"Your wife!" she boldly started giggling as he made more confused noises.

"What wife?? Where is this wife?? Show me this woman?"

He playfully demanded as she laughed and giggled harder.

"I dunno! She's somewhere! You'll find her and you'll luuuuuuv herrrr. And I can make jokes about stealing your pretty wife."

"You can't have her, she's mine."

"I could seduce her from you."

"Is that why you picture me with a wife so you can steal her from me?"

"Yes."

He playfully kicked at her laughing at her weirdness.

"You are so bizarre!"

She laughed as well saying, "I knowww, Its just me getting you back for stealing my drinks, you're a horrid little coffee thief I'm a horrid little wife stealer." He snorted loudly, absolutely howling and hollering as he kicked his leg into the floor.

"THAT IS IN NO WAY EQUAL EXCHANGE YOU CRETIN?!?!"

"YES IT IS BITCH!" She yelled laughter in her voice as he cackled.

"You are positively insane."

"Thank youuu," She snickered.

"Not a compliment!"

"I'm taking it as one you fuck!" She laughed as he let out a laugh like exhale as he ate a cucumber slice before asking.

"So, if I got a husband you'd steal my husband because I drank your drinks."

"Hmmmmmm….I dunnoooo….cause like…" She moved her hand limping her wrist, "but also like it depends. How hots your husband." He made a confused sound.

"What the hell are you on about? I heard you move but I can't remember."

"Oh yea." She laughed at her mistake, "so like, girls."

He made a hum of agreement bringing his hands to his stomach.

"Yea, girls."

"I like girls."

"..oh.."

She didn't catch his disappointed tone, "but also sometimes like, boys."

"Oh? So like, both?"

His tone slightly intrigued.

"Sometimes? I don't know like attraction and orientation hard, I flip flop a bit because I'm not sure, I go yea I like both, then I go ages without like feeling attracted to guys so hm maybe just girls but then ohoho a cute guy so like 80% of the time I'm like woman and 20% I'm like but that dude though, ya know?"

"Hm, I understand what you're saying, yes. Have you, seen any attractive guys in a while?"

She made a noise humming for a while her tone going strange saying, "I mean yea but it's whatever." She made a pft sound waving off her hand, her tail thumping the floor softly, "You thirsty? I'm thirsty, imma make milkshakes, you want milkshake?"

He chuckled to himself as he lifted a cucumber from his eye to watch her hurry past him, smiling a bit to himself. He could push and tease about it as he could tell she was embarrassed, but, then he might not get a milkshake.

"Yea I'll have the one you're having."

"You can have your fucking own!" He snorted softly.

[violexides]

God. komaeda really was a great character huh. (plus, ramblings about my favorite 'character types' and queerness in DR in tags).

[mv1simp]

Cuffing Szn ♥️

Max Verstappen x MidSize!Reader

it's cuffing season and all the girls are leaving to get a big boy (I need a big boy, give me a big boy)

As Max Verstappen's new girlfriend, you're one of the few WAGs on the grid who isn't a model and the only one, you think self consciously, who doesn't look like a model either. Good thing your big, strong boyfriend is here to set the record straight about how much he disagrees with you.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, trigger warning: explicit discussion about eating disorder and body dysmorphia, dom!max, sub!reader, size kink, this is just a shameless excuse for me to write smut about max's thighs, 3.3k WC

When you'd delivered one of your favourite patient's 3rd baby, handing over the healthy, crying pale blob (after thoroughly wiping it down because, you know) with a congratulations, Victoria, its a boy! you hadn't expected to catch the eye of the patient's very attractive, tall older brother at her side.

But as you walked off down the hallway once the baby checks were done, you were surprised to find Max stopping you with a large but gentle hand on your shoulder. You'd seen him a couple of times in Victoria's pregnancy, accompanying her and her husband at the ultrasound checks leading upto the delivery. You'd secretly thought he was so adorable with the way he handled his nieces and nephews patiently while his sister got scanned.

You'd also thought he looked positively delectable in his white linen shirt that highlighted his broad shoulders, and skinny jeans that clung to some of the thickest thighs you'd seen a man be blessed with. But making bedroom eyes at patient's hot family members was generally frowned upon (although not explicitly prohibited in the Hippocratic Oath, one could argue) so you promptly forgot about the handsome blonde 5 minutes later when the emergency bell went off.

But he stood before you that day, looking every bit as attractive as you remembered, even more so with a pink dusting on his cheeks as he asked if this was the last time you'd be looking after Victoria?

You tilted your head quizzically at him, your neck a little strained from looking up at his 6 foot frame from your 5"1 one. Yes it is, you informed him, and because new families often got anxious, you sweetly added that it was a good thing, to not see you again, because it meant darling Victoria and her baby are both healthy.

He confuses you again by saying that he was hoping to see you again. Oh! You smile excitedly, are you and your wife expecting? You pull out your clinic card and tell him that you're actually all booked out for the year but you'll make an exception for Victoria's brother.

His blush deepens. (Somewhere in a hospital broom cupboard, Lando Norris was filming this scene unfold and cackling.) Max rapidly explained that he's not expecting. Oh, and he's not married. And also he doesn't have a girlfriend. Basically, I'm single - he finally stammers out. (Rizzless and bitchless, Lando texts him). Thankfully, at this point you had caught on that Max was trying to ask you out, and after a quick phone call to the legal team to confirm you were clear, you turn back around to inform him cheekily that he could pick you up at 8pm Friday night for dinner. (Wait, this actually worked? a flabbergasted Lando now texts.) The emergency pager then goes off so you gently tug on Max's shirt to hint that you want him to bring his face down, give him a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and sprint off to Ward 6.

The dinner goes perfectly, with Max's charm returning in full force after a G&T - Sorry about earlier, schat, you're such a gorgeous woman and a very smart doctor, it makes me nervous - leading to a 2nd date and then a 3rd and then to a weekend trip in a romantic Nice winery, where you can't resist jumping into his muscly arms after a glass of wine and demanding he have his way with you. (He does. Very thoroughly. Multiple times that night, and the morning after. Thinking about it still has you blushing.)

6 months later, you two are officially going out and you're making your first appearance as his girlfriend at the races. You had carefully dressed in a classy Mirror Palais dress, complete with matching heels to save your poor boyfriend having to bend down too much. You'd also become rather turned on at seeing your normally soft, gentle cat dad of a boyfriend turn into an absolute menace once the Redbull suit is zipped up, terrorising his way all the way to P1 and living up to his nickname of the Dutch lion. As his assistant guides you to the podium ceremony, you're stopped by various fans who compliment your outfit and ask for pictures. The media attention is very new to you, as Max had been very insistent on protecting your privacy as you two established yourselves as a couple. But everyone had been so nice today - until you started noticing the dirty looks thrown your way, glaring up and down your form. And then, a couple of snide comments from passing fans about how you were very confident to wear such a body hugging dress, especially with your curvy figure.

You roll your eyes at their clearly jealous tones, and walk over to the podium ceremony to greet your boyfriend. He breaks into an adorable grin when he sees you, his whole face lighting up as he easily scoops you up for a deep kiss. The cameras around you two go crazy, but don't pick up his whispers when he sets you down and leans in, telling you that you looked so pretty today, schat, he'd been staring at you so much GP had to tell him to focus, and how was your first race? nobody gave you a hard time, did they? You don't miss the way his eyes are attentively focused on your face, clearly still worried about the damage he had warned you about before you agreed to go public.

You aren't going to spoil his win over a couple of snide comments. Not at all, baby you reassure, before whispering back that he looked really hot in his tight fireproofs, could he pretty please bring them home later when you give him his reward for such a good performance on the track? The tip of Max's ears go pink as he struggles to maintain a straight face for the cameras. Giggling, you press a kiss to his cheek and murmur you'll see him after his interviews.

Later though, when Max is in his interview across the paddock and you're being introduced to the other WAGs, you can't help but notice how different they all look in their body hugging dresses compared to you. Although you wouldn't be called fat, you aren't slim either, and you're nowhere near the tiny, trim figures the other girls maintain. Once the seed of insecurity is planted, it's very hard to stop it growing out of control - and at each race or public event or launch party you attend at Max's side, you start to pick apart more and more insecurities about yourself. How you're so much shorter than the numerous models on the grid, making you feel childish and round compared to their lithe gracefulness. How their delicate collarbones and ribs can clearly be seen at all times, but yours only if you twisted your neck a certain way. And they're all so lovely, chatting eagerly with you and interested to hear about your work, asking if you'd take so-and-so on as a patient, you had a great reputation already even though you were a new doctor in Monaco! The conversations distract you from your worries for a bit.

But afterwards, when you'd be laughing at cat memes online and sending them to your boyfriend, you'd come across the paparazzi pics of you speaking to the WAGs and felt sick to your stomach at how huge you thought you looked compared to everyone else, clearly standing out as the plainest one amongst their flawless faces. Some of the comments agreed, saying that it was just sad that the best driver on the grid had the ugliest girlfriend, and couldn't Max buy his gf some ozempic with all his tax evasion money? Comments that would have made you laugh at the originality now suddenly had you sobbing, and you're glad you hadn't stayed at Max's tonight and had to explain the state you were in.

When you'd been younger, in college, you'd started struggling with managing your stress levels given you were a perfectionist working towards a very difficult medical degree. Having always been a stress eater, you frequently binged on junk food, and obviously ended up gaining quite a bit of weight. Your family and ex boyfriend had ridiculed you endlessly, and so the year after you had to work hard and lose it all, which you had managed to do. You'd mentioned this to Max in passing, a couple months into dating when he'd spotted an old college picture of you and muttered so fucking cute, pocketing it.

You didn't tell Max about how you'd lost the weight though - with a vicious binging and purging cycle for the better chunk of a year. You'd grown out of that "phase" once you'd left college, or so you thought - because it was almost too easy to slip back into it now, to enjoy the sick pleasure at barely eating all day and seeing the weight drop on the scale, then bingeing on whatever you wanted because it didn't count, you'd throw it up anyways. You had to be very careful with it this time round, because your boyfriend's attentive gaze had been fixed on you even more so than usual - noting how you've been wearing higher heels, how your dresses are still as gorgeous as ever but never body hugging anymore, how you spend hours before a race now perfecting your makeup instead of joining him in the garage and don't spend the nights at his anymore. You weasel your way out of his questions when he asks you repeatedly if everything was okay, schat?

But you weren't able to fool him any longer after attending a charity gala for one of his sponsors. You'd actually been happy with your appearance for once, pleased with your slimmer waist this month, but as the night went on you started to feel the fatigue of starving yourself catching up, leaning more and more into Max's side as he glanced at you with concern. Rubbing your back soothingly, he asked if you wanted to leave early, but you shook your head, murmuring you were okay, your feet just hurt a little is all. He frowned then, hating to see you in pain just to be dressed up for some stupid event he couldn't care less about. Bringing you to the empty lobby, he told you he was going to grab your coats and have the car brought round, end of discussion, you need to rest, okay liefje? You didn't have it in you to protest any longer so just nodded. You hadn't realised just how much you'd been leaning on him until he left, and as stars started entering your vision, Max returned just in time to catch you before you stumbled.

You felt him firmly grab your waist, fully supporting your weight as he led you out to the car, lowering you gently into the seat and even buckling you in. You started feeling a bit better inside his Aston Martin with the aircon on, nibbling on a high protein low calorie bar you'd stashed in your clutch. Regaining your alertness, you notice the tense atmosphere, with a stormy expression on Max's face as he drove rather furiously through the Monaco streets, his hand not even resting on your thigh like it usually did but gripping the wheel tightly. Maxie - you begin uncertainly, hoping to diffuse the tension and ask why he was upset, but he cuts you off with a terse Don't. Let's wait till we're home.

So you wait, until you're both walking in through the front door. Max rips off his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves, but he still doesn't talk and instead heads to the kitchen. You follow him, sitting on a barstool to admire how he still looked so handsome in the fitted sky blue shirt and tight navy pants, even when he was clearly mad. As Max starts cooking, his back to you, he tells you about how growing up his sister Victoria had to go to therapy for a long time because she wouldn't stop throwing up every time she ate because their father told her she was too fat (despite looking like a buffalo himself, Max snorts as he sets down a simple but delicious plate of chicken pesto pasta with salad in front of you), about how Max has seen countless girlfriends on the paddock purposely avoid eating all day, including his already stick thin model exes, and how Max himself would be called fat every month or the other by some trashy gossip magazine, because the media is just fucking toxic, he hisses. This is why I wanted to keep us hidden away from the cameras. He glances pointedly at your plate, where you've eaten the salad and chicken and not touched your pasta. You sigh and pick up your fork, slowly working your way through the food as you tell him that you suppose your diet had somewhat...spiralled out of control, but honestly, Max, I'm completely fine, and you two can't avoid the cameras forever given how he's the frickin F1 winner at all-

Don't tell me that you're fine. Do you really think I don't know what's going on? Max demands tersely with crossed arms. Finally finished with your meal, you hop off the stool to neatly place your plate in the sink, ignoring his question. Standing behind you, he watches you wash the dishes, still not even reaching his chin, even in those damn 6 inch heels you're still wearing. You do respond when he asks you just why you're putting your body through such torture.

C'mon, Max you say with an eyeroll, You know why, I need to lose some weight, I'm so much heavier compared to all the other girls and all your exes, and you deserve to have a girlfriend who looks-

Don't tell me what I do or don't deserve, schat. I always want the best and that's why I picked you. You're really gonna question the choice of a world champion, hmm? Max's deep voice is now right by your ears as he leans down behind you. You feel a shiver run up the back on your spine as he curls his huge arms possessively around your waist and thighs. He continues his whispers, his hands roaming up to your plush tits and another squeezing your ass, telling you You're so goddamn pretty. Every single part of you, just for me, making you bite your lip and breathily moan from his affections - it'd been a while since he'd had his way with you with all your avoidance, after all.

You feel him slowly unzip your dress, and the silk easily falls to the ground, leaving you only in your stiletto heels and a deep red lingerie set he’d gifted you for your 3 month anniversary. You tense, already feeling self conscious, but before you can say anything Max has wrapped a large hand around your waist and easily flipped you around to sit on the kitchen counter. You gasp from the action, hands automatically going to rest on his broad shoulders as your face comes level with his.

I haven’t made it clear just how lucky I am to have such a beautiful girl all to myself, schat, Max says huskily, before pulling away to unbutton his shirt, his blue eyes darkening as they roam over your pretty tits spilling over in the lacey bra, over your cute plush tummy, and over those deliciously soft thighs he adores. His hungry stare is really starting to drive you wild now, and you beg at him to hurry up and finish undressing. Chuckling, he throws his pants to the side as well, now only wearing his tight boxers. He pulls you forward on the counter so you're flush against him. See what you do to me, sweet girl? Hmm? he grinds the very prominent bulge in his boxers against your own damp core, making you gasp. You get me so hard and you haven't even touched me yet, that's the kind of power you have over me.

At his words, you don’t hold back from running your hand all along Max’s well defined chest. Your boyfriend is so much bigger than you and it's incredibly sexy. He towers over you easily with his 6 foot frame, all wide shoulders and swollen biceps and muscled thighs, and you don't hide the hypnotised look in your eyes as you trace from his thick neck down to his slutty waist, desire and desperation coursing through you, replacing any inhibitions you'd had earlier.

He grasps one of your wandering hands in his own, his larger palm easily dwarfing your tiny one and making you bite your lip at the difference in size. His attentive gaze doesn't miss this either, and with a low hmm he brazenly asks if you found it as hot as he did, the fact that you were the perfect size for him to snap into half if he wanted? He knows he's got you right where he wants as your pupils go wide with desire, breath hitching at the thought of your big boyfriend using his strength against you for once.

Then he's pulling apart your pretty little set, lace ripping and a large hand easily wraps around your entire throat, pulling you into a breathless kiss that has you moaning at his skilled tongue. You barely have time to collect yourself when he suddenly lifts you up by the waist, biceps flexing, and your eyes widen as you're lifted impossibly high in the air and find yourself straddling his thick shoulders, his face now at the perfect height to bury his tongue into your dripping pussy right in front of him. Max! you squeal, utterly ruined by his impressive display of strength. You're desperately scrambling for purchase at the cabinets behind you, head banging back against the wall as he relentlessly thrusts his wicked tongue into your puffy folds.

And he only sets you down after you cum obediently all over greedy lips like he demands you to do, then gently carries your shaky form to the bedroom to show you multiple more examples of how you were just made to take him, truly the perfect girl for him, weren't you? You'd been too blissfully fucked out by that point to form a coherent response.

Needless to say, you find yourself caring very little next time strangers had anything to say about the way you looked, thanks to Max's hands on affections (he'd also taken you to therapy like the supportive boyfriend he was, bless him.) He'd quickly formed a personal favourite method to prove to you just how desperate he was for you and how you had the world champion in the palm of your hand, whenever he saw that look flicker into your eyes from time to time. He'd take you back home, make you undress yourself for his hungry gaze, then lift you up into his arms, folding your thighs up against your waist from where he held them. You’d moan as he slid into you, bouncing your whole body onto his hard cock like you were a ragdoll, making you scream his name endlessly as he fucked you mid-air.

And sometimes, when he was feeling particularly possessive, he'd flip you around, pressing your back to his toned chest, as he made you watch with him in the mirror how he obscenely slid in and out of your dripping pussy. Whispering in your ear that see, like he had told you, he had such good taste, don't I, schat? And as you met his heated gaze through the reflective surface, clenching around him when you saw the pure love and raw desire in his eyes, you couldn't help but agree.

---------------------------------------------------------

A/N: guys can you guess I have a thing for boys who are big. Big boys, if you will. Someone just let me sit on Max’s lap goddamn 💸💸 as always lmk what you think and if u have any requests!!

[ugh-yoongi]

ex-conomics | csc

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

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

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

“You’ve got to be joking.”

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

“Um—”

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

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

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

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

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

That, however, was two years ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And continued wearing it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They never do.

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

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

This time it is an accusation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cannot go there again.

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

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

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

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

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

But you did, so it stings all the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Depends. How long do you have?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At this university?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh—yeah, right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

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

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

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

“Not bad, actually.”

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

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

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

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

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

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

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

“Oh. Are you okay?”

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

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

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

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

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

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

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

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

Seungcheol shared a location with you

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

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

“That’s not what I’m say—”

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

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

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Also fruitless.

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

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

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

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

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

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

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

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

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

Kaori invites you to a party.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cut to black.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m sorry.

I love you.

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

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

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And start recording.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you, too.

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

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

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

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

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

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

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

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

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

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

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

“I always will.”

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

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

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

[sincerelybubbles]

could you write something where the reader is listening to reid going off on his tangents and when he gets insecure, just straight up saying. "no, go on. i like the sound of your voice." ? ty! 🤍

Don't shut up // no warnings as far as i can tell? lmk if not <3 pure fluff!! ty for the request <333

"They usually called her the Limping Lady but there's really no way to tell how many pseudonyms she used," Spencer is saying, dragging his hand through your hair where you lay on his lap, His other hand is busy grasping at the air while he talks.

"Because of the prosthetic leg?" You ask, urging him to continue talking. You're nearly asleep, eyes heavy and chest loose with the comfort of his proximity.

"Yeah. She actually nicknamed it 'Cuthbert' when she got the wooden prosthetic. It's actually pretty interesting - people have been using prosthetics for a really long time. We don't know exactly when people started using them in modern medicine, but the first evidence we can find of them dates all the way back to ancient Egypt where they found a prosthetic toe."

The documentary Spencer put on over an hour ago about World War II has long since been paused, Netflix's blinking "Are you still watching?" hovering uselessly on his laptop screen. He paused it ages ago to discuss the inaccuracies about Hitler's past, then Italy's involvement in France and the parallels between the almost French famine and the Irish famine, leading him to Virginia Hall.

All in all, you're in heaven. He's been stroking your hair, blunt nails scratching every so often, voice rumbling through his chest and stomach where your ear presses against. He's talking calmly, even, if not slightly rushed, like he can't wait for even a breath to keep telling you about everything he knows.

"I just want you to know all of the things I know, too, you know?" He told you once when you urged him to slow down. He's learned to take his time with you, eventually, realizing that you're not waiting for your opportunity to jump in. You don't spend your time with Spencer figuring out when it'll be your turn to talk next; instead, you lull in the comfortable space of listening while knowing he'll return the favor the moment you have something to say.

"Sorry, are you trying to sleep? I can shut up and turn the movie back on," Spencer says suddenly, hand stilling in your hair.

You open your eyes slightly to find him looking down at you, lip caught between his teeth, a hesitant look in his eyes.

Spencer doesn't often get insecure like this around you - you've spent plenty of time convincing him that there's no need - but moments like this still happen. You suppose it's a natural product of constant teasing and bullying through childhood.

"I don't mean to ramble," he mutters when he catches your eye.

"No," you say, interrupting him and reaching up to brush your fingers across his cheekbone and up to his eyebrows. "No, Spence, I literally love the sound of your voice. Please, keep going."

You watch him melt, afraid for a moment that his liquid brown eyes will start to water. You make a concerned noise, about to sit up and comfort him further, when his hand moves to press down on your collarbones. He holds you in place as he looks at you for a second, heated gaze causing you to feel warm. Slowly, he bends to press a kiss on each of your eyelids, right below your eyebrows. He rests his lips on the bones there for a few moments before moving to the next.

"I love you," he murmurs, the truth of the statement oozing out too sincerely to ignore.

He doesn't give you a moment to breathe before diving right back into his explanation of how ancient prosthetics were integrated into modern medicine, hand resuming its path in your hair and voice slowly bringing you to a calm half-nap.

[lymtw]

the toji and his shy girl stuff is soooooo good like serious amazing. I WAS WONDERING IF you could do toji and his shy girl teaching her how to suck his dick or something like that?? pls and thanks🤗🤗

A/N: EEHEE, thank you! 🫶🏼 Of course I can write this out!(Please don't look at me after reading 🫣) Anyways, thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and his shy girl...

"Toji?" You call, looking up from where your cheek rests on his thigh. He seems like he's very deep in thought, just staring straight ahead with the smallest crease between his brows. You tap his stomach, and the sudden contact manages to snap him out of his trance.

"Hm?" He looks down at you, like he's lost on the conversation that hasn't taken off, yet.

"You okay?" You ask, rubbing his thigh in an attempt to comfort him. He knows he shouldn't be so turned on by such a lighthearted gesture, yet he's finding it so difficult to keep something at bay.

"Yeah... Yeah, i'm okay, baby. You need something?" He looks down at you, attempting to ignore the way his dick jumps at the position you're resting in.

"No, I'm okay. Do you need something?" you return, your expression still somewhat concerned.

"Don't worry, doll, it's nothing important." He smiles at your attempt to figure out what's going on and cups your cheek with one of his hands, loving the warmth and color that spreads beneath his palm.

"Well... you always help me with unimportant things. Can I try something unimportant with you?" Your brows crease a little when you think back to what you just said. It sounded dirty, and you didn't intend for it to come off that way. "Oh, that came out wrong." You laugh, nervously.

"You're okay, baby. Try again." His eyes are lidded as he continues brushing your cheek with his thumb, the rest of his fingers feeling up the side of your neck and the underside of your jaw.

"I just wanna help you," you mumble, derailing your gaze from his intense, darkening one. You have this feeling in your gut that it's lust that changed his demeanor, but you've never liked assuming things like this. You prefer to hear him say that he needs you or to let his hands communicate and lead his desire for you, so that you know for certain.

"You're such a sweet girl," he says, his voice low and borderline sultry. "Got the prettiest eyes, the cutest nose, and those lips? Mmm..." He sighs, completely drawn to the warm and soft feeling of them against the pad of his thumb as he traces them. "They're perfectly suited for me."

Your heart is racing. Your gut is proving to be correct about this moment. He has this look in his eyes that makes your chest feel tight and his voice is like drizzling honey when he speaks to you.

"You really wanna help me out?" His eyes flit up to look at yours. He can't help the sly grin that appears when you nod, hesitantly. "Be sure about it, mama."

"I-I do. I want to help you. Anything you want or need."

"And if I said I need your pretty mouth?"

This stuns you into silence. You can't formulate a response quick enough to shut down his doubt of you meaning it when you said 'anything'.

"It's okay, doll." His gaze softens, the lust still evident in the way he hasn't released your cheek. "Don't worry about-"

"I don't know how to do it," you cut in. "Sorry," you mumble, recognizing the rudeness of your interruption.

He snickers. You're too polite for your own good. "That's alright. Be more clear, for me. You don't know how to do what?"

This is when things get hard. When Toji asks you to explain yourself during moments of intimacy. When he asks you to tell him what you want or when he knows you have questions about things you've never done before, like now. You freeze up. You don't know how he manages to say such vulgar things to you with so much confidence.

You groan, embarrassed, your flushed cheeks hidden as you pull away from his hand and bury your face into his thigh. "I don't wanna say it," you mumble.

"You're gonna have to put it into words for me, pretty." He grins like a menace. He knows exactly what you mean, but he gets a kick out of making you speak up about these topics. He finds it extremely hot when your soft spoken self verbalizes sexual things.

"Talk to me," he says, tapping your head when you go silent.

You sigh, wishing it was possible for him to read your mind. You try to get the words out in your own simplified way and hope it's enough for Toji.

"Can you guide me? On how to... suck your..." you huff, frustrated by how hard it is to explain exactly what you're talking about. You're not even looking at him and it's still proving to be a challenge. "...you know?"

"My dick?" He says, smoothly.

You nod your head against his thigh, humming to confirm, with so much relief at knowing he understood what you meant.

"Ask properly," he challenges, and your heart drops. He's playing with your hair, twirling a lock between his finger as he waits for you to talk.

"Toji, please. I can't."

"How are you gonna feel comfortable with me instructing you on how to do it, when you can't even say it? Try for me, baby."

You go silent, again, for a few more seconds, subconsciously rubbing the outer part of his thigh. You muster all the courage you have to ask the sinister question. After all, they're just words. The real nerves will appear once you start acting on your words.

"Can you teach me how to suck... your dick?"

"Good girl," he praises. "Now finish that off, nicely."

"Please?" It comes out meek due to the racing in your heart and the tightness returning in your chest.

"Mhm. Of course, my pretty girl." That smirk you know of all too well returns as he releases the lock of your hair he had wrapped around his finger. "You wanna lift your head and look at me? Wanna get a look at your pretty face."

You feel way too light as you lift yourself off of him, but nonetheless, you sit up straight and reveal your flustered state to him.

"Oh, you're so cute. Come here," he says beckoning for you to come even closer. He watches as you crawl towards him, minimizing the space between you two.

You take note, up close, of the way his scar lifts with that smile that drives you crazy. You feel jittery as you practically sit on his lap, feeling his bulging hard on poke you through his pants.

"Yeah, you feel that, don't you?" He thinks the way you nod in response is precious. His blunt nails run up and down your clothed back, making goosebumps rise on your skin. "It's all for you, ma. You did this."

With those final words, he pulls you in for a kiss. It's slow enough to allow you to melt into it, giving you a chance to move your lips along with his. The little breaths through your nose have him scrunching the back of your shirt into his tight fists, partially lifting the hem and revealing small areas of your skin. Your arousal skyrocketed, and you can physically feel it through the wetness collecting in your panties. A few breaths leave him when you start squirming on top of him, giving his hard cock some much desired stimulation.

He breaks the kiss, chuckling when you whine after chasing another kiss and being met with air.

"You ready?" He asks, lifting you off his lap and setting you down between his legs. He smiles at the cute pout and flourished color on your kissed up lips. You just got into kissing him, fully and comfortably reciprocating the kisses, and now you're jumping into learning how to suck him off. To say you're nervous is an understatement.

All of these feelings, just for you to nod and respond with a less than confident, "Yeah."

"You'll be okay. I won't be rough with you." The urge he felt to say 'this time' was immense, but he didn't want to scare you off from this, so instead he pinched your cheek, a loving gesture that brought a soft smile to your face.

You sit back like an obedient puppy and watch as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans. Already, just through the small glimpse you have of his bulge peeking out through the split of his zipper, you can see the way his cock is trying to jump out of his boxer briefs. You can't lie, not even to yourself, the sight has you throbbing. His pants are off and you can clearly see the monster he packs in all its glory, tenting through his briefs.

You let out a quiet sigh, squirming where you sit due to the throbbing you know won't be paid attention to anytime soon.

"You wanna take it out?" He asks, smirking at the way you're trying so hard not to look at his dick.

"Uh... yeah, okay." You're trying so hard to not come off as nervous, and failing miserably. The way your hands were clasped before you shakily and tentatively started reaching for him gave it away. You could feel him watching your face too. Those eyes, so focused on your every move that you felt like you were forgetting how to breathe. It all doubled down when you hooked your fingers into the thick band that cinched around his hips. Your knuckles grazed the warm skin of his lower abdomen and you let out the smallest breath before continuing.

Oh, how Toji loved watching your delicate self take charge of things. Even if he was instructing you, your hands were the ones doing all the roaming. He's simply a voice to your ears in this moment, while you do the experimenting.

He hums, relief seeping through him when you finally begin to release his cock out of its confines. The sound makes your eyes dart up towards him, meeting his once again dark gaze.

"Keep going, doll," he purrs, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear. You look down again, focusing on what your hands are doing as you keep pulling the front of his briefs down until his cock springs out and slaps against his clothed abdomen. "There you go," he says, loving the bewildered look on your face. He doesn't feel a bit of shame for the amount of precum he's leaking. Having your eyes on him as you wait for further instruction just encourages it.

"Lie down. Get comfortable."

You follow directions and lay between his legs. This position gives you a direct view of what will be in your mouth in just a few moments.

"Good girl. How 'bout you give it some kisses," he says, starting you off with something he thinks should be nice and easy.

"Kiss it?" You ask, feeling all the nerves rush you when he confirms with a hum. You simply look at it for a few seconds before leaning forward and placing a kiss on his shaft. "That's what you meant... right?" You ask, unsure of whether you're correctly following directions.

"Mhm," he assures. "Gonna need a lot of those."

You do as told and pepper kisses all over it, starting from the tip and trailing all the way down to the base. Every peck of your lips is soft. You look like an angel performing such an unholy act. You're so devoted to making sure you're doing this right that you don't pay any mind to the stickiness that occasionally connects you to his length through weak, thin strings.

Toji smiles as he watches you, his sweet girl, acting so dirty. Your lips are all wet as you kiss his length up and down, the tip of your nose gliding along. It's a view that has his dick throbbing as you continue on. He's pictured this scenario so many times, he's even had wet dreams that involve this exact sight, but he thought that's all they would ever be. That this vision would stay in his head. He never thought you'd actually be open to doing something like this. What a pleasure it turned out to have been wrong.

"You're doing so good, doll." He sighs, grinning with satisfaction at how well you listened. He cups your cheek, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. "Wanna use your tongue, now?"

You lick the excess off your lips, a gesture that wiped the smirk off Toji's face. He had to hold back a groan when you looked at him with those doe eyes of yours that struggled to hold his gaze. You had no idea the effect you had on him.

"Just my tongue?" You ask, readjusting your position.

"Yup. That's your next instruction from me."

You felt that surge of nerves from the beginning all over again. You felt incredibly hot, like you were melting on the spot, but again, you jumped into the moment. Your tongue darted out and you brought it up close to his cock. You licked along one of the veins that decorated it, tasting the slight saltiness of his skin.

This was more of a task on Toji, now. His level of restraint was being tested with every drag of your soft, warm and wet tongue. He'll never even attempt to consider the sight of you licking an ice cream cone or sucking on a popsicle, innocent, again.

You keep lapping at the same spot, and it's so inconvenient for him because it's a sensitive point. If you don't move on, there's a chance he might bust before you get him in your mouth. He has to redirect you.

"Make sure..." he pauses, not wanting to stutter over his words as you keep going. "Make sure your tongue goes over every inch, baby." He sighs, somewhat relieved when you move to another part. "Yeah, that's..." he groans, the sound low, but audible enough to make your heart pang. "That's good. You're doing so good, princess."

Your tongue goes to his flushed, swollen tip to collect the pearls that continue forming. You can see the way his cock twitches after every few licks, the sight serving to fuel your roaring arousal.

"Fuck," he mutters. "I think you've got the hang of using your tongue. Think you're ready to put it in your mouth?"

You stop, retracting your tongue. You don't think you've done enough to truly prepare you for taking him in your mouth. You don't want him to watch you do it. What if you get it wrong? It would easily discourage you. Will he laugh at you if you gag? Your heart is racing. There are so many what ifs that you feel he would get tired of answering, so you hit him with a simple question. One that would soothe your nerves even the slightest bit.

"Do you think i'm ready?"

He's quick to kill the doubt in your head. You don't deserve to feel like your effort is being wasted, because it isn't. There's a reason he's been leaking like a faucet this entire time, and if he has to assure you that you're doing just fine, then so be it.

"Of course, doll. Didn't you notice how much quicker the last step was?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. I thought I did something wrong since you had to correct me."

He laughs, a deep rumble that makes your cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and joy. You give him a perplexed smile, unsure if he's agreeing with what you said through the attractive sound.

"Nah, I almost spewed all over your face. We had to move on a little quicker because of that sinful tongue of yours."

You tried so hard not laugh, but the corners of your lips started twitching and then you noticed the way he was grinning because he caught on to your bitten back giggles. You were internally giddy, it was impossible not to react that way to what he told you.

"You got it, baby. Like I said before, I'm not gonna be rough with you." You've always tried for him, regardless of the nerves that course through you and that's enough. "I'm gonna like whatever you do, so don't even worry about that, alright?"

"Okay," you respond, adjusting your position. Toji looks like some god with the way you kneel in front of him. "Maybe I should put my hair up," you suggest.

"I got you, don't worry. I'll keep your hair back."

You were hoping he'd let you do it to give you more time to mentally prepare, but once again, all there was left to do was jump right into things. You put your forearms on his thighs, and lean forward. As you start opening your mouth, you realize that your jaw is going to be so sore after this. He's long and thick and it makes you even more nervous because you didn't think you'd have to unhinge your jaw to take him in your mouth. You do know one thing very well. No teeth.

"There you go." He sighs, feeling the way you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, a soft sight of relief leaving him. Your lips are soft and warm as ever. "Just breathe through your nose," he continues instructing. As promised, he keeps your hair collected in his hand and out of your face. "Mhm, good girl... Fuck."

Your cheeks are hollowed out as you attempt to take more of him. You're a little less than halfway down, yet your mouth is already so full. Is it even possible to fit the entire thing in your mouth?

You swirl your tongue over his tip, running it through the slit to see if it does any more for him. His hips buck slightly, making your heart drop to your stomach and his cock press further into your mouth causing you to pull back.

"S-Shit, my bad, doll."

You breathe before going back in, this time trying to fit more into your mouth. It's hard. You always feel like you're gonna gag, and that's the last thing you wanna do—make a sound that you don't think you could recover from the embarrassment of. You push your limits, trying everything in your power to control your gag reflex, but it's a lot. He's huge. You're drooling all over him. It's messy, does he even like this? The only thing motivating you is the sounds he makes. His sighs and low groans. The way his voice goes down an entire octave when he curses under his breath. You're pushing it, you can feel yourself wanting to gag, so you pull away, and take a quick breather.

"Doing so good, baby," he purrs, releasing your hair for a moment. "You wanna try taking it deeper? You don't have to be embarrassed about gagging. It's just a part of your learning process."

Within what seems like a quick instance, you're going again. You remember what he said about breathing through your nose as your mouth swallows more and more of his length. You're going further down, shutting your eyes tightly as you try to focus on something other than the tip of his cock hitting your throat. You let out a deep breath through your nose, before coming back up, little pants leaving you as you suck on his tip to not lose contact with him. You try his slit again, this time with more gentle licks. You hear him groan, and his hand tightens in your hair.

"Fuck..." the word comes out somewhat strained. "Keep going, baby. Use that pretty mouth on me."

You take as much of his as you comfortably can into your mouth and start going up and down with your lips, your tongue gliding along that vein that seemed to have a huge effect on him earlier.

"K-Keep going." His resolve was crumbling. It was all happening so quickly and he felt debilitated by you. He's never had something like this happen. You barely know what you're doing, yet he's about to flood your mouth with cum. He thought he'd just be a test dummy this time, so you could get a feel for what it's like having him in your mouth. He didn't think you'd actually get him to cum. You're using those underdeveloped instructions he gave you and actually making them work. He's trying so hard not to buck into your mouth, he's right there. You're relentless with that tongue, using it to find his sensitive areas and then abusing them.

Your scalp is starting to sting a little from the grip he has on your hair, but you don't want to stop until he tells you to. Your jaw hurts, but your gags are starting to minimize.

Toji looks down at you, this may have been his biggest mistake. He challenged his own breaking point by leaning his head against the headboard of the bed and shutting his eyes, leaving his body to you for a few minutes so that he could purely feel you— feel what you're doing to him. Then it occurred to him... When will this happen again? When will you ask him to do this again? It was enough of a task to get you to pronounce the question. How can he get you to want to do this after this time? He doesn't know, but for now, he gets to see the mess you make as you work your mouth on him. You have drool all over the lower part of your face and your cheeks are flushed. For now, he gets to feel the way your hands are grabbing at his thighs and he gets to listen to the lewd sounds your lips make against him. It's definitely a sight worth remembering. It'll go straight into the mental shrine of spank bank material he has of you.

"Fuck... oh, fuck... Baby," he hisses, his hips jolting upwards as he empties himself into your mouth. You pull away, glassy eyed at the harsh intrusion of his dick in your throat almost making you choke. Your tongue is coated in cum, some of it went straight down your throat, and inevitably, you have it on your lips. You watch with bright cheeks as his stomach quivers, cum drooling down his shaft.

He sighs. "Show me your tongue, doll."

The potency of his cum is all you can taste. Every taste bud on your tongue is drowned in the flavor and painted white.

"Look at that," he says, almost in awe at the sight of your sloppy tongue. Your cheeks burn hot with every second you keep your it out on display for him. A glob of cum mixed with spit glides down your palate and spills down onto the bed, and god it stirred something in Toji.

"Whoops, sorry," you say, retracting your tongue to avoid drooling any more.

"That's okay, mama. You wanna keep things tidy, huh?" He grins at the little nod and hum you offer in response. He collects the streaks of white that landed on your lips with the pad of his thumb. "Open," he says, calmly, pressing his fingertip into the slit of your mouth. You listen, opening just enough for him to drag the remnants that litter the pad of his thumb, onto your tongue. "Suck," he says, positioning his thumb onto your bottom lip, slowly dragging it out like he's running it through a wringer.

"Good girl. All nice and clean again," he praises. "What about me?"

[chosok-amo]

. . . KAWAI, HENTAI, BOOBIESSS!

ME AND YOUR GIRLFRIEND PLAYING DRESS-UP IN HOUSE, I GIVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND CUNNILINGUS IN MY COUCH!

shoko ieiri. it just happened that the girl hated satoru gojo so much that day, so she decided to give his girlfriend— you, a little fun, on her couch.

warning. cunnilingus, cheating, fingering, overstimulated, gxg, squirts, name-calling, pet names.

wc. 3,8k

𝜗𝜚. please don't judge me, it is my first time writing gxg and i'm trying my best to picturing it without overdoing it because i never experienced it. 🥹

in shoko’s cozy apartment, you and shoko were rummaging through her impressive wardrobe, trying to put together the perfect outfit for your date with satoru gojo, your lovely boyfriend. shoko’s playful mood had shifted into one of frustration as the conversation turned to satoru’s recent behavior.

“i just don’t get it,” shoko huffed, sorting through a pile of accessories with a frown. “why does he always have to be so late? It’s like he thinks time is a suggestion, not a rule.” you laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. “you know how he is. he’s probably just caught up in something.”

shoko’s irritation didn’t fade. “caught up in something or not, it’s still rude. you deserve someone who respects your time.” before you could respond, shoko’s phone buzzed. she glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes, “speak of the devil.”

you peered over her shoulder at the message from satoru, apologizing for being late and asking if he could still meet up. shoko’s face darkened with annoyance, “seriously?” she muttered, her voice laced with irritation, “he’s been late three times in a row now. i’m about ready to give him a piece of my mind.”

you placed a comforting hand on shoko’s shoulder, “he does mean well. maybe something came up unexpectedly. let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.”

shoko sighed, her anger slightly diffused by your support, “i guess. but if this happens again, i’m going to have to set him straight. it’s not just about being punctual; it’s about showing you that he values your time.”

you nodded in agreement, understanding where shoko was coming from. “i appreciate you looking out for me. let’s focus on getting me ready for the date.”

shoko’s demeanor softened as she focused on helping you choose the right outfit. her frustration didn’t fully disappear, but she channeled it into finding the perfect look that would impress satoru and show him that you were worth his time or she might steal you from him.

as you tried on various outfits, shoko offered advice with a mix of seriousness and subtle jabs aimed at satoru. “this outfit is great—perfect for making an impression. let’s just hope satoru shows up on time to see it.”

shoko eyes focusing on your cleavage— seems like she can't stop her eyes from looking at the peak of your breast. with a small blush creeping onto her cheeks, shoko quickly looks away from your chest, pretending to be interested in the clothes hanging in front of her. “umm... i think this one might work,” she says, holding up a dress with a deep v-neck that accentuates your curves nicely.

her gaze flickers back towards your chest, unable to resist another glance despite herself. “it really brings out your... figure,” she murmurs under her breath before quickly clearing her throat and attempting to refocus on the task at hand.

blushing even more intensely now, shoko stammers out an apology while avoiding eye contact. “i-i'm sorry, i didn't mean to stare...” she busies herself with folding the rejected outfits neatly, hoping that by keeping her hands occupied she can distract herself from her wandering eyes.

but even as she tries to regain control of the situation, there's a noticeable shift in her demeanor— one that suggests she might not entirely regret looking at you like that. after all, what harm could come from admiring such beautiful curves?

“um... maybe we should try this one?” she asks tentatively, pulling out another dress that reveals even more of your cleavage than the previous one. “it's okay,” you smile at her kindly. you take off the dress without turning your back on her, now fully showing her your naked breasts. her eyes widen in shock as you suddenly strip down completely, exposing your bare breasts to her gaze. for a moment, she freezes, unsure of how to react.

then, almost against her will, her gaze drops to your nipples, which hardens slightly in the cool air of the room. a soft gasp escapes her lips as she takes in the sight of your pink, erect buds. slowly, shoko raises her eyes back up to meet yours, a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and perhaps even arousal flickering in their depths. she swallows hard, her mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“i... um... wow,” she manages to stammer out, her voice barely above a whisper. “you're so beautiful...” without thinking, she reaches out a trembling hand, hesitating only briefly before gently cupping one of your breasts. as her fingers make contact with your soft flesh, a shiver runs down shoko's spine. she squeezes your breast gently, marveling at its weight and suppleness.

“you feel amazing,” she whispers, her thumb brushing lightly over your nipple. the sensitive bud stiffens further under her touch, sending tingles throughout your body. unable to resist, shoko leans in closer, her warm breath ghosting over your skin. slowly, teasingly, she darts out her tongue and gives your nipple a quick lick.

a moan slips past your lips at the sensation, encouraging shoko to continue her exploration. she kisses along the swell of your breast before taking your nipple into her mouth, sucking and nibbling on the hardened peak. meanwhile, her other hand drifts downwards, tracing the curve of your waist and hip before settling on your ass.

shoko brings her feet to slowly move behind you until your back touching her chest— one hand still not leaving your breast before her other hand joining. she squeeze your breast lightly, fingers flicking your nipples from time to time.

shoko wraps her arms around your torso, pressing her soft body firmly against your back. her ample bosom squishes against your shoulders, making you acutely aware of her every movement. feeling bold, shoko's hands roam freely over your exposed skin, occasionally dipping lower to caress your sides or hips. her fingers continue to tease and pinch your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

murmuring softly against your ear, shoko's hot breath sends shivers down your spine, “you have such a beautiful body... i want to explore every inch of it.” her words are punctuated by gentle bites along your neck and shoulder, each nip causing your heart to race faster.

shoko's hands begin to wander lower, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt to stroke the smooth skin of your thighs. her fingers dance closer to your pussy, teasing the edges of your underwear. “mmm, you're so wet already,” she purrs, her nose nuzzling the side of your neck as she inhales your scent deeply, “i can smell how much you want me.”

with a deft motion, shoko tugs your panties aside, exposing your slick folds to her eager touch. two fingers delve between them, stroking your clit in slow, deliberate circles. “let me make you feel good,” she coos, her voice dripping with desire, “i want to hear you moan my name."

encouraged by your moans, shoko intensifies her movements, rubbing your clit harder and faster. her fingers slip easily through your slick folds, exploring every nook and cranny of your heated pussy. “ohh, you're so tight,” she groans, thrusting two fingers inside you. the stretch sends ripples of pleasure coursing through your body.

her other hand leaves your breast momentarily to join in the fun, sliding down to fondle your clit directly. the dual stimulation has you writhing against her, desperate for more, “please don't stop,” you beg breathlessly, “i need it.”

you throw your head back to her shoulder. hands gripping tightly on her arms as if your pleasure depends on it. your eyes flickering caused by the pleasure hugging your body. “oh, fuck. .” you moan into the air.

hearing your moans of pleasure, shoko becomes even more insatiable. her fingers pump in and out of you rhythmically, hitting spots that send shocks of delight surging through your entire being. her free hand snakes down to join the first, doubling the pleasure as both thumbs work relentlessly on your swollen clit. the dual assault has you bucking wildly against her, seeking friction where you can get it.

“that's it baby, let go,” she encourages, leaning down to whisper hotly in your ear, “come for me.” driven by your pleas and the intoxicating scent of your arousal, shoko redoubles her efforts. with each thrust of her fingers and rub of her thumbs, she brings you closer to the edge. with your raw moans, shoko's excitement grows exponentially. her fingers work you relentlessly, curling within you to hit that sweet spot deep inside.

“fuck yeah, just like that,” she growls, biting down gently on your earlobe, “let go for me.” the intensity of her touches drives you wild; her firm grasp on your arms is the perfect anchor amidst the storm of sensations coursing through your body.

suddenly, she adds a third finger, stretching you wider as she pumps them in and out rhythmically. simultaneously, she rubs your swollen clit mercilessly. “you're going to cum soon,” she predicts confidently, “and i want to be here when it happens.” the combination of her dirty talk and expert touches proves too much to bear. your inner walls clamp down around her invading fingers as an intense orgasm rips through you.

“yes! yes!” you cry out, shaking uncontrollably in her embrace. “don't stop!” shoko continues pumping her fingers vigorously, drawing out your climax until you collapse limply against her, spent and satisfied.

“that was incredible,” she praises, peppering your neck with soft kisses. “your pussy felt amazing squeezing my fingers like that.” gently withdrawing her hand, shoko brings her glistening digits to her mouth, sucking your juices off with a contented hum, “delicious.”

as your breathing slows, shoko tenderly strokes your flushed cheeks and neck, soothing away the remnants of your orgasmic high. her own arousal is palpable— evident in the way she presses herself against you, seeking friction where there wasn't any before.

“i want you,” she confesses quietly but urgently, “will you let me taste you?”

without waiting for a reply, shoko pushes you to the couch, gently landing your body on the soft material before dropping down onto her knees between your legs. her hands grip your hips firmly as she pulls you towards her awaiting mouth. once you're positioned to her liking, shoko leans in, dragging her tongue up the center of your slit in a long, slow lick. she savors the taste of your arousal, humming in approval at the flavor.

“mmm, even better than i imagined,” she murmurs against your sensitive flesh before diving back in for another lap, this time focusing on your throbbing clit. her tongue swirls around the bud, applying just the right amount of pressure to send sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerve endings. as she works you over, shoko's hands roam your body, kneading your breasts and tweaking your nipples.

“please let me make you cum again,” she pleads between licks, “i need to feel you lose control for me.” driven by her desperation to please you, shoko redoubles her efforts, alternating between licking and sucking on your clit while plunging two fingers deep inside your still-quivering pussy.

“oh god, you taste so fucking good,” she gasps, her own arousal leaking down her thigh as she loses herself in the act of worshipping your body, “i could do this all day.”

picking up speed, shoko fucks you with her fingers, curling them to hit that magic spot that makes your toes curl and back arch. at the same time, she increases the suction on your clit, sending you hurtling towards another explosive climax. “cum for me, baby,” she urges, her voice strained with lust, “fill my mouth with your juice.”

she doesn't seems willing to stop, still can't get enough of your taste on her tongue and heart. she looks up to you, seeing your fucked-face, eyes drop low and chest moving rigid, trying to catch your breath.

“do you ever squirt?” she ask, giving your clit a kitten lick. you didn't even get a chance to answer when you feel you leg shaking, “fuck!—” sometimes catch you breath as you arch your back and took a fistful of shoko's long brown hair. the action make the girl moan and groan on your clit.

at the sudden tangle of your fingers in her hair, shoko lets out a needy whimper, her own desire spiking at the dominant display. she gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, panting softly as she continues to lap at your oversensitive clit.

“i've never seen you come undone like this,” she breathes, nuzzling her face into your heat, “it's so hot.” emboldened by your reaction, shoko begins to suckle more insistently on your clit, her tongue darting out to flick the hypersensitive bud. the sensation sends jolts of electricity straight to your core, making your already quivering thighs clench.

“squirt for me,” she urges, her voice a husky purr, “drench my face with your cum.” with each thrust of her fingers and lap of her tongue, shoko coaxes more and more moans from your lips until they merge into one long, drawn-out sigh. the sensation builds quickly, making your thighs quiver and your pussy clench tighter around her fingers.

“i think you might be close,” she whispers against your slick folds, “are you gonna give it to me?” feeling your impending orgasm approaching, shoko intensifies her efforts, doubling down on her relentless assault. her tongue darts and flicks mercilessly against your swollen clit, while her fingers pump in and out of your dripping cunt, hitting every sweet spot.

“come on, baby,” she encourages, her voice muffled by your pussy. “let go. show me how much you love this.” with a final, desperate suck, shoko draws you over the edge. a loud moan tears itself from your throat as your entire body convulses in pleasure. “s-so good, mmh-mmm, fucking goo-oh!” your pussy squeezes tight around her fingers, pulsating rhythmically as wave after wave of euphoria washes over you.

caught in the throes of ecstasy, you barely register shoko's triumphant cry as she laps up every last drop of your sweet release. eager to savor every last drop, shoko laps up your juices with gusto, not stopping until your spasms subside. she then slowly rises, standing between your spread legs with a satisfied smirk on her lips.

“that was amazing,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that.” despite the mess, shoko makes no move to clean herself up. instead, she leans down and gives your thigh a gentle kiss, marking you as hers— more likely stealing you from gojo satoru.

“but i'm not done yet,” she teases, sliding her fingers out from within you and bringing them to her lips. “taste so fucking good, can't get enough of you baby,” with a sly grin, shoko brings her glistening fingers to your lips, holding them there expectantly. as you part your mouth to accept the intimate offering, she pushes them past your lips, letting you taste the essence of your own arousal mixed with her saliva.

“don't you agree it tastes divine?“ she purrs, her voice thick with satisfaction. “now open wide for me,” demanding that you taste what she had been enjoying moments ago. the tangy sweetness of your cum coats her fingertips, leaving a salty residue on your tongue.

once you comply, shoko slides her fingers into your mouth, gently probing your tongue with them. the dual stimulation sends a thrill through your body, leaving you weak and pliant beneath her. her other hand ventures downwards, tracing teasing circles along your inner thigh before dipping lower. this time, instead of plunging her fingers inside you, she focuses on your clit, rubbing it gently with the pad of her thumb. “you're so responsive,” she murmurs, watching your reactions closely. “do you want more?”

nodding your head like obedient dog, your eyes watering, “please. . . want more,” you beg her. shoko chuckle, “look at you acting like a little slut,” her lazy eyes never leaver yours. at the same times, her phone ringing and your boyfriend name pop up. gladly she accepted the call before putting her phone aside, purposely letting your boyfriend hear what a slut his girlfriend is and doesn't have any attention to let you know that your boyfriend is listening.

“you ask for it,” shoko sweetly said before pushing your tight upward, “now open your leg wider, baby,” she command and you happily follow. she land your thigh on her shoulder. lean down to spitting on your pussy and a soft moan left your glisten lips. you don't realize how your boyfriend listening on the other side.

a sound of shoko's hand slapping your overstimulated pussy echoes follow by your moan. “oh fuck!” gojo hear your whimpering voice. as soon as you utter those words, shoko's eyes light up with mischief. she grins wickedly, clearly relishing the power she holds over you in this moment.

“look at you, begging like a bitch in heat,” she taunts playfully, her fingers trailing along your slit. “i bet you'd let anyone touch this greedy little cunt, wouldn't you?” shoko punctuates her question with a sharp slap to your sensitive mound, eliciting a yelp from your lips. before you can recover, she pushes your knees up towards your chest, folding you nearly in half and exposing your dripping hole completely. her voice dripping with lust, “i'm going to feast on this pretty pussy until you scream.”

as shoko's palm connects with your sensitive flesh, another sharp slap resounds through the room, followed by your high-pitched whine. her eyes light up with sadistic glee at the thought of gojo listening in on their depraved activities. shoko dives in, burying her face between your thighs. her tongue delves deep into your folds, lapping up your arousal with reckless abandon. she sucked hard on your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your trembling body.

“oh fuck, fuck— ahh!” gojo hears your muffled cries as shoko devours you whole, “yes, just like that!” the sounds of shoko's slurping and your moans fill the room, creating an erotic symphony that gojo cannot tear himself away from. he listens intently, his cock twitching in anticipation as he imagines shoko's skilled mouth on him next.

shoko pulls back momentarily, her lips shiny with your juices. she looks up at you with a hungry gaze, her eyes dark with lust, “i want to make you cum again.”

“please— fuck, please don't stop,” you begging.

shoko smirks at your desperate pleas, knowing full well the power she wields over you at this moment. she returns to feasting on your pussy with renewed vigor, her tongue darting in and out of your clenching folds. “such a good little slut for me,” she purrs, the vibrations of her words sending tremors through your core, “i'm going to milk this cunt dry.”

with that promise, shoko redoubles her efforts, sucking harder on your throbbing clit while thrusting two fingers knuckle-deep into your slick channel. she curls them just right, stroking that magic spot inside you that makes your vision blur and toes curl. “fuck, yes! right there! faster. . .” gojo hears you scream, your voice hoarse from pleasure. “i-i— don't stop, please!” shoko continues to ravage your pussy with unrelenting intensity, her fingers pumping in and out of you as her tongue working overtime on your clit. she can feel your walls starting to flutter around her digits, signaling your impending orgasm.

“that's it, cum for me,” she growls against your soaked flesh, her breath hot against your sensitive skin. with a final, brutal suck on your clit, shoko sends you careening over the edge. your body convulses, a high-pitched wail escaping your lips as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

“oh my god, oh fuck— yes, yes. . .” gojo hears your voice rise to a fever pitch, your words barely coherent as your orgasm rips through you. shoko laps up your release greedily, milking you for every last drop. as your climax subsides, shoko slowly withdraws her fingers from your spent channel, bringing them to her lips to clean off the evidence of your pleasure. she savors the taste of your arousal, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

“you are even sweeter after i make you cum three times,” she murmurs, her eyes glinting with mischief, “so fucking good.” shoko rises to her feet, towering over you in a dominant pose. she reachdown to help you sit up, her touch gentle but firm. “now, let's get you cleaned up and presentable,” she says, her tone taking on a playful edge, “we can't have you looking like a mess when gojo gets here, now can we?”

with that, shoko grabs a washcloth and begins wiping away the remnants of your passion, her touch both soothing and intimate. she took her phone that lying flat on the floor before pressing the electronic against her ear, smiling as she looks down at you.

“satoru..” she sang happily, “i hope you don't mind me having a little fun with your girlfriend,” her voice dripping with mocking even though soft smile kissing her as she looks at you, “that's what you get for fucking pissing me off.” satoru's angry voice comes through the speaker, causing shoko to giggle softly. she runs a hand through your hair, keeping her eyes locked on yours as she continues the call.

“satoru, darling, don't be so dramatic,” she coos, her tone sugary sweet despite the mischievous glint in her eye. “i was just giving your precious girlfriend a little attention. after all, you've been neglecting her lately,” shoko leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “besides, she seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. maybe you should take some pointers from me on how to satisfy a woman properly.”

satoru growls in response, but shoko merely laughs, unconcerned by his anger. “oh, don't worry, i won't tell if you don't,” shoko ends the call, tossing her phone aside with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. she turns her attention back to you, a devilish grin spreading across her features.

“well, that was entertaining,” she muses aloud, running her fingers down your side in a teasing manner. “but enough about satoru. let's focus on making sure you're ready for him.” shoko helps you to your feet, steadying you as your legs wobble beneath you. she leads you to the bathroom, where she begins running a warm bath.

[bbyobbyo]

seventeen as dads headcanons

content: reader is married to svt, normative(?) family structure, literally just unhinged thoughts, not proofread lol

note: was trying to write an actual fic but then got distracted sorry, dadventeen brainrot is so real

Seungcheol

Super protective “don’t touch my family” dad outwardly

All of his kids’ friends are straight up SCARED of him

But within the household he's the one sneaking ice cream when you say no, albeit guiltily

Shopping trips with him will always result in buying something for them and he is very willing to be taken advantage of

“Babe if I can’t spoil them now, they’re gonna grow up and move out before we know it!”

Tries his best to be handy around the house, but probably makes it worse, ends up calling Mingyu to come fix it

Jeonghan

DEFINITELY a “go ask your mom” dad

This man not only powerless, he doesn't even want the power, he's just here to have a good time and if you say they can't, then sorry kiddo

You can’t tell me that he doesn’t bring up becoming a family prank channel at least once a week

LOVES bragging to everyone else about his kid’s achievements, cannot shut up about them to anyone in a 5 foot radius tbh

His kids definitely talk to him about everything, which is great because he is SO nosy.

Has a list of all their best friends, enemies, and crushes at school somewhere on his notes app for future reference when they come to him for advice

Joshua

The REAL practical joke dad, admittedly made them cry a few times when they were younger and felt really bad about it

Perfect sweet husband and father in image, all of his kids know he’s actually lame af

Dominates the summer barbeques, UNDISPUTED GRILLMASTER

Super dependable, will drop everything if his family needs him and never goes back on his word

Gives surprisingly good fashion advice

Jun

Definitely walks around the neighborhood with his baby in a sling carrier strapped to his front, POINTS AT EVERYTHING OF INTEREST

When they start learning how to speak he adopts all his baby’s weird mannerisms (it started off as a cute joke but then realized he couldn’t stop)

Cries at every baby milestone until they’re like 10

Will not stop bringing up embarrassing childhood moments, especially in front of their kids’ friends/significant others

Cuts fruit for them instead of apologizing

Hoshi

Will fully ally himself with his kids

Like legit would do anything for them. ANYTHING.

I’m talking borderline go to his kid's school to beat up their hypothetical bullies himself sort of dad

The kids can always count on him to say yes if you say no

Absolutely DEVASTATED when they grow out of the tiger stuff he buys for them and become angsty teens

“What do you mean tigers aren’t cool? Do you not love your old man anymore?”

Wonwoo

Quiet doting dad

Definitely more affectionate when the kids are younger but gets into the awkward advice-giving stage when they grow up

LAME DAD JOKES GALORE, groaning is a regular activity in this household

Tries to google basic algebra every time his kids ask for help on math homework because he doesn’t want to admit he forgot everything

Chaotic af unsupervised. “Guess we’re having pizza again tonight kiddos” kinda dad because he cannot and should not cook

Jihoon

Another quiet dad, but make it savage

I feel like he would just love roasting his kids (affectionately of course)

And always overwhelmingly acts of service so his kids know they are loved

Allowance randomly appearing under their pillow, their favorite foods magically stocked in the fridge, always relenting to one last bedtime story no matter how tired he is

Would let you have final say but he makes it really clear he’s on their side and empathizes with them but its out of his hands

“Next time just don’t get caught, okay?” *winks*

Minghao

Loves loves loves just spending time with his babies

Doesn’t matter what he’s doing he just wants to be in the same room as them or cuddling and holding them

Emphasizes equality in your relationship so his kids can grow up with those values and learn to respect others

TURNS EVERYTHING INTO A LIFE LESSON OH MY GOD

Doesn’t believe in allowances but will cave and literally buy them anything they want if they ask

Would rather die than miss any important event (competition, speech, recital, talent show, graduation, etc.)

Mingyu

Absolute super dad, what can’t he do? Nonstop home improvement projects, cooks anything his kids are craving, offers to drive everyone everywhere

But also the whiniest dad ever lol constantly complains about people “ruining his system”

Absolutely FUCKS at the school bake sales, earns them twice the target fundraiser amounts because he's dilf material and knows how to get the moms to spill their pockets

Likes to have the final say, but you’re both usually on the same page in regards to discipline so his kids aren’t getting away with anything

Just the most supportive dad in the universe, the kids learn to never take him for granted

Seokmin

You already know his kids are gonna be spoiled rotten. He will be the favorite parent by default sorry I don't make the rules!!

His arms are the very definition of a safe space

Leaves all the discipline to you because he cannot keep a straight face when delivering a lecture (one time he made them cry and also ended up crying because he felt so bad)

Does so much embarrassing shit just to cheer his kids up when they have a bad day, acts surprised when they tell him he's cringe

Such a pushover that they are probably gonna make fun of him when they're older, but that's okay because they know there's no universe in which their dad will stop loving them

Seungkwan

As long as he can pick them up still, his kids are never on the ground for too long

Two words: SPORTS. DAD.

He could practically captain the cheerleading teams at their school with how many events he's been to

Knows all of his kids’ friends parents, they all get together and have coffee once a month actually

Nags nonstop and complains about everything he has to do for them, but is always diligent and does it without question

Gets so pouty when they start getting embarrassed to show affection, he WILL get his cheek kisses if it's the last thing he does!!

Vernon

Chillest dad in existence?!?

Literally as long as his kids are safe he doesn't give a single fuuuuckkk

“Sleepover? Yeah, call me when you're done and I'll pick you up.”

He WILL argue with you if he doesn't think there's a good reason to say no to them

So cute and encouraging to all their weird hobbies and phases throughout the years. “Lemme see” and “Really? Show me” are regular phrases in his vocabulary

His kids are definitely gonna inherit his legendary facial expressions afnngjdg

Chan

Super affectionate and doting, but also quite strict with them at times

“I just want the best for you, I want to see you succeed”

HAS A PHOTO OF THEM READY AT ANY TIME, lockscreen is a different shot of his kids every day and is eager to show it off even if no one asked

Not so subtly signs his kid up for dance lessons

Just the most encouraging dad ever, makes sure that they know making mistakes are a part of life and that he will always love them no matter what

[tsukius]

Cute moments with your bllk bf

featuring: isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, bachira meguru, kunigami rensuke, chigiri hyoma, kaiser michael

author’s note: first post, kind of nervous eheh. I hope y’all like it, and feel free to leave ideas to write.

_________________________________

Y. ISAGI

"thanks for taking a break from training to hang out, yoichi," you said, smiling at your boyfriend.

it was rare you two got to go on real dates since the blue lock program kept him busy.

"of course. I wanna spend time with you," he said shyly, scratching his head.

isagi was always determined on the field, like a compltetely different person, but got embarrassed or flustered easily in normal life or just around you.

both of you wandered the shopping district, window shopping and chatting. a moment later, you spotted a cute sundress on display.

“ooh, i wanna try that on!” you requested, already pulling him by the arm.

oh, but isagi never complained, he found you adorable.

in the fitting room, you slipped on the floaty yellow dress. it had tiny white flowers and felt so summery. taking a breath, you pushed back the curtain.

“well? what do you think?”

isagi’s eyes went wide as saucers, cheeks flushed crimson. he stared at you with his mouth gaping open like a fish.

“yoichi? you ok?” you asked, giggling, doing a little twirl.

he shook his head vigorously.

“y-you look beautiful. like the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

he really was the sweetest, and you swore you could melt under his affectionate gaze. posing playfully, you questioned him again.

“you sure? i don’t look weird?”

“not at all, you look..perfect,” he insisted.

isagi might've been an egoist on the field, but was reduced to a lovesick mess around you.

grinning, you turned around to watch him in the mirror. “i’ll take it then, thanks for your input.”

and when you went to pay, isagi grabbed the dress from your hands. “i’ll buy it, don't worry.”

you kissed his cheek, thanking him. “my hero. now come on, let's get ice cream.”

your football star sure was a softie at heart.

S. NAGI

it was a nice sunny day, so you and nagi decided to hang out walking around downtown.

but your boyfriend was way taller, so even with his lazy stride, you were struggling to keep up with his long legs.

you two wandered in a peaceful silence, just enjoying each other's company. but after awhile, you were getting out of breath from jogging every few steps. and nagi never seemed to notice you kept falling behind.

rounding a corner, he suddenly turned with a puzzled look.

"why you breathing so heavy? we didn't run or nothing."

you chuckled, panting a little. "it’s fine, it’s just you have longer legs, so i'm working hard just to walk beside you."

he tilted his head thoughtfully, like he never considered your height difference before. "huh. sorry ‘bout that."

you grinned, catching your breath.

"don’t worry about it, i don't mind the exercise."

he simply shrugged, hesitantly reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. then to your surprise, nagi noticeably slowed down so you could match his pace with ease.

it was really a sweet gesture, even if he'd never admit he was being considerate.

you smiled and slipped your arm through his as you continued on together, no longer feeling out of breath. your lazy boyfriend might act like he doesn't care, but little things like this proved he pays attention in his own quiet way.

M. BACHIRA

you and bachira were lounging on his bed after school, relaxing together in his room.

you knew your boyfriend loved telling dumb jokes, even when no one understood them.

"hey hey, i got a good one!" he said with a mischievous glint, always that bright smile on his face.

you braced myself, used to his nonsensical humor by now.

"okay, okay. why can't a bicycle stand on its own? because it's two tired!" bachira bursted into contagious giggles at his own joke.

normally, his silliness went straight over your head. but the way his eyes shined with pure joy, you couldn't help but laugh along too.

his happiness was so infectious.

"i don't get it, but you're cute so i give you that." you chuckled.

bachira's face lit up at the sound of you laughter. before you knew it, he launched himself at you with a flying tackle.

"gotcha!" he shouted, peppering your cheeks with messy kisses between giggles. you tried to fend him off halfheartedly as his attacks tickled.

"meguru stop ! that tickles!" but he was relentless in smothering you with affection.

having bachira as a boyfriend was sometimes hard to keep up with, but it was just his way of saying i love you.

finally he paused to beam down at you, out of breath. "i love making you laugh! you have the best laugh ever."

you smiled, pecking his silly nose. this boy brought you so much joy, even if he didn't always make sense. And you loved him for it.

R. KUNIGAMI

the sun was low in the sky when you saw kunigami exit the gym, his training session finally over. leaning against a lamp post, you gave him a little wave when he spotted you.

his serious face broke into a soft smile, eyes lighting up at the sight. in a few long strides, kunigami reached you and wrapped his muscular arms around your smaller frame.

"hi baby." you giggled.

he brushed gentle kisses across your cheeks and nose, his stubble tickling your skin.

"what are you doing waiting out here? it’s freezing."his husky voice was laced with concern.

you smiled up at him, glad to see his reddened cheeks meant he worked hard.

"i figured my big strong boyfriend might appreciate some company walking home. did i guess right?"

Rensuke didn't deny it, simply pulling you into his side where you fit perfectly.

your fingers laced together as you two started down the empty sidewalk in comfortable silence. he gave your hand a squeeze, letting out a sigh.

he then smiled serenely, the stress of the day washing away as you enjoyed each other's company.

sometimes it was the little things that said everything, like this football boy letting you care for his tired heart after pushing his body to the limits.

H. CHIGIRI

sundays were always hair care days for you and chigiri since you both liked keeping your hair soft and shiny. after washing and conditioning, you two snuggled up in his cozy bed.

you leaned back against the fluffy pillows as chigiri rested his head on your lap.

your hands slowly stroked through his damp hair, detangling the silky strands. he made cute content hums, barely audible but enough to show he liked it.

"you know, i've never told anyone this before," he murmured, eyes closed in bliss.

you knew chigiri didn't share personal things easily so your ears perked up.

"but i think you might be the only one who would understand...i use an extra leave-in conditioner after washing. keeps the frizzies away," he confessed playfully.

you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“don’t worry babe, your secret's safe with me." you teased, kissing his head.

you loved that he felt comfortable enough to share even silly little details.

his pink locks really were like silk between your fingers. chigiri grinned up at you, a rare true smile on his lips.

"only you get to do this, you know. touching my precious hair."

you smiled back, heart swelling to be trusted so fully by this boy. you both stayed cuddling as the daylight faded, bonded by more than just great hair care but the closeness you found in each other.

M. KAISER

it was getting chilly in the apartment as evening fell. kaiser and you were curled up on the couch, him intently watching an old soccer game on his ipad while I read quietly beside him, your legs resting on his lap.

you could feel his azure eyes staring at you rather than the screen but pretended not to notice at first.

finally glancing over, sure enough kaiser was gazing at you with an unreadable expression.

"what?" you questioned with a playful smirk.

as usual, michael's eyes seemed to pierce right through you, assessing and calculating.

you let him look his fill, used to his analytical nature by now. you two understood each other without many words.

after a long moment, he just shrugged and returned to his match like nothing happened. but i'd seen a flash of uncertainty in his ocean-deep gaze, almost like worry.

your smile softened as you understood what was bothering him, sitting correctly and wrapping an arm around his, pulling you two closer on the couch.

you knew kaiser's childhood made him paranoid anyone who claimed to love him would disappear.

he just wanted to be loved, after all.

leaning your head on his shoulder contentedly, you peered at his face to see the subtle tension leave his features as your eyes met once more. in your steady gaze, he found reassurance that you will always be right here.

michael's answering smile was tiny but genuine as he relaxed into your embrace. some things could never be put into words for someone like him, like the emperor.

luckily, your silent understanding ran deeper than that.

[angel-sweets666]

how t some of the bakusquad boys initiate 👀

Bakugo katsuki x reader, eijiro kirishima x reader, Denki kaminari x reader

warnings: mentions of sex, more sexual stuff. No real sex tho Dw reader is mentioned to have a pussy but that’s the one gender mention

sorry I didn’t write sero I don’t have a good idea on his character

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

ALL AGED UP TO 18 AND IN 3RD YEAR

Katsuki bakugo

Bakugo either starts off subtly or straight up, no In between. He’s especially rough when he’s had a bad day

you roll over onto your side, typing to Mina about drama from class 3B (1B)When bakugo bursts open the door and slams it closed, practically making the door frame shake. “Had a bad day?” You asked him, still distracted on your phone and tapping away. Bakugo lets out a groan “I FUCKING-“ “inside voice.” You interrupted “I had a fucking ass day.” He still yelled as he threw his hero shirt and mask onto the floor, stomping over to you in bed. You peered over your shoulder and looked him up and down, noticing how dirty his boots are “bakugo take your boots off! Your filthy!!” You sat up and looked him up and down again. the blonde rolls his eyes and takes off his black and orange dirt stained boots, chucking them to the door. “There, better?” He grumbled, climbing into bed with you. “Yeah.. that’s better” you said as you rolled onto your back, bakugo sat up and pulled your legs apart and laying down on your chest. You could feel his length begin to grow harder and harder underneath you, he sat up and slowly began to rock his hips against yours. “shit- can we fuck?”

eijiro kirishima

sweet boy asks, and he’s so polite about it too! He wants to be a chivalrous hero and a great boyfriend in general to you. So of course he asks so politely:(((

you were washing some dishes in the common room, you and tsu had some noodles for lunch and you were just cleaning up the bowls from the food. Humming and dancing to yourself, kirishima watched from afar. You looked so pretty when you were happy like that, how could he not wanna fuck you? As you put away the last fork you suddenly felt a pair of very strong and solid arms wrap around you “hi baby!” You giggle and kiss his cheek, kirishima gives you a toothy grin and kisses your neck gently “hey sweetheart.. you look so pretty today” he tells you as he rubs your size “you wouldn’t possibly be in the mood would you?” He asks with his cheeks turning red “are you asking for sex?” You grinned to him and he nodded “yeah alright baby cmon”

Denki kaminari

My bro begs, like HE BEGS And not in a cute little submissive way I’m talking like really annoying “PLEASEEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE” while on his knees shuffling around to follow you

You were busy trying to clean out your dorm, preparing for graduation in the next few weeks. The task was already challenging, but it became nearly impossible with an electric blonde following you around on his knees, begging for you to let him fuck you

“PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE, ILL BE QUICK!”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore him as you sorted through a pile of textbooks. "Denki, I really need to get this done. Graduation is right around the corner, and I can't leave my dorm looking like a disaster zone." He shuffled closer, still on his knees, and clasped his hands together dramatically. "But I need you more than your dorm does!” You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow “oh really?” You leaned your weight to one hip, Denki rolled his eyes then stood up, mild carpet burn on his knees from following you around “BRO YES? YOUVE GOT LIKE, A 10/10 PU-” “ DONT DAY THAT SO LOUD!” You covered his mouth then sighed “you know what… I could use the break” denkis face lit up “so… I can fuck you?” He asked with his face practically glowing as you nodded

I said I’d tag u next time I wrote for Denki kaminari so here! I hope it was as accurate as last time @b0o0o

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,” 

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

Caitlyn:

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you. She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong. She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- “Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it. She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.