#my entire. my whole fucking class is just reading the textbook

[shrimplicitly]

they really make it so fucking difficult for students to access affordable textbooks huh

[wabblebees]

assigning me homework is cruel and unusual, actually

[catboyieejeno]

gameboy :: p.js — two

genre: gamer! jisung x gamer! reader, college au cw: female reader, fwb to lovers, explicit smut, pervy jisung, male masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, inexperienced jisung, cum play/breeding kink, pet names, slight humiliation kink, size kink, creampie, probably more. not proof read wc: 14.963k

[one] [two]

18+ minors do not interact!

“Is that my cardigan?” 

Forget distraught, forget embarrassed, forget every possible synonym for the word humiliation. Not a single one would do what he’s feeling in this moment even a sliver of justice. Jisung is convinced his soul has left his body, that he’s passed on or that the ground has swallowed him whole. In fact, he’d prefer it that way. He has never felt more panic in his life as you quickly approach the cum-stained cardigan that he took from you, that he pleasured himself with countless times, that he still hasn’t washed…

“You dropped it in class, and I-I meant to give it back to you, you know, a-after I washed it, but then—” 

As you turn the material over in your hands, taking note of and examining the stains, Jisungs breath completely cuts off. You spin slowly on your heel, facing him. There’s an unreadable expression on your face, and it takes every bit of the little pride he has left to not squeeze his eyes shut. 

“Are these—” His voice is no more than a sputtering squeak, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Fuck, you must think—” 

“Jisung.” 

“I didn’t mean to keep it for so long, or-or at all, really, it’s just—”

“Jisung.” He’s pretty sure you can hear him gulp. “Were you using my cardigan to get off?” 

“I-” 

“Were you?” You ask sternly. 

He sucks in a breath, unable to look at you any longer as the faintest of yeses leaves his pouty lips. 

There’s a moment of silence. A terribly long, excruciating moment of silence where Jisung can think of no way to make this up to you. He’s beyond ashamed, palms clasped together and sweating, face red with horror, inside of his cheek clamped tightly between his teeth, the whole nine miles. So much for mulling over how he’d reveal who he was to you, and so much for all the overthinking he did, all the times he planned out exactly what to say to you and how. Now, it’s all coming to an end because of this damned cardigan. He should’ve just washed it and given it back to you after the first time—no, he shouldn’t have used it at all. His mind is filled with thoughts of everything and nothing at the same time, and he’s already beginning to mourn the loss of your friendship when you say the unthinkable: 

“Show me.” 

Jisung works his jaw to gather some spit to swallow, since his mouth has managed to run completely dry in record time. His breathing has picked up significantly too, at your words and the way they drip from your lips with silky lust, or venom—he can’t tell which yet, since he’s not entirely sure he heard you correctly in the first place. For all he knows, they may be one in the same, and that would make him quite the textbook masochist; to be so humiliated and simultaneously, so fucking flustered. 

The reddening tint on his face pales suddenly as he realizes that he has yet to respond and the seconds continue to pass. With a shaking voice, he chokes out a single word: “...What?” 

There is no beat, no single pause before you speak. Similarly, there’s no hesitation in your words that spill seamlessly from your smooth lips. “Show me how you get off using my cardigan,” you repeat loudly, clearly. 

There isn’t an ounce of playfulness in your voice, much less in your stature, upright and commanding. Your expression is unreadable as you stand in front of him expectantly, holding out your cardigan with its new (and not so new) decorative additions for him to grab ahold of. 

With a heavy gulp, Jisung lowers his head. “You already got me to admit it. You don’t have to embarrass me any more.” 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” You explain, taking a few cautious steps forward until you’re but a foot away from him where he sits on the edge of his bed, “If you’re feeling embarrassed, that’s not because of anything I’ve done.”

He gulps again. 

“I just wanna know what you did as you…” Your index finger finds the underside of his chin, tilting it up so that he’s forced to look at you, “...thought of me.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

For a brief moment, he can’t construct a response, only gawking at you speechlessly as he attempts to process whether or not you really mean the words that are coming out of your mouth and their twisted implications. Then, his length gives a twitch and he fully wishes the ground would swallow him whole because, how could he have so little shame? 

“Ji…” you start, and his attention is fixed on you once more. The heat in his cheeks returns as you brush your fingers through his hair, pushing all the strands back to allow you a clear view of his face. “It’s kinda pathetic, you know. Having me so close and still using my cardigan…”

His stomach churns, his dick leaks, and his hands grip the bed sheets as you use your index finger to push him back on his chest until he’s resting on his elbows against the mattress. 

“If only you would’ve let me know sooner…maybe I could’ve helped you.” 

“You can help me now,” the words are tumbling from his lips breathlessly, “please.” He isn’t above whimpering any more, or begging. You have him wrapped around your finger, you have for the last few months, and he’s pent up and desperate. There’s nothing he wants more than to have you sink down on his length at this very moment—and he can't believe how plausible that reality actually seems. Still, you have other plans. 

“Tell me what you thought about, baby.” 

He gulps, taking a leisurely glance over your body now that the situation allows, each and every thought his imagination previously concocted coming up to the tip of his tongue where it sits idly, unable to be uttered. He’s so embarrassed, so turned on, so conflicted. 

You give him an encouraging nod, casting your eyes down to his lap where his length strains against the fabric. 

“Can I?” 

Jisung nods eagerly, and you pop off the button of his jeans, sliding down the zipper so slowly that the buzzing is the only sound either of you can hear for a second or two. The next sound that echoes around the small dorm room is a hiss from Jisung’s drooling lips, elicited when your hand brushes his hard on. He can tell your actions are nothing less than methodical when you reach for his hand. You place the black cardigan in his fist, then lay it over his lap. 

Then, you spin around, bringing his desk chair over and taking a seat expectantly. 

When he still doesn’t respond, horny and frozen in shock, you smirk. 

“Need me to walk you through it?” 

Oh, God. He could come undone just from that thought alone.

“Please.” He squeaks out. 

“Take off your pants, Ji.” You instruct, leaning forward to rake your nails along his thighs, “I want you to tease yourself as you tell me what you thought about.”

”Fuck, I—” he glances at your hands that rest just inches away from his length, “I wanted you—I want you so bad.”  

You scoff. “Not very obedient, are you?” 

“Sorry—“ he clears his throat, hoping that of all times, his voice doesn’t betray him now. Following your directions, Jisung hurriedly slides his joggers down so that they’re resting at his knees, before speaking up, “I thought about you, what you looked like. Thought about your body in some pretty little outfit like the one you’re in now.” 

“You thought about me wearing clothes?”

”I thought about you taking each piece off, one by one. Just for me,” he adds. 

Perhaps, it’s a reward for his compliance, or maybe it’s a punishment; regardless, you lean back, sliding the shirt he had lent you off so that you’re sitting before him in nothing but a lacy black piece. 

If he thought your breasts were spilling from your top at the party, it’s nothing compared to the way they sit in your bra, constrained by the lace and begging to be held in his greedy palms.

You hum for him to continue, and he has to remind himself he isn’t dreaming. Subconsciously, his hand has begun to squeeze his cock over his boxers and you don’t miss the way the action makes his lips part.

”I pictured you touching me, like it was your hand instead of mine.” As he mumbles this, he slides his left hand into his underwear and gives himself a generous pump, then another, a shuddering breath making his chest heave.

“Like this?” 

Jisung freezes as you reach in to chase his hand, grabbing a hold of his length for yourself. Instantly, he throws himself back onto the mattress, covering his face with his palms as he moans. 

“Nuh-uh, baby,” you scold him, “You have to look, otherwise you’re defeating the purpose.” 

“Feels so good,” 

“I know,” you coo, letting your thumb swipe along his slit. The prettiest sounds leave his lips in the form of whimpers and whines, and he forces his eyes open to watch how you pull him out from his boxers. 

“Can you tell me what I did next?”

”You—fuck,” Despite his best efforts, his voice cracks, “you used your mouth.” 

“My mouth, huh?” You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his head. Some more precum leaks, coating your pouty lips, and Jisung thinks he may have actually died and gone to heaven. 

It takes everything in him to keep his head up, especially when you wrap your mouth around him. Your nails dig crescent moons onto his bare thigh and Jisung croaks out a throaty groan as he feels himself poke the back of your throat. There’s a bit of drool gathering at the corner of your mouth, and he brings his thumb forward to swipe it away. With the salty taste of him

on your tongue, you blink at him appreciatively, coming up for air with a gasp. 

His dick is so red and swollen that you can’t help the praise that leaves your lips. “So pretty,” 

“You should see my view.” 

His reciprocation only makes you more eager, and you kiss him again. Teasing him is creating a mess between your legs and the only relief is the way the friction feels when you roll your hips against his desk chair. 

You hum contentedly, tongue poking out to kitten lick his flushed head. He shudders and rolls his head back for the nth time, gripping his sheets. 

“Shit, you’re driving me crazy,” 

You bat your lashes at him, taking him into the warmth of your mouth again. You hollow your cheeks to suck on his head, eyes fixed on his and watching for a reaction—and boy, does he give you one. His jaw goes slack, brows dipping down to hover over his half-lidded, glossed over eyes. As his thighs tremble, he watches you intently, wary of your every move you make and anticipating your next one. The sensation of your wet tongue, and the inside of your cheek, and your tightening throat that swallows around him—it’s almost all too much, and it has him using absolutely all of his self control to keep from bucking up. He wants to enjoy this, to soak this in; he needs to.

But his balls already feel so heavy and tight, and when you moan around him, he feels the vibrations in the form of tingles at the end of his spine. He can barely get a warning out quick enough before he’s releasing a load down your throat.

“Oh, fuck—I’m coming—“ 

You lift your head off of him with a pop, but not without sticking your tongue out to catch the spurts of white cum that dribble and shoot from his spent cock. A string of strained purrs and whimpers fall from Jisung’s ‘o’ shaped lips as he sees this, right before his vision whites out and his nerve ends go numb. His arms fall limply at his sides as the waves of pleasure drag on and through him, till he’s emptied every last drop into your waiting mouth.

You can tell from the way he’s shaking that he’s starting to become sensitive, but your hands don’t stop stroking him, nor do they let up on their pace—not until he takes them into his own and grips them over his abdomen, chest red and heaving. 

His ears are ringing by the time he comes down, the only feeling being your lips that kiss at his thigh and the thumb that swipes along his knuckles. He blinks down at you in awe and mentally professes his love and devotion to you, courtesy of the insane head, though on second thought, he realizes it might just be a side effect of post-nut-stupidity. 

“You’re too fucking good at that.” He lets out breathlessly, wiping some sweat from his chest. 

“Thank you,” you laugh. The moment you retract your hand from his hold to swipe at the cum and drool that sticks to your chin, Jisung shoots up, cheeks reddening again at the mess he’s left on your face. 

“Shit, sorry. Here.” Somewhat awkwardly, he shimmies his joggers back on after tucking himself into his boxers with a wince, then runs to the other side of his room where he gets you a pack of wipes, some tissues, and a fun sized water bottle from his mini fridge. 

“Are you hungry? I’ll make you some instant noodles or—“

“I’m fine, Ji.” 

“Ji? What happened to Sung?”

You ponder for a moment, then give him a little smile as you wipe away the mess of fluids on your face. 

“Ji suits you more.” You decide, “I called you Sung before I knew you, like, really knew you. And now that I do, I think Ji is more fitting.” 

He’s lost count of how many times he’s gone red in your presence, but he can’t help it. Not after the way the night unraveled, and certainly not when your cheek presses into his shoulder. You’re still not wearing a shirt, and the night’s makeup has started melting off around your cheeks and lips, but for whatever reason, you’ve never looked better. He’s glancing down at you warmly, lost in thought as he tries to decide which feature of yours is his favorite. 

It’s a pointless battle, and a decision he gives up on quickly, because there’s no way he’d manage to decide on an answer. Your eyes that looked up at him from between his legs just moments ago are filled with the most extravagant mix of light and mischief, and every time they meet his, he thinks he could float away. Your lips are velvet, he can confirm since he’s felt them now, albeit not on his own. Nonetheless, they’re pillowy and soft and wonderous, and he can’t wait for the moment he gets to taste them. 

As he watches you rub your legs together, he’s confronted by a mix of emotions: Firstly, he feels relief, because this could only mean you were worked up, and more importantly, because of him. Then, he’s instantly grieving the fact that he hadn’t asked to return the favor, and now you were needy and helpless. But no matter, because he clears his throat, mustering up a bit of boldness from the alcohol that still swirls through his system. 

“Let me eat you out.” 

“What?” 

”Let me eat you out, please.” he tries again, and instantly grimaces at the poor attempt at rephrasing. 

This is why you’re bitchless, Jisung.

You don’t seem to mind, though, letting out a light laugh as you straighten up beside him. “You don’t have to,” you whisper shyly, but you barely get the words out before he’s interrupting you. 

“I want to!” He corrects quickly, and you flash him a sweet smile. 

“Not today,” You can practically see the way he deflates, so you quickly explain,“I’m on my period.” 

“Oh.” 

“But that just means you owe me next time, right?” His eyes instantly light up at your proposition, and you can practically see the way his pupils dilate.

Oh. 

“There’s gonna be a next time?” 

You feign offense, “You’re already going back on your offer?” 

“No!” he answers quicker than he means to, clearing his throat, “I mean, no. Definitely not. Like, really. I can’t wait. I mean I can wait, but—”

He can’t even process the moment your lips press against his because just as quickly, they’re no longer there. A peck, and then you’re mumbling “good” against his mouth and going in for seconds as his brain starts buzzing. 

He acknowledges that this gesture was to shut him up, but he doesn’t care. His mind is numbed by your taste and the way your tongue glides against his teeth. If this is how you intended on getting him to be quiet, he’d never stop running his mouth. It doesn’t help that he can taste himself; that thought on its own is almost enough to give him a semi. 

You pull away with a small smack between your lips and instantly, Jisung feels himself melt, leaning into your hand that comes up to caress his cheek and mess with the ends of his hair at the side of his head. 

“I should head out.” You sigh, and he thinks he’s never been so disappointed after hearing just four words. 

“It’s cold out.” He protests, trying not to sound too whiny.

“Am I supposed to stay here?” He knows it’s a rhetorical question, but he still has to bite back the urge to ask you to do just that. “You can just lend me a jacket. I mean, that would make us even, right?” 

When you pick up the end of your cardigan as a notion, Jisung grimaces, but decides that ultimately, if it wasn’t for this cardigan, he might’ve never ended up where he is now: with your hand in his hair and the taste of his cum still lingering on your tongue. 

“You want me to walk you home?”

“Please.” 

And so he does, with his jacket wrapped tightly around you. He drops you off in front of your door, with an endearing wave of his hand and the plan to see you again after class on Monday set in motion. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

“This is convenient.” 

“What is?” he perks up, watching as you sit criss-crossed on his bed, a stack of astronomy books piled up on your lap. You don’t look up, but gesture around.

“We can just study at yours,” you say as if it’s obvious, “we don’t have to worry about booking a lab.”

Jisung hums in agreement, gleeful at the idea that you intend to spend more and more time with him, and even more importantly, in his room.

Here, where he can only remember the way your mouth felt around him, and the countless times he’s pleasured himself to the thought of you. Here where you lay, on his bed, in a skirt that’s definitely too short for the harsh winter season, which could only mean you wore it for him. Here, where if he leans back, he can catch a glimpse of the cotton, light blue panties you’re wearing under the hem of polyester. 

After he returned from walking you home, Jisung collapsed into his bed, overjoyed and buzzing with energy, and so grateful there was no class the next day—Since he was not sure he’d be able to work himself out of bed with his mind still in a haze. By the time he managed to stop kicking his feet and replaying the night in his mind, the clock had striked six and the sun was beginning to peek over the hilltops. 

He can’t stop thinking about what the two of you had agreed on doing the next time you hung out, especially not when your pretty legs are bare and exposed. 

It’s a shame they’re not wrapped around his head. 

Nonetheless, he remains hesitant to make a move because: what if you had forgotten? Or perhaps, it was the alcohol talking that night and you really didn’t intend to do anything else with him—a totally plausible reality, as much as he hates to admit it.

Although he had gotten the go-ahead with you, and his dick is already growing at the thought of how your cunt would taste, his crippling fear of rejection still managed to choke him. A single, suggestive brush of his hand against you could make you uncomfortable, since the line between sexual and friendly intentions is so blurred, and that terrifies him. 

Very quickly, however, he realizes that’s not the case. 

“What do the books say about Castor and Pollux?”

“Well,” you start, “for starters, it’s more detailed than all the stuff we’ve found online.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Like, for example,” your leg unfolds from its position tucked away under you, and stretches out to rub along Jisung’s thigh. That’s how it starts. 

“In the book it goes into a lot more detail about the battle which inevitably leads to Castor’s death.” 

He can barely register what you’re saying, because with each word, your foot, adorned by your tantalizing knee-high socks, is rubbing shamelessly over his bulge. You watch out of the corner of your eye as his jaw goes slack, his gaze tracking every move you make over his lap. In fact, the only time he glances up at all, is when you lay back against his pillows and prop your legs apart, granting him a clear view of your panties that now showcase a wet mark. 

Jisung sucks in a breath, “Y/n, I think we should take a break–“ 

“Did you know that Pollux gave up half of his immortality so that Castor could live?” 

To put it bluntly, Jisung really couldn’t fucking care less.  

“Mhm?” He hums, except it’s practically a moan, because now your legs are fully spread, and your leg is restless, rubbing against him with no remorse. He’s fully hard, so hard that it’s beginning to hurt, but he feels stuck in place. 

“Fuck, we need to stop, I can’t focus if—“ 

“We should add some of this stuff to the presentation.” 

You’re playing some kind of game, and he’s happy to take the bait. Your eyes that hover over the top of the book flicker up to his for a split second, glossed over and sultry, revealing just how needy you actually are. 

And so, he breaks. 

Your leg is flung off his lap as he leans forward, settling his shoulders between your knees and attaching his lips to the plush of your thigh. Wet kisses make a path toward your core before he turns to give some attention to your other leg. It’s indescribable, how soft your skin is under his puckering mouth and how riveting the view of you is from this angle. 

You’ve moved the book a bit to the side, giving him full visibility so he can watch the way your eyes roll back for a split second when his big hands push your skirt out of the way, the material bunching up at the small of your waist.

Despite the fact that you’re clutching the pages of the book so tightly that your hands are turning white, you maintain your composure. “When Castor was revived, Zeus turned them into the constellation. Then–“ 

He tunes you out, squeezing your skin like a stress ball as a newfound determination manifests. You’re only acting unphased—the growing wet patch on your covered folds giving you away—and he’s dead set on breaking your facade. 

As bad as he wants to taste you, he won’t; not yet. Not until you’re writhing and shaking and desperate to be touched. 

He keeps working his kisses up to your center, then pulling away, alternating between using his teeth to nibble and tug at the more giving parts of your skin, and licking at the firm areas, like your hip bones and below your navel. 

Him nuzzling his nose into you tickles, especially since you can feel his breaths as they grow more uneven. Your view isn’t so bad either; you can make out the way his hips rut into the mattress and his hair flops as he moves to kiss across your skin. You only dare to steal a glance when you know he’s not looking; otherwise, you’re reading off the page in the steadiest voice you can muster, though your patience is slowly withering. 

When he finally gives any attention to your core, it’s over the panties, nose digging into your clit and breathing you in. His next breath is full of you, and all he can feel is your thighs as they slightly tighten around his head. 

The slight friction is ruinous, and it almost manages to make you stammer over your words, but Jisung interrupts you with a groan and misses the way you stifle a whine.

“Put that book down so I can make you come on my face, baby.” 

“Y-you’re distracting me. We’re supposed to be studying–“ you argue, but the book is already hanging loose in your hands, moments away from being discarded to meet the rest of the pile. Jisung catches this, and he doesn’t entertain your resistance any longer. You’re about to snap, he can feel it—he can practically taste it. 

And so, his tongue pokes out to lick a long stripe from your entrance, up to your clit. His pace is menacingly slow, he still hasn’t moved your panties aside, but somehow, the action rips a moan from your throat and causes your hips to buck.

Humming in satisfaction, he does it again, and the small whimper you let out the second time around almost makes him bust in his pants. 

“Ji..” 

With his arms hooked under your thighs and his palms situated over your abdomen, he hums in acknowledgement of his nickname and presses his face further into you. Your heels dig into his shoulders to tug him closer, but he tuts, flickering his narrowed eyes up to you. 

“Is something wrong?” His tone is teasing and cheeky, and you take your lip between your teeth. 

“No–I just,” you huff out, reddening cheeks filling with air, “please–“ 

“Please?” The single syllable is dragged out, encouraging you to elaborate, but all you can manage is another helpless moan.

“Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, angel.”

“I–please, I need your mouth or–or your fingers. whichever,” you pant, “fuck, Jisung, I don’t care–just touch me—“

You don’t have time to finish your babbled plea before he hooks a finger on the material of your panties and pushes them aside. His tongue darts out to lick your clit, and he instantly, both you and Jisung moan in fervor. When he dips the muscle into your entrance, your essence coats his taste buds, and he decides then and there that he’s never tasted anything better. 

He’s also never seen anything better than the sight of you arching your back and digging your hips down to push your aching folds closer to his mouth. And it works, because he gets a mouthful of you and he begins to suck on your bud contentedly. 

Forget reading about the constellations, you were practically seeing them. 

They swirled over your eyelids when you closed them and swam around the room when you managed to peek them open for a glimpse of the boy laying between your legs. Any time his eyes flicker up to yours, the pleasure peaks, and you have to clasp a hand over your mouth to contain yourself. 

He hopes you can’t tell that he’s never done this before; by the looks of it, you have no idea. Your moans are growing louder by the second, with every swipe of his tongue against your slit, and your fingers have long forgotten the book you were clutching earlier. Now, they tug on Jisung’s hair, scratching at his scalp affectionately and pulling on the locks at the root anytime he does anything a tad too well. 

He laps you up again and again, replicating everything he had ever seen work in porn videos, until your toes are curling and you seem to be running out of air. Broken cries fall from your parted lips, with an occasional call of his name that has him rutting into the bed at a pace that almost provides as much friction as he desperately needs. 

“So pretty like this,” he manages to sputter into your core, and you instantly shiver, pressing him closer to you with your heels—if that’s even possible. 

You breathe out a series of phrases, all incomplete and taking after a whine more than anything else: “I’m gonna–“ and “Feels good–“ and “Keep going–“. 

No part of your brain is composed enough to form an actual sentence while Jisung’s tongue buries itself into your hole, but he seems to get the memo. He devours you like he’s famished, and when his hands reach up to grab ahold of your breasts, your efforts to contain your moans become obsolete. 

Your orgasm crashes into you as he returns his attention to your clit. His fingers busy themselves pinching one of your nipples and his deep hums vibrate at your core, and you find your vision going dark until there’s no choice left but to squeeze your eyes tight and reconcile with the ecstasy that has no means of stopping. For a second, your legs begin to shake, but as the feeling of coming from his swirling tongue becomes overwhelming, they fall limp, held up only by Jisung’s shoulders. 

And he doesn’t stop, until he’s completely sure that you’ve taken everything and have started to come down. His face is flushed red from the effort and a bit of sweat shines like gloss on his forehead, when you’re finally able to open your eyes and take him in. 

Secretly, he’s both surprised and proud of himself that he’s managed to make you come—for some reason, he wasn’t as nervous as he thought he might be under this pressure—mostly put on him by him. If he couldn’t manage to give you an orgasm, he’s not sure how he would have faced you again. 

“Holy shit.” Your voice is thinned out and dreamy, and you don’t hesitate to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him up to you for a kiss. He moans into your mouth, slick covered lips disappearing between yours as you make out with him.  

“Damn,” You mumble as you break apart, “You eat out all your friends like that?” 

His eyes that were shut dreamily flutter open at once, and his brows pinch in slight confusion that he refuses to address for the moment.

 Technically, you aren’t wrong. 

Technically, the two of you are friends. 

But that title is the very last one he expected to and wanted to hear right about now. 

He can’t spare it another thought, because just quickly as the words leave your mouth, he’s lost again in your kiss. The feeling of your soft lips is so invigorating that it makes him salivate, and as he situates himself properly between your thighs. A few brushes of your wet cunt against his bulge and he’s releasing into his boxers with a groan, emptying himself as you continue to taste his spit and your release on his tongue, hips grinding down to stimulate him further. 

He comes hard, considering the compromising position he’s in, but just the idea of his member being so close to your pussy, especially after he’s tasted it, is enough to tip the scale. 

“Mmph..” 

“Feel good?” 

“So good,” he nods, rutting until every last drop has been expelled and his tip is too sensitive to touch. Then, he collapses into your arms that wrap around him, palms smoothing through his hair and down his spine. 

“Gimme a kiss,” You plead softly, and he looks up at you, peeking through the strands of hair that cover his eyes until your fingers move them away. He happily puckers his lips to place a gentle peck on yours. He’s almost smiling into it, until then and there, in the back of his mind, he thinks back to your choice of words. Do friends kiss like this? He supposes they do, in a talking stage of sorts. When the lines between friendship and more have been blurred, as they have here, and some sort of romance is blossoming, friends can kiss.

Typically, though, that blur is discussed and some boundary is set. Considering his dick has been in your mouth and he just gave you head until you and him both came from the effort, he figures some of those rules don’t necessarily apply here. 

He decides he’d rather not overthink. It got him nowhere when he wanted to come up to you before, and now that he has you, he’s sure it won’t help him here, either. 

So instead, he melts into your touch and relishes you until the moment you pull away and remind him of the half-written notes on his laptop that lie discarded since long ago. This gets him to regain focus for the rest of the night, and the two of you manage to get a decent amount of work done without ripping off each other’s clothes. He’s only slightly regretful of that, but the soft look of content on your face is enough. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The project had gone off without a hitch. It seemed that the trick to being productive when it came to you two, was releasing some pent up sexual tension; then, your buzzing neurons would reward your efforts and get to work—like the time you met up at the library, just three days later. 

Barely fifteen minutes of little-to-no productivity had passed before you found yourself bored and pressing your thighs together to give your slick-covered pussy any bit of relief. And Jisung, hyper aware of you as always, noticed. It took one lustful glance from him and you were crawling onto his lap, leaning into his side, and nibbling softly on the lobe of his ear until his dick was so hard it almost hurt. His hands flew to your hips, pinning you down until your cunt was rubbing against him. He had barely half a mind to keep you quiet, because the computer labs had no lock on the doors. With his hand clasped over your mouth, you rolled yourself against him until both of you came in your clothes, eyes rolling back and chests heaving with exasperation. That day, you wrote over three thousand words on the constellation—talk about post-nut-clarity. 

The powerpoint that came hand in hand with the essay was an idea that came to be at your apartment. He found out Karina was your roommate during his visit, and she had invited Heesung over so they could work on their assignment, too. It wasn’t long before Jisung noticed your dissipating patience, and the overwhelming relief on your face when the two of them announced they would go grab coffee as a pick me up. You pulled him into a kiss almost instantly, discarding your notes and forgetting about the due date that was closing in. 

All that mattered in that moment was being close enough to Jisung to breathe him in, and who was he to complain? He wanted nothing more than that sweet bliss—sharing your air, tasting your spit, squeezing your skin, making you come.

He was only denied the last of the four today, because as his tongue sunk into your hole and lapped you up, the door clicked and both of you rushed to straighten out your appearances. Karina and Heesung didn’t seem to suspect anything, only mildly reminded the two of you were in the room after finishing their own sweet interaction. 

Karina gasped when the coffee she sipped burned her lip, and Heesung popped off the plastic cap of the cup, blowing the steam away at once and scolding her for not being careful. The scolding was more endearing than anything, and Jisung found himself being jealous at the way Karina’s pupils practically became hearts, gawking at Heesung as he cooled down her drink before returning it and giving her a kiss on the forehead. It became clear as he watched them that you had never really looked at him that way, though he tried not to think too hard about it or the stinging in his heart would get worse. 

That’s when he suggests the powerpoint, which both of you finished that very same night. As a reward for his ingenious contributions, you dragged him out into the hallway to “say goodbye” later that evening and palmed him until he ruined his third pair of underpants this week. 

Professor Hwang seemed to be more than pleased with your finished product, because when she spontaneously announced the scores for the project would be curved, the two of you got the highest marks in the class—and this called for celebration. 

You had to attend your Literature class, but promised to come by his place later, which left Jisung just enough time to do the absolute bare minimum: clean his room, take a shower, make a playlist. 

After his shower, the boy spent the better part of an hour obsessing over which cologne to put on, or if any of the three he owned were even pleasant enough for you, at which point, Mark knocked on his door with complaints about how the bathroom on his side of the hall got flooded. 

“What do you want me to do about that?”

“You’re an RA, no?”

“Yeah, but like, RA’s don’t fix toilets, you know?” Jisung shrugs.

“Dude–then, at least let me use your bathroom—”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll call—“ 

“Hey!” 

Your sweet voice calls out from the end of the hall, making both Jisung’s and Mark’s heads turn your way. You look ravishing today, a huge grin plastered on your face and the newest book you’d be analyzing in your Lit class clutched in your arm. Your hands hold two coffee cups, and you stride down the hall to meet the two boys where they stand.

Quickly, you place a kiss on Jisung’s cheek, direct and short but very bright “hello!” at Mark, then step inside his room with a decisive and upbeat pep on your step. Jisung knows why, of course, but as he turns back to Mark’s dumbfounded, and quite shocked expression, the smile on his lips instantly falls. 

“Was that–“ 

In less than a second, Jisung closes the door to his room and grabs the boy beside him, dragging him down the hall and out of earshot from you as he turns back to glance suspiciously at the wall you stand behind.

Jisung gulps, holding him still, “Mark–“ he knows what’s coming, but even then, he can’t mask the dread on his face.

“It was, wasn’t it? Jaehyun’s ex?” Mark’s eyes are so large, they look like they might roll out of his head.

“Yes, but–“

“Are you crazy?”

“Keep your voice down!” Jisung scolds, but Mark just lands a hit on his shoulder, disbelief written over his features. 

“What the hell are you doing with Jaehyun’s ex? You realize he’ll kill you if he finds out, right?”

With a nervous reluctance to his tone, Jisung begrudgingly sighs out, “We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, cause you and I kiss all the time when we say hello.”

“Okay, we’re a little bit more than friends, but–why does it matter?”

“It matters because you don’t mess with your friend’s ex, dude..” At this, Jisung’s lips press tightly together.  He can’t think of anything to say or argue in an attempt to defend himself, so Mark continues, “If it was Chaewon? Man, I don’t think I could even look at you again.” 

“He won’t find out.”

“Dude, not the point!”

“I know, I know. I’m just–“ I’m in love with her “–nevermind. you don’t get it.” 

“No, I don’t.” He echoes, “Figure it out before Jaehyun puts the pieces together.”

“You don’t think there’s even a slight chance he’ll understand?”

“If i’m being honest with you man…” He pauses, and the hope in Jisung’s eyes dwindles as Mark casts his own eyes away and sighs. “No. I don’t.”

Mark gives him one last look before striding past him and to the bathroom. 

Meanwhile, Jisung drags his feet back to his room, only slightly mulling over Mark’s words and the likelihood of their truth—but the guilt dissipates the moment his hand twists the doorknob and his eyes land on you. You’re sitting on his bed, evidently anticipating his return because you aren’t on your phone, or with your nose in your book. 

You’re sitting up, hair tucked behind your ear, eyes wide and looking his way as he closes the door behind him and moves closer. 

Perhaps, it’s the overwhelming lust or like or even love that he feels every time he looks at you—or maybe it’s a bit of his frustration from the devastating inconvenience of your affiliation with Jaehyun, he’s not sure—but he finds himself taking long strides to close the space between you and him. 

“I got you coffee–“

You don’t manage to finish your sentence before his lips are on yours, swallowing down the surprised whimper you let out before reciprocating his affection. In less than a second, he’s crawled onto the bed with you, hands holding you wherever they can. 

Your thighs grow sticky almost instantly as he draws moan after moan from you, rushing to peel off every last article of clothing that obstructs him from feeling your warm skin. It’s not long before you become as ravenous as him, only breaking your kiss to pull your shirts over your heads or readjust so he can crawl between your legs as you lay back. 

When he finally has expended every last bit of oxygen in his lungs, he moves back to take you in, finding that, for the first time, you’re fully naked before him—and god, are you a sight for sore eyes. 

He can see your chest heaving, the action slightly bouncing your curved breasts that sit prettily, spread from laying on your back. Your nipples are eager and perked up, inviting his tongue to run over them, which he takes a mental note to do in just a second. Your smooth stomach, tightened in anticipation, leads down to your messy wet folds, and your thighs, soft under his big hands, tremble as you grow shy and unsure under his gaze. 

“Ji? W-what’s wrong?”

“Literally, and I mean this with every fiber in my being, baby—nothing is wrong. You are so,” he leans down to kiss you softly, completely unlike the kisses you shared earlier, “so,” he travels down your chest, “so beautiful.” 

“You think so?”

“Yes, baby. God,” he huffs, “I need you so fucking bad.”

“So have me then.”

His movements stutter for a moment, and he snaps his head up to look at you. “You mean?”

“Yes.” You nod, “Please.”

When your fingertips dip into his boxers, he nuzzles his face into your neck and sighs out dreamily, allowing you to pull his fully hardened length out. 

“I want you so bad, Ji… Need to feel you inside of me.”

Your words send shivers down his spine so intense that he practically shudders, and he knows for a fact you can feel his dick twitching incessantly your palm.

Jisung clears his throat, leaving back to look into your eyes. 

“Let me eat you out first, yeah?” 

“It’s fine, I just-“ 

“Please,” he basically whimpers, “I love tasting you so much,”

“Fuck.” 

Your legs spread expectantly for him, but he takes his time, stopping at your lips again as if he can never feel them enough. Then, he makes his way down, licking and nibbling, pausing to lap at your nipples as he so desperately wanted to do earlier. 

“Jisung, holy shit–“ 

“So pretty, so good for me always.” 

“Baby–“ you gasp out as his lips come off your tit with a pop, and in an effort to quiet yourself down a bit, you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them and muffling your cries of pleasure. At this, he has to peel your moving hand off his cock at the risk of coming into it. 

He can feel how the layer of sweat coating bus skin, and he can feel the way it’s sticking to yours, slick and wet. 

“Your pussy is so perfect,” he purrs, lodging his shoulders under your thighs and settling down between your legs where he belongs. 

He dives right in, molding his mouth over you in a way that has you arching your back and squeezing your eyes shut. He can feel your cunt pulsing under his tongue, all wet and gushing with your arousal. It’s dizzying, your taste, your smell, you, all of it has his mind spinning and him melting further into you. 

You can hear the sounds of him devouring you, as well as the noises he’s muttering into you, indiscernible strings of praises that have you on the brink of undoing. 

The moment his tongue slips in you, you pull his fingers from your mouth, reaching your own towards his hair. “How are you so good at that? Please, Ji, I’m so close–“ 

“Please,,” he echoes desperately, “come for me.” 

That, and his finger slipping into you has you grinding down onto his tongue and hands, dissolving into your orgasm that he so willingly paints out for you, using every little tactic he’s noticed you like so far, like curving his finger to hit your sweet spot, or sucking on your clit until you’ve got tears prickling at your eyes. 

You come on his face, writing and shaking and gripping his locks for dear life as bliss bubbles through your nerves. You’re soaked and breathless by the time he lets up. 

“So good,” he reminds you, making his way back up to your lips so you can find out for yourself just how intoxicating you are. 

Your hands reach for his hips and tug him closer, and the two of you yelp into the kiss as his length brushes your still sensitive folds. Jisung can no longer think straight, especially with the way your glossy eyes blink up at him sweetly. The realization of what’s to come dawns on him at once. He doesn’t intend to tell you you’re his first, because that’s pathetic and embarrassing, but nonetheless, he can’t hide the nerves. 

“Are you sure you still want to… you know? We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable. We can do something else, yeah? I’ll just take care of myself really quick in the bathroom and we’ll–“ 

“Ji, baby.” he gawks at you. You smile and brush a few hairs back from his eyes, not even minding when your hand brushes against his slightly sweaty hairline. “Who’s the talkative one now?” His cheeks glow at your attempt to lighten the mood, and you kiss them generously.

“I’m so sure I want this,” you start, “I’ve never wanted anyone this much.” 

And that makes his heart beat so fast and swell up so much inside his chest, he thinks it may just burst from within his ribs and land right in your hands where it belongs. 

His head bobs in a soft nod, and he swallows down the spit in his drying mouth. Between your bodies, one of his hands spreads your legs a bit while the other guides him towards your slick. He rubs his head between you, lathering his dick up in your cum, eyes never leaving yours in fear of missing the way your jaw goes slack at the sensation.

“Okay,” he nods again, “Then I’m all yours.”

“Good.” You whisper back.

“Let me know if you need me to stop, yeah?”

Unlike some of his friends, Jisung has never been addicted to porn—addicted to masturbating? Maybe, but that was partly due to his addiction to you. For the first time ever, he realizes how useful a porn addiction might have been right about now, even if it did build unrealistic expectations. Simply because then, he’d know what to do in this situation. The expectation part doesn’t concern him, you’ve already surpassed all of his anyway; the only thing eating him up is whether or not he’ll be able to please you. 

For his own sake, he gulps down his nerves and focuses on the pretty girl lying before him, with watering eyes and drooling lips who’s shaking in anticipation each time his head teases her entrance. He’s twitching in his own hand, clumsily bumping into your clit, but you seem to like that, reaching for and squeezing his arms with every accidental brushing.

And finally, when he sinks into your sopping walls, it’s like a breath of fresh air. 

Your hands slither around his shoulders, willing him closer until the two of you are chest to chest, and his hips push in far enough to bottom out within you. 

“Oh, my god..” The words leave you in a whisper, cock stuffing you full and balls pressing against your ass. The stretch is notable, though not painful, and given that you already came once today, you can’t help the way you clench down on him, making him hiss. 

“You okay?”

“Yes.” you nod, leaning up for a kiss.

Slowly, he starts rocking his hips, reminding himself to slide almost all the way out of you before thrusting back in. That’s what he’s supposed to do, or so he thinks. Your moans start as little hiccups, soft and airy, but as his rhythm continues, they get louder and whinier, and so he matches their pace and enthusiasm, speeding up in tandem. 

After leaving a wet kiss on your neck, Jisung sits up and looks down at where the two of you meet, pushing your knees up until they’re together on your chest. Every time he glances up at you through his brows, you squeeze him instinctively, and the new position just amplifies the pleasure for both of you.

Each graze of his fingers on your face or boob or arm, the weight of his hands keeping your thighs still, it’s all so satisfying that you feel your inevitable orgasm well on its way. It only takes a few more seconds of him fucking your soft, warm walls, before his fingers find your clit and start rubbing it. Instantly, your head is thrown back and you’re calling out for him in pleasure. 

As you come again, Jisung has a moment to take you in. 

You’ve infiltrated all of his senses: he can see you, hazed and fucked out and staring back at him with an infatuated look—the same one he saw on Karina’s face when she looked at Heeseung, and the very one he’s been longing to see on you. He can smell sex in the air—taste you still on his tongue from when it was in you just moments ago. He can hear your loud moans and pleas, every syllable of his name as it slips from your lips. And finally, finally he can feel you, stretching out around him and sucking him in deeper still with every thrust. You’re gushing so much that your thighs and his are covered, and his sheets have grown darker in the spot below where you’re connected. 

“Ji, please–“ 

“Please what, baby? Just tell me and it’s yours.”

“Fuck, don’t stop. Don’t stop, please.” 

He wouldn’t dream of it. 

Each drag of his cock through you solicits a new wave of pleasure, and you’re coming so hard that you’ve gotta grip his arms to keep from floating. Your nails dig into his skin and Jisung moans, pounding into you faster and keeping his fingers at work until he’s sure you’ve begun to come down. Only then does he slow with you, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. 

“Good?”

Through tear-brimmed eyes, you blink up at him, feeling drunk. “ So good.” 

He hums into your mouth when your tongue finds his, fingertips losing themselves in your hair. 

“Mm, lay down,” you start, slurring, though he catches every syllable you utter with ease, “I wanna ride you.”

His eyes snap open to find you giggling at his reaction, and he doesn’t realize his mouth is hanging wide until your gentle palm reaches up to hold his chin and close it. 

“Is that something you’d like?” your thumb tugs on his bottom lip, and he presses a kiss to it before answering quickly.

“God, yes.” 

You laugh again, giving him a kiss for his endearing reaction. When he doesn’t budge, still slightly in shock, you prop yourself up on your elbows, pushing him back and guiding him to lay down where you were just a second ago.

The moment your plush thighs settle on either side of his, his hands go limp by his sides. It takes your patient ones to grab ahold of them and place them on your body, one by your waist, the other holding your boob. You keep your hand over his and squeeze, encouraging him to the same, and he does, letting his fingers swipe over and play with your pretty buds. 

“You just dicked me down and suddenly, you’re nervous?” You hum, swirling your hips over his length. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop being nervous around you.” 

“Baby…” You coo, wiping some of the sweat from his cheeks, “You think I don’t get nervous around you? Every time I know I’m gonna see you… You should see how long it takes me to pick what to wear.” 

“I mean, you look perfectly fine like this, too.” 

“I’m sure you think so.” 

Jisung starts to laugh, but it turns into a hiss as you sink yourself down on him. The feeling, he realizes rather quickly, is absolutely incomparable to anything he’s even felt or anything he might ever feel. He’s balls deep, completely hugged by your gummy, wet walls. Your skin pressing against his and your weight on his lap feels so, so right. 

“You feel amazing,” he whispers, and you ready yourself to move but he stills you, “God, hold on. Please, just—“ 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing—It’s just,” he pauses, looking anywhere but at your eyes. “I-If you move right now, I might...” 

“Oh.” The skin on your cheeks goes hot. Part of you wants to teasingly roll your hips anyway, but the furrow in his brow tells you he’s not bluffing and he really will blow his load if you so much as clench. So, you give him a few seconds, leaning down to kiss his chest until he bucks up into you as a go-ahead to start moving. 

“So good,” he repeats, and you moan back a similar phrase. Each time you take the entirety of his length, his tip kisses the smooth spot inside you and you can’t help but mewl into his neck, giving him back every babbled praise he manages to spew to you though his tightened voice. You start bouncing yourself on him, with your hands resting on his chest for balance, until you feel the pit in your stomach begin to turmoil again. 

”I’m really close,” he warns you. 

“Me too..” 

“Shit, I have to pull out or I’m gonna-“ 

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill.” You whisper, and his eyes widen, “I want you to come for me.” 

He can barely mold his mouth to form the beginning of an “Are you sure?” before your walls squeeze him and he’s spilling himself inside of you. He lets out a guttural groan as he does so, clutching your hands in his as you milk him for all that he’s worth. The sounds you’re making are absolutely delectable and the grip your pussy as on him makes his ears start ringing so bad, he’s convinced he might pass out. 

“Ji, I’m-“ his release triggers your third one of the night, just as you lose yourself in his arms and in the whimpers he’s releasing as he grows more sensitive. You can see his eyes through a sliver, finding them to be dazed and adoring and admiring all that is you.

So you grind against him until you’re both left sweaty and spent, holding on to each other until the pounding in your chests simmers down. 

You naturally collapse on top of him, face near his neck with his hand petting the back of your head. For a few minutes, the two of you stay like this: breathing in each other’s scent and basking in the aftermath of what happened. Both of you are sticky with sweat and cum and spit, but neither seem to mind for the time being. 

It’s only when your ringtone blasts through the room that either of you move to get up. With a heavy sigh, you pull yourself off of him and waddle over to your bag to find the disturbance. 

“It’s Karina.” You announce, and Jisung lays back down with his arm tucked behind his head, admiring your naked body pacing around his room before you swipe to answer and tuck your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, reaching for his shirt to slip it on. 

“Hey… Tonight? Oh, you mean like right now? Uh… Yeah, it should be fine.” You glance over at him to find him raising a brow, “Oh… Oh. Okay, I see. Yeah, no worries. Tell me about it after, yeah? Alright! Bye!” Your shorts are tugged on as you spin around to face him. 

“Um…” You start, and Jisung sits up instantly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, it’s just…” The corner of the mattress dips as you take a seat, “Heesung is over.” 

“Oh.” 

“And he and Karina are gonna…” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

He remembers the layout of your room, two beds in one open space. It’s a standard room, like Mark and Chenle’s or Jeno and Jaemin’s. The only reason he scored a solo dorm is because he’s an RA for the floor, a blessing at times like this, where he can confidently say: 

“You can stay the night here.” When you don’t answer, he clears his throat. “You know, since they’re gonna…” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, of course,” his hand reaches for yours, pulling you towards him. “We can watch a movie, or study…” 

“Or…” you tease, “we can do something else…” The moment you climb on his lap, it clicks for him—what you mean. And when your lips find themselves on his neck, a shudder goes down his spine. 

“Thank you, though.” You smile and he looks down at you and quirks a brow. 

“For what?” 

“For letting me stay over. You’re such a good friend.” 

It’s instant—his stomach dropping before the last syllable leaves your mouth. His hands are on your shoulders to push you away and his stomach is tied into a dozen knots as he blinks, repeating what you’ve just said over and over in his mind. For a moment, he thinks his lunch is starting to come back up, too, and he’s sure he’s gone drastically pale. 

You’re absolutely oblivious and confused as you meet his eyes. “What–” 

“You don’t mean that.” He insists.

“Ji–” 

“You can’t mean that. Right?” When you tilt your head, still lost, he purses his lips, and this time, his question comes out with much less assurance. “Right?” 

The disorganized sheets are shoved off of him in an instant, and he’s up and tugging his sweats back on, spinning around as to not look at you for a second. His heart, which he holds his hand over, starts beating faster. 

“Y/N. Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“I–You are a good friend. I do mean that. But–why– I’m so lost, Ji. What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

‘Was it something I said?’

He hates this. He hates everything about this. The look on your face, the nerves in your voice, the way your hand is shakily reaching for him—there’s nothing he wants more than to forget how that word feels each and every time you utter it. He wishes he could brush it off, and crawl back under the sheets with you and mess around until the sun rises the next day. 

But it stings, and it burns, and it fucking aches that you insist he’s nothing more than a friend, reminding him for the second time now that he can’t have you as his—and that’s the only way he intends to have you, for the sake of his poor heart that beats only for you. 

He didn’t hallucinate. You looked at him the same way Karina looked at Heeseung that night; he saw it, there was something there. 

He thinks back to what Mark said earlier. Friends don’t kiss—and they certainly don’t fuck the way you two just did. If he could just get you to admit that…

“Do you do that with all your “friends?”” 

“No, of course not!” You shake your head quickly, and he can see the offense flash across your features at his implication. Still, he insists.

“Then what are we?” 

He sees you physically deflate, but he retains his composure. “Ji…” 

“You’re telling me that after all that, and after everything we’ve done this semester–”

“Jisung–“ 

“–and after all the time we’ve known each other.. You don’t see me as anything more than a friend?”

“I…” That’s it. That’s the only word you manage to mutter, because your thoughts are tangled together and working against you to, for the first time since he’s known you, render you speechless. “I don’t know what to say.”

A pricking sensation in his eyes commands him to turn around, because simply put: he refuses to cry in front of you. 

“I like you. A lot, in case it wasn’t painfully obvious.”

“I-I like you, too but—“ 

“But you still like Jaehyun?” Truthfully speaking, he doesn’t even know where that came from. But the words have already left him, and even though he can’t see your face, the fact that you’re hesitating tells him all he needs to know.

“It’s not like that,” you start after a pause, “It’s just—how do you even know about that?” 

“It doesn’t matter. I-“ He takes a shaky breath, “Fuck.”

“Jisung…” You mumble cautiously, quietly, too nervous to approach him any more. 

“I like you,” he repeats, “so, so bad.”

“I do, too.” You whisper. It’s no use, and you discover that quickly—the moment you see him tear his doubtful eyes away from you and towards the ground.

“Stay the night here. I’ll be down the hall.” 

He grabs a random shirt from his drawer, since you’re occupying his, and puts it on as he makes his way towards the door.

“If you need anything,” he adds quietly, “just message me.” 

He steps into the hall and shuts the door behind him as you call out his name, storming down the ugly carpet that looks uglier than usual today, until he’s reached Mark and Chenle’s.

He hesitates before knocking as he realizes the tears he’s been fighting to hold back really will start rolling any second. So he passes their door angrily and barges into the bathroom.

He’s careful not to step on the filthy water that covers most of the floor, verifying Mark’s claim that the bathroom had indeed flooded, and navigating the dry patches with his slides to get to the sink. He turns on the faucet and washes his hands, then cups them and brings a decent amount of water to splash some on his face. It washes away the stray tears that managed to escape, and he repeats the process over until his eyes are no longer bloodshot, but not without a few broken sobs escaping his parted lips. 

Whether it’s hurt, frustration, or both, he doesn’t know, but before he knows it, he’s fully crying over you, until his throat is dry along with his eyes. 

After a lazy once over in the mirror, no longer regarding his looks, he treads carefully back to the exit and toward his friends’ room. 

He can hear them through the wall as he gets closer, tapping his knuckles on the wood. They sound like they’re watching the play-offs. He’s not sure, but anyway, he’s never cared about basketball, and he can’t bring himself to care about much now. 

It takes him knocking one more time before one of them hears him, and the door opens. 

“Oh, it’s you. Hey did you call about the toilet—“ 

“You look like shit.” Chenle interjects. Jisung just rolls his eyes and walks past them. 

“Can I stay the night?” 

The two boys look at each other, then back at him. 

“Uh… Not that I don’t wanna have a slumber party but… Why?” 

“Y/N is staying in my room.” 

At the same time, both of their eyes bulge. 

“Oh.” Mark says, but Chenle quickly shakes his head. 

“You have a girl in your room? Like a real one? No way.” At this, no one cracks a smile, “Why do I know that name, though… Y/N… Y/N…” 

”I thought it was going well, though,” Mark inquires, “How did you get kicked out of your own room?”

”Y/N…. Y/N who…” 

“We fucked and I asked her what we were.” Jisung regretfully admits. He had no time to mull over how much detail he wanted to share, but confiding in his older friends sounded more helpful than not. 

At this, Mark doesn’t reply, but the way he purses his lips is more than enough for Jisung to let his head swing down and he catches it in his hands.

”Y/N… Wait.” Having reached an epiphany, Chenle shoots up from the couch, “Y/N as in Jaehyun and Y/N?” 

“I don’t get it…” Jisung sighs, muttering mostly to himself, “everything was fine.” 

“So what went wrong?” It takes him a second to ponder Mark’s question, but the answer sits at the tip of his tongue. The hesitation in actually speaking it out loud—a sliver of embarrassment that shows in the way he stutters. “She k-kept calling me a friend and well, I don’t know. I just… ran my mouth.”

“If she made it clear you guys were friends then why would you ask her if y’all are a thing?” Chenle wonders, raising a curious brow. Mark gives him a shove.

”Because,” he starts, “We’ve been hooking up almost the whole semester. And not just hooking up. Talking all night, flirting… meeting up between and after classes.” 

“Yeah, that’s not friendly.” Mark agrees. 

“She does like you.” Chenle says with some level of astonishment, earning another shove from Mark and a gesturing glare that alerts him of Jisung’s obvious dishevelment.

“Chenle’s right.” Mark says, in a more gentle way, “She wouldn’t do any of… that if she didn’t. Maybe,” he puts a hand on Jisung’s shoulder and the younger boy looks up through wet eyelashes, “she was just a little overwhelmed by your confession.”

“She called me a friend.” He shakes his head, “I just had sex for the first time and she called me a friend.”

Mark quickly interjects before Chenle considers saying something insensitive, “Okay. But you have to remember: her and Jaehyun dated for two and a half years—“ 

“That’s not what I wanna hear, man.”

“—And,” Mark continues, “they only broke up earlier this year. You and her are new, and she’s probably just getting used to that. Besides, you only confessed after you guys… hooked up—nothing was established before.”

“If you liked her, you should have asked her out first.” Chenle sighs..

“So this is all going wrong because I didn’t do things by the book?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Mark glares at Chenle who at this point, gives up, leaning back to watch his game in silence. “I think if you would’ve made your feelings clear before, she might have reciprocated. She assumed you two were still friends because… you technically are still friends. Maybe she didn’t want to assume and have you freak out or something.”

At this, Jisung nods slowly, processing Mark’s words. 

“What are you studying?” Chenle pokes the older boy.

“Engineering. Why? Also, we’ve lived together for two years and you don’t know my-“

“Drop out. Become a relationship counselor.” Chenle pats him on the back. Mark quickly shoves him off and turns to Jisung again who has shot out of his seat with a newfound confidence. 

“I’m gonna go and apologize.” He decides. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Chenle replies without looking up from the screen. Mark just sighs.

“Yeah. Let me know how it goes.” 

When Jisung knocks on the door to his room, he hears no answer. When he pushes the door open, he finds his room empty, with you and your things nowhere to be found. 

The first thing he feels is worry, because where did you go? Not back to yours, because Heesung was there. He knows you have other friends, but he doesn’t know if you’re close enough to any of them to stay the night at theirs, and it was almost 11PM at this point. 

He considers calling you, but if you didn’t answer, he would be shattered, more than he is already at the thought that you might have been hurt by what he said. So he settles into his bed that still smells like sex and you, and curls up on his side, legs restlessly shifting in a failed effort to get comfortable.

He spends the better part of an hour planning what to say to you tomorrow after class, or the next day, or whatever day you decide to give him a chance to explain himself and apologize for some of the things he said. Eventually, he drifts off, clutching to his chest the pillow where your head laid. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

Absent.

You were absent. 

You have never been absent from astronomy before. Your seat besides his is empty, and you’re absent from class. 

All morning, Jisung went over his speech as he paced around his room. He changed his sheets after finding some cum stains on it as he recited his confession, his apology. He planned how he would explain his mistake and how he would relay his understanding for your confusion. 

He went over scenarios in his head on how to possibly get you back, because truthfully, that’s all he wanted. You were all that he wanted.

And now, you weren’t here. 

Karina and Heeseung were, but the two didn’t even look his way, and had sat near the front of the class—an act which worried him, because: had you told Karina what happened? Did you go back home upset and interrupt them? Were they mad at him now, too?

Inevitably, class went by slowly. Painfully slowly. Unable to focus, all that Jisung could think about was you, so when the bell rang and all the students left the lecture room except him, he didn’t notice. The only thing that caught his attention finally, was your name being called out in Professor Hwang’s sharp tone. 

“Huh?” He looks up from his laptop.

“I asked,” she starts, not too happy about having to repeat herself, “If you knew the reason for Ms. Y/n’s absence.”

“Oh.” He mumbles. As he looks around and notices the lack of classmates at his side, he starts packing his things. “No. Why do you think I would know?”

“Because, Mr. Park, the two of you are attached at the hip.”

“Well, I don’t.” He swings his bag over his shoulder and jogs down the stairs, “Maybe Karina does.”

As he’s about to pass her, Professor Hwang points her pen at his chest, stopping him. 

“When you run into her, let her know her absence will count against her unless she has an excused note. And,” she slides her glasses off, folding them and tucking one of the legs to the neckline of her shirt, “I hope the two of you make up.”

“I-“ He’s speechless, “H-how did you know?”

“Educated guess.” she states simply. 

Jisung nods once, and she lifts her pen to allow him to pass. He heads for the door, pushing it open and making his way to the quad so that he can go home. 

He’ll just message you. That’s what he decides. He’ll just ask you to meet up with you, he thinks, that shouldn’t be too hard. 

But the moment he hits the send button on a message he so carefully crafts for you and looks back up, he sees you from across the huge field of green. 

A smile almost breaks out on his face, because he sees your hair and the pretty outfit you’ve chosen today, layered to keep you warm with a scarf tucked under your chin. But he doesn’t quite get to smile, because you’re accompanied by the last person he’d like to see you with right now. 

You pause your conversation with Jaehyun to look down at your phone, presumably to check the message Jisung just sent you. Without replying, you quickly tuck it away into your pocket. 

Jisung watches as you and Jaehyun stop and sit at a bench on the quad, engrossed in what looks like a serious conversation. 

Now: he doesn’t want to be dramatic. It’ll get him nowhere and he knows that. That being said, he still pulls your contact up again, and writes you another message, rereading the one from earlier, too. 

To: Y/n :3 

hi. i noticed you weren’t in class today…  i hope you weren’t avoiding me. i want to apologize to you in person for what happened last night. can we meet up if that’s okay? Sent at 2:10 PM.

To: Y/n :3 

i’ll be at my dorm in 10 so just pass by when you have a chance. please. 

Sent at 2:17 PM

He presses send and watches, as you pick up your phone again, read the message at lightning speed, and put it away. 

Fuck. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

Jisung feels absolutely fucking ridiculous. 

Why time seems to circle around you and waiting for you to come over so can apologize, he doesn’t know. The rest of his day is meaningless; he doesn’t eat, doesn’t study, doesn’t shower, doesn’t play video games, doesn’t call his mom, doesn’t do any of the things he normally does. 

You don’t pass by today, meaning you read his messages, and willingly ignored them or put them off. Doesn’t mean he didn’t think about you or thought about you less; your continuous absence gave him more time to think and dwell. 

He’s tired and feeling wide awake at the same time, missing your scent that he can no longer find on his sheets. Maybe he shouldn’t have washed them, even if they were filthy. He’s done worse things, like go to class with dried cum on his stomach, or used your cardigan to jack off. Your cardigan, that’s still by his desk, would have remnants of your scent, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up to retrieve it. And, even if he did, he would probably get hard and he definitely did not have the energy to jack off right now. 

So he tosses and turns restlessly until he passes out with his mouth half open and his leg half hanging off the bed. 

That night, he dreams of you. The next morning, he wakes up to someone continuously knocking on his door. 

“I’m coming,” he grumbles into his pillow, quite literally rolling out of bed and in the process, getting tangled up in his comforter and falling on the carpeted floor of his dorm with a thump.

Jisung lets out some sort of distressed moan before struggling to his feet and wobbling over to the door. His left hand rubs his elbow which braced his fall, while his injured arm reaches out for the doorknob.

The knocking hasn’t stopped, so when he opens his door, his eyes are narrowed with sleep and annoyance. 

“What?”

“Dude, why haven’t you called about the bathroom? I had to take a piss in the middle of the night and I stepped on toilet water. In my socks.”

Jisung only rolls his eyes at Mark, turning back to his bed and plopping down on it with a hiss as the rest of his body feels the damage of his fall. 

“Have you talked to her?”

“No.” Jisung grumbles.

“Okay.” Mark sighs, “Well, when are you supposed to see her again?”

Jisung looks at his phone for the time. “Right now.”

“What? Is she coming over? Should I go?”

“No, you’re good. I have astronomy with her right now.”

“When?”

With a pause, Jisung rubs his eyes as he calculates, “47 minutes ago.”

Mark huffs, “so you just didn’t go to class?”

“Nope.”

Mark steps further into the room, looking around. “Is she supposed to come over at all?”

“Hopefully.”

“Alright, then. Get up.” His eyes bounce around the room until he finds a trash bag behind a clutter of Jisung’s things, then repeats himself a little sharper. “Get up and start cleaning.”

Instantly, Jisung groans, rolling over and getting under his comforter that seconds later, is yanked off of him. He starts to complain but Mark just shoves a bag in his hands.

“Non-negotiable. You think you’re gonna win her back with your room looking like a rat’s nest? Tidy up a bit, man.”

“Okay, mom.”

Reluctantly, he follows Mark’s lead, throwing away empty water bottles and cans that littered his room, as Mark focuses on any other pointless trash like empty packaging boxes. 

“Where’s your hamper?” He asks, and Jisung extends a finger towards his closet. 

“Dude.” Jisung turns to him. “When’s the last time you did laundry? This shit is overflowing.”

“Haven’t had the energy.”

“You had plenty of energy before this week. Here,” he kicks it over carefully so it doesn’t tip, then points at the clothes that litter his room, “Put it all here and go wash it. I’ll make your bed and throw out the trash.”

Jisung has never missed his mom so much. Sure, she’d nag him about his mess for days on end, but she was his mom, so eventually, he’d come home and everything would be tidied up for him. He definitely took her for granted,  that much is painfully clear now as he gives Mark a long look of disdain. The older boy doesn’t budge; he only shoos Jisung away from the edge of the bed so he can get to work on spreading out the comforter. 

Jisung does as instructed, too tired to argue or form a fuss, especially when all Mark is doing is helping him. That being said, he does do it in a very Jisung fashion: shoving all clothes, clean or dirty, into the hamper and literally dragging it down the hall to the laundry room. That includes your cardigan, which he gives one last glance to before tossing in the washing machine. It’s about time he gave it back to you anyway.

He watches his clothes spin around and around in the cycle for two different reasons, the first being that he’s generally zoning out, thinking about you. The second being that he’s making time before going back to his room, cause despite his friends best efforts and even better intentions, he does not want to clean. 

But eventually, those two mix together, and he realizes Mark does have a point—if you came over and his room was a mess, that’s just one more thing he’d be embarrassed about. 

So, he leaves his things in the washer and sulks all the way back to his room where he finds Mark accommodating the clutter at his desk. 

“What a difference, huh?” Jisung wishes he could just shrug, but Mark’s eyes are filled with expectation. 

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it!” He grins, grabbing his phone from the dresser. “I’ll leave you to it. Take a shower and try texting her again.”

Jisung nods once. 

He checks the time and notices that you’d be out of class shortly, and if you didn’t come over, he’d have to stop by yours later. Regardless of how, the plan is to talk to you today, because Jisung simply can’t keep existing with his even-waking thought being you. The minute that class wraps up, he types out a message to you as he walks over to the shower. He makes a quick call to maintenance for the bathroom down the hall before turning on his ringer in case you reply and stepping into the shower. 

For a while, he lets the water run over him, hissing as the temperature fluctuates between an acceptable barely-warm and an icy cold that matches the weather outside. The building’s heating system isn’t consistent or reliable, especially as the temperature drops more and more in the winter months, so he ceases his stalling and washes himself quickly before the water decides to stop cooperating.

He types away into his phone after wrapping the towel around his waist. 

“We… really… need… to,” he reads out his text as he writes it, sighing out the last word, “talk.” 

But as he walks down the hall to his room with the towel still hanging loosely and his hair dripping over his chest and shoulders, and consequently, the innocent carpet of the hallway, his feet skid to stop. Just as his finger presses send, he hears the ‘ding’ of the receiving end. 

Both of you look up from your screens at the same time. As Jisung jumps in surprise, his towel drops, and you yelp. 

“Sorry!” You spin around and cover your eyes as frantically looks around the hall to make sure no one else saw the mishap. He picks it up and ties it around himself again, securing it in his grip this time. 

“No– I–It’s fine. You… You can look.” It’s not like you haven’t seen it before. 

Cautiously you spin around, peeking through your fingers to check before peeling your hands from your face and dropping them at your sides. The air between the two of you is thick for a minute, until you sigh dejectedly. 

“I got your texts.” You smile weakly, and Jisung can’t help but mirror your slightly embarrassed expression. The moment is awkward and bittersweet, and neither of you move until Jisung realizes he’s still standing naked in the dormitory hallway. 

“Oh, right.” He shakes his head and moves to unlock his room door. “Here,” he gestures, and follows you inside. 

You move cautiously through the small space, glancing over at his bed and chair before deciding you don’t wanna take a seat. 

“I came over because…” you sigh again, “well, because we have to talk.” 

The only word he can utter is “yeah.” as he watches the way you shift your weight between your feet, not knowing he was doing the exact same thing. 

“Do you wanna wanna maybe…” 

He follows your gaze as it reaches his towel, and he almost jumps out of it again. 

“Right! Sorry! I-” he huffs, “could you just…” 

Wordlessly, you turn around and opt for twiddling your thumbs as he waddles over to a drawer and finds a pair of shorts and shirt to slip on, but not without glancing over his shoulder to make sure you aren’t looking. 

There’s no hiding the red in his face and ears as he spins back around with his lips pursed. “I’m done.”

There’s a pause as you spin around slowly… and another pause as both of you debate the right moment to speak up. It’s so awkward that his skin crawls and his mouth runs dry. There’s no noise, only the creaking of the floor as he walks to his bed and offers you a seat beside him.

“No, I-I’m okay with standing.”

Another pause.

“Jisung–”

“Y/n–

“You first.” You both reply, and you sigh as you realize you should probably go first, seeing as you’re the one who came over to talk in the first place. 

“Okay.” With a shaky breath, you nod to yourself once before speaking, your voice coming out quieter than intended. “I came to talk to you because… Well, I saw your messages and… I don’t like how we left things off, Ji.” 

“Me either.” He admits, looking down at the floor as his mind swarms him with all the possible things you may or may not say. 

“I talked to Jaehyun earlier. He’s my, uh,”

“Ex.” He says at the same time as you, and both of you make eye contact.

Jisung’s heart pounds as you stand before him, voice tentative and unsure. When you say, “It wasn’t fair of me to downplay everything between us. I just… I got scared,” he can’t help but clench his jaw. He wants to be understanding, to remember that you’re figuring things out too, but the memory of you calling him just a friend gnaws at him. How was he supposed to take that?

“So… was it just comfort for you, then? Convenience? A quick fuck?” he blurts, his voice tight. “Because I thought I meant something to you.” He doesn’t intend for it to sound so raw, but the words slip out anyway, his vulnerability laid bare.

You look up at him finally, eyes wide. “You do. You mean more to me than anyone ever has, Jisung,” you say, looking at him with a mixture of guilt and longing. His heart stutters. 

You take a shaky breath. “I talked to Jaehyun about us.” Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up. You talked to Jaehyun, that much he knew. But about him? He swallows thickly, nodding for you to continue, bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say.

“He told me that… that you’re a good guy,” you continue, voice soft. “He said I’d be lucky if you… if we…” You trail off, biting your lip, and Jisung’s heart tightens. 

“So… Jaehyun’s okay with what happened between us?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, looking at him with an intensity that makes his heart race. “He is. And he’s right, Jisung. You’re good to me, and I don’t want to push you away. I didn’t want to call it something more because I was afraid I’d mess it up. But now… I don’t want to ignore it anymore.”

He lets out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of your words. He takes a small step toward you, closing the distance, his hand lifting almost on instinct to brush against your cheek.

“Are you serious?” he asks softly, his voice barely steady. “Because if you’re in, I’m in. I’ve been in this whole time. I’ve wanted us to be more, and if you’re ready, I’m… I’m here.”

You nod, relief and a hesitant smile lighting up your face. In that moment, Jisung’s fears and doubts melt away slowly. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close, as if he’s finally found his way through the maze of emotions you both have been lost in.

In the warmth of his embrace, you whisper, “I’ve got you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Jisung holds you close, but there’s a hesitation in his touch, like he’s afraid this might disappear if he lets himself fully believe it. His fingers press into your back, grounding himself in the feeling of you, warm and real against him. He swallows, his heart heavy with the months of wanting, wondering, hoping, and fearing. Finally, he lets his eyes close, murmuring, “I thought I’d have to keep pretending forever, you know? Like maybe if I just waited long enough, I’d be okay with just… us as friends.” He laughs softly, the sound more fragile than he intends. “But I was never okay. I don’t think I ever would’ve been.”

You pull back slightly, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice.  You search his eyes, looking for the hesitation, the doubt that lingers in his gaze. 

“I know,” you say quietly, your voice soft but full of sincerity. “I wasn’t fair to you. I didn’t give you the chance you deserved. I was so afraid of what it could mean, of what I could lose, that I… I pushed you away.”

Jisung’s jaw tightens, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. “But now you’re here. Saying you want this… with me,” he whispers, his hands shaking slightly as he cups your face. “How do I know… how do I know you won’t change your mind again?”

“I don’t know,” you admit softly, your voice quivering. “But I do know that I’m not running this time. I’m here.”

And then, almost imperceptibly, you both laugh. It’s soft at first, a tiny giggle that slips out between the quiet, and it catches both of you off guard. The sound is shaky, like it’s laced with the bittersweet relief of finally breaking the tension that’s been building between you for so long. 

“God,” Jisung chuckles, his hands moving down to your shoulders, giving you a soft squeeze. 

The smile between you both widens as you inch closer, drawn by the gravity of each other’s presence. Slowly, almost cautiously, you lean in. And when your lips finally meet, it’s tender and slow. 

The kiss deepens, and this time, there’s no hesitation. Jisung pulls you closer, his hands resting at the small of your back, guiding you into him as if he wants to feel every inch of you, to make sure this is real. You respond just as eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck, allowing yourself to melt into the warmth of him, the gentleness that’s always been there beneath the surface.

His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart swell, as though he’s savoring the moment, soaking in everything that’s been unsaid for so long. The kiss is slow, deliberate, and full of promise. There’s no rush—just the sweet, simple taste of your mouth on his. 

When you pull back, both of you are breathless, grinning at each other. His hand gently cups your face, his thumb brushing over your lips, still tasting the lingering sweetness of the kiss.

You laugh softly, resting your forehead against his. “I’ve always been here. I just needed to realize it.” You tilt your head back slightly, locking eyes with him.

With a gentle pull, Jisung brings you in for another kiss, this one more playful, less tender, but just as full of emotion. 

You pull away first, your lips tingling, and look at him with a teasing smile. “So, what now?” you ask, a little shy.

He raises an eyebrow, his grin matching yours. “Now, we take this one step at a time, but together.” He wraps his arms around you once more, pulling you into him with an ease that feels natural, “And maybe…” he starts, voice teasing as he buries his face in your neck, “we make up for lost time.”

You gasp out softly, tilting your head to give him room to continue to kiss and lick at your throat, “sounds… good to me.” 

He turns his head, his lips brushing the edge of your ear, “Let me lay you down, yeah?”

You nod, ‘Mhm…”

Jisung pulls you closer, his hands sliding down your back as the space between you both shrinks. The air feels thick with anticipation, and the playful teasing that once filled the room fades, replaced by something deeper, more pressing. His touch is gentle yet urgent, guiding you toward the bed with a quiet confidence, the two of you knowing exactly what comes next. 

The world outside this moment feels distant, irrelevant. There’s nothing but the heat of his skin against yours, the way your bodies fit together so naturally, as he realizes, he finally got you. 

*. * ·

[onecentwriter]

Today is the first day of December and I’m thinking about the new year. I’m thinking about what I want to change about myself and I don’t want to sound pessimistic but if I wrote all this down I think I’d run out of paper. So I’ll just say it out loud and no one will ever have to think about this or me ever again. I realized it’s weird because I don’t know how to love anyone. My sister doesn’t call anymore because I never pick up and I guess I feel a little sad about that. But sometimes I remember being twelve years old and I’m tired and I’m scared and there’s a childproof bottle of ibuprofen on my bedside table that I can open in the dark and my sister is knocking at my door asking to play stuffies. We are only two and a half years apart but I am unimaginably older and it makes my heart cave in on itself.

I remember staying up for hours into the night because it was the only thing that gave me any sense of freedom. I was tired all the time and hungry and I ate too much and I had too much fat around my middle and my parents told me I needed to fix my diet. I have nice eyes and nice legs and nice hair sometimes and I guess that’s it. My friend had the perfect stomach and she used to do planks in my room while we watched TV. I don’t think she meant to be mean but I still think about it. She was the same friend I thought about kissing sometimes. She wasn’t my gay awakening but she was probably the first person I ever loved. We had every class together in high school. At sleepovers we would sprawl on her bed and pour our souls out. Souls are a lot heavier when you’re holding someone else’s and you always feel like you have to put it away before you do something stupid like stab it through the middle. Her eyes were the most terrible shade of blue because they were the same shade of blue as the sky. I look up and I can still smell her hair and her skin and I can still feel her heartbeat next to my ears. We said we’d go to college together and I haven’t spoken with her in six years.

I remember a lot of things now. I remember being a teenager curled around my phone reading fanfiction at two in the morning because maybe I can escape this world if I just try hard enough. Maybe it can all fade away. Maybe I can revolve my entire life around media so I don’t revolve it around myself because that’s selfish and I don’t want to think about myself anyways. I remember standing outside the door of my high school’s therapist with my hand against the wood and I remember walking away because I didn’t have the fucking time in my life to go the therapy. I remember being fourteen and failing my first test and thinking of ending it all. Do you think I am dramatic. Do you think it was not a big deal. What nobody will ever know is that my entire sense of self worth is balanced precariously on a pile of textbooks I have never opened. My whole life I’ve been smart enough to get by and god knows when the day comes I don’t know the answer to the question is the day I bury myself alive. Because what am I if not the smartest person in the room? The funniest? It’s awkward when nobody is laughing and when it gets awkward everyone can look at me a little closer. They can crawl under my skin and pick apart my bones and really, really understand me and that can’t happen. Because once I am seen nobody will actually love me anymore. They’ll see that I don’t know how to love. That I’m pretending. I tried to fake it till I made it but I haven’t made it yet and my head hurts. I still haven’t made it. It’s December and my dogs are getting older and my grades keep getting worse and there is less and less sun each day. It’s December and we’re going to Europe this Christmas and I can’t find it within myself to be excited and I think my mom knows and she definitely thinks I’m ungrateful. It’s December and I’m in six discord servers full of people I don’t know and I still dream of meeting my idols and having them tell me they’re proud of me and did you know parasocial sounds like parasitical and both of those words are tattooed on my skin by now. It’s December and I’ve realized I don’t really have a single friend who knows me. It’s December and I still haven’t made it. I still haven’t made it.

[thyhalloweddesign]

So I've been doing a Medical Billing/Coding course thru the AAPC, and it has been. A Mess. This is one of the worst designed and planned "textbooks" I've ever seen, taking notes is an absolute Bitch. Studying for exams is a Bitch.

They keep going back to topics and adding more info, in later paragraphs and even whole chapters later, so my notes are just so messy. Never know when they're actually done with a topic, they can't organise for shit. I know I'm already going to have to basically rewrite the damn thing so the damn topics are all together properly AND THEN. These fuckers decided it was Smart to test you on information that's located on Other websites that are Not owned by the AAPC. Which means if the page is no longer there, or the info changes, well fuck us! Then they have to update their textbook, once they realise. Do you know how many times I've read something, taken notes down, then gone back to study and the entire chapter is different??? THREE TIMES, FOUR CHAPTERS SO FAR. Fuck.

Latest biggest stressor with this damn thing, is that the CPT codes are. *takes very slow deep breath* That book is Not organised. I understand /why/, but I do Not Fucking Approve. Finding ICD-10 codes can be tricky bc they're just bitches inherently, but finding Any CPT code in that book is a goddamn adventure. And yet! I ace those exams way better than the ICD-10 exams despite the Massive amounts of stress I am feeling XDDD Absolutely rude as fuck.

BTW going thru schooling for Coding is not required to do the job, which is why everyone's medical bills are so fucked up all the time - this system is a mess, considering just how many people and groups that work together to try and make a "uniform coding system" (y'know. not talking about how we need at least 3 code systems and every payer has their own requirements/regulations, on top of the state and federal regulations). But most people who do medical coding don't go thru classes and so so so many things are done hella wrong. And going thru this course, it makes so much sense Why it's such a mess Even When You Have Certification.

I am so glad I'm going into a single specialty bc trying to do billing/coding for any and all medical services would drive me batshit. I'd be constantly contacting the providers for clarification on their lackluster documentation so I'm not getting denials and messed up payments all the damn time. (This latest chapter has been dragging on for 4 days now, I am Very Grumpy*wheeeeeze*)

[confessions-official]

i need to find a way and time to kill myself i genuially cannot handle going to this school anymore and i hate the baking classes because half of the time i dont do anything and i hate being stared at and i assume peopel would think im ""better then them"" when i use my phone and i dont do anything so i stare at the floor but i dont ask my teachers to he;p around (semi-verbal, not an excuse tho thats 100% my fault) but also when ive tried they would take what i was doing and do it themselves, i was told twice by two different students that i was good for nothing and when i was able to do sometihng the group of girls just snickered and kept making comments and i couldnt focus, but also in geeneral the teachers SUCK and the students too like i know that there wont be a place where the teachers and students are 100% good but god are they so much horrible idk where they find them i wish i could just be sick for once but i cant get myself and i cant fake it with how my parents r slightly more involved and slightly nosey (they still keep their distance but god r they so boring at explaining like i just zone out the whole time idgaf) the whole school except for afew rooms is just plain white so "we dont get distracted" its like a fucking mental insititution and id say that for a school that preches alot about hygine (and me being a minor germaphone ngl) they wont clean at all like ive had afew coffee cups i forgot to throw out still under my desk a week later and then they complain about our room looking like a mess no shit you also just left it like that, and theres also a teacher which i have 3 very similar classes with and i have to write EVERYTHING down but the thing is that hes basically reading the entire goddamn textbook and im one of the like 3 students to write in his class and i hate it because then im known as a teachers pet or whatever when im just doing this for my parents like i dont care and i wouldnt have done it but my parents want me to do it so they can """'explain""" afterwards i dont care anymore its confusing and i dont understand anything because he just keeps on going and i cant keep up with him i hate him i hate them i hate everyone i cant find another school becaseu A) the other schools are at a much higher level of education B) im 11th grade theres no point in moving idc if i have a year left i cannot fucking stand going there

 

[innocencelives]

talking to myself: An Idiosyncratic Life & A True Tinfoil Hat

i do still fall into spaces where its-maybe i made it up? maybe my moms right?-but im able to recognize, how heavily i was gaslit, how my mothers perspective-representative of the entire family-poisons my everyday world. i think about, what would she think of my messy place? what condescending, devaluing thing would she tell me about it? i start arguing with her, or worse-i start bonding with her. but shes not there. just her spirit, like a demonic infestation from several states away, its a curse to know shes breathing, and that her perspective still persists unchallenged in her world. but its hard to doubt it, when i ask myself, when i realize, a portion of the sexual abuse that happened later in my life, is as clear as day, as solid as concrete.

i do doubt the severity of it all. perhaps i dont doubt it, im in disbelief about it. im still, still, years and years later, still shocked by it. i still cant believe this pretty picture was tainted the whole time. but these two realities never merged, thats whats frustrating. they exist as separate states of mind, i vacillate between one and the other, unable to integrate the two into a cohesive life story.

black and white thinking i guess? the true reality, the one where i suffered more than anyone should, the one where one foundational trauma was expounded upon and multiplied until it was all i knew, until it eclipsed everything. the original trauma could be considered unbelievable, improbable sure-but knowing it is true, it makes all the gaslighting true.

things like psychiatrists convinced by my mom to medicate a psychosis that didnt exist. truly medically sedated, blamed by everyone, disbelieved and shunned by everyone i trusted, therapists and psychiatrists trying to convincing me i made it up, therapists who are seeing my father who raped me at the same time as they were seeing me, collaborating with my parents to deny my abuse. collaborating with my parents to GASLIGHT me. THAT is unbelievable, shocking, like a fucking movie. a conspiracy! a fucking tinfoil hat conspiracy of a life.

i mean. am i supposed to not have doubts? how could i, how could i just trust myself outright when my father admitted what he did, a few years before he seemed to genuinely say he didnt know what i was talking about. sometimes i feel like im in the wrong timeline. i wasnt supposed to understand what happened, i was supposed to continue to believe that was normal. maybe i could have lived a decent life. instead i chose to hold on to my truth, steadfast, stubborn and unwavering, clinging to memories that left me decrepit and crippled.

why would i do such a thing? of course i wanted to forget, to put it back, to close pandoras box and move on. but you see there was an indescribable feeling, that i try to explain to people to no avail. in 10th grade, when i opened it, i was triggered just by the word “boy” by the word “abuse”. but these triggers were freeing, like they released me from a burden. they hurt, so, so, so badly. i remember vividly, in chemistry class, there was a page of this big textbook, 581 or something, that had a picture of a sad little boy. every time i was in that class, i would flip to that page, look at it, and become lost in grief and melancholy.

that idiosyncratic symptom has followed me a decade later. just like in middle school i will sometimes read vivid, disturbing descriptions of war crimes such as the holocaust, unit 431, serial killers, serial rapists, pictures and all. this isnt morbid curiosity, no, this is a form of self harm. a futile attempt to understand the inexplainable nature of incestous abuse. a crime that so denies everything we hold dear about this earth that there is a genuine historical record of people disbelieving its entire existence. not just instances, freud himself believed this phenomenon of people coming to him about their abuse must be a kind of common fantasy.

i think part of the reason its been so many years and ive never recovered is that ive never gotten anything remotely close to closure. and i probably never will. they will continue to live their lives unaffected by the abuse, and i will continue to suffer from it-until the day we both die. nothing can be resolved, no book can be closed, nothing can be put behind me. feels like i walk around town with a knife in my back.

i know ill never know peace, but i can find contentment.

i can never be unburdened, but the burden can be accepted.

if i am haunted, then i will live as a person haunted

if i am burdened, i will live a life with my burden beside me.

if my life is half-lived, it is still a life after all.

[planetconfession]

[c] I woke up and chose violence this morning, but instead of lashing out indiscriminately, I figured a controlled detonation in the form of ranting would be a little more palatable instead of taking my grievances and anger straight to their doorstep. Please excuse the unhinged anger & spite that’d make the Player Hater’s Ball, Katt Williams, or even K-DOT blush…

There’s this pick-me Jack Mormon that’s been a particular royal pain in my taint for quite some time now. “Jack” at first glance and face value seems friendly enough, but I assure you, it’s a well crafted façade. Whether due to indoctrination from growing up within the LDS community or being a vulnerable narcissist is still to be determined (biased opinion on my end, I think it’s both fr). My problem with this individual isn’t the fact that they come from a Jesus-fanfiction doomsday cult that from the ground up would love nothing more than to subjugate or decimate people of color because they “possess the mark of Cain”, but I can’t shake this gut feeling that they’re a proverbial Fox in the Henhouse with a “Hail, Hydra” complex. What I mean by this is, anybody that’s taken a high school level psychology class or even has a basic understanding of the DSM could tell you Jack is compensating for deep rooted issues (trust me, it takes a psycho to identify other psychos). Jack is a textbook Whiteboy that has unresolved angst and resentment towards their conservative father, so they’ve meticulously crafted a persona that at surface value would seem to be a form of rebellion, but in actuality is a desperate attempt for attention/validation. However, this persona also serves another purpose to lure in individuals that Jack’s attracted to and also fetishizes in an attempt to ease their quarry into a false sense of comfort, security, & trust. Case in point, for a good minute Jack gleefully jumped on board the whole “Eat the Rich” resurgence, which isn’t the problem… The issue is that Jack has lived in THREE of some of the Wealthiest (and Whitest) Area codes West of the Mississippi River, regularly goes to concerts that would cost a kidney for anyone else, and don’t even get me started on the trips/vacations that they’ve indulge in. Also, have you ever heard of anybody that’s poor or broke going snowboarding? Let alone having the money for martial arts training and football equipment when they were a kid? Didn’t think so. Circling back to their lustful proclivities, Jack has hella Christopher Columbus syndrome fantasies involving Latinx & Indigenous women (but truth be told he’s an equal opportunity scavenger when it comes to Alt-Girls). I have no hard-core proof, but to quote Laszlo from What We Do In The Shadows, “He’s got the Hair of Pedophile”.

Now to go full-bore, full-send, and unabashed petty vulgar sithlord… I hate that “I didn’t know they stack shit that high” twerp’s punchable face, I hate their parasitical culture vulture personality, & I fucking LOATHE that bugnutted inbred shrimp-dicked rotted-out douche canoes entire existence. Fuck, if it wasn’t for a Lady stepping in, I woulda’ve Forrest Gump walked my ass all the way to that Mormon infested shit-stained corner of our country just rip off their head to use their skull as codpiece just so my nuts’d Tea-Bag their brain pan. Also, I hope the next time that you go down on somebody, you get toilet paper dandruff in your mouth and they fart in your face resulting in you getting pink eye.

I’m so sorry about this for anyone who reads this. Yes, I am painfully aware I have MAJOR issues myself. I’m hoping whoever reads this that also has major sources of internal rage can find some comfort or catharsis in this rant or better yet if you’re just having a shitty day, maybe it’ll provide a good laugh. And to answer your question… Yes, I listened to all of Kendrick’s diss tracks about Drake while writing this. 

And “Jack”, if you see this, buddy, ol’ pal… Up yours & go 69 a Cactus. (P.S: don’t push it, because the trick to having a super weapon… is to always build two)

.

[justasmallbloginabigklainefandom]

@sohereswhatyoumissedlastweek replied to your post “Anyway I spent four hours straight up crying while...”:

Oh no!! Why? :( the course too hard?

​AAAAAAAAAAAARH

Yeah, basically. Today was the same. My main problem is that the way I express frustration is crying, wanting to scream, biting myself, pinching myself, pulling my hear, ripping stuff apart, hitting things and throwing with stuff. (Rip to this textbook, I have thrown it a lot and at one point started slamming it against a chair.) (Also, no worries, I never bite or pinch to hurt and I don't actually tear out my hair. I hate pain too much for all that.) (It's more that I have all this pent-up anger and I need to hit shit.) And when I am in this mood, literally everything around me pisses me off and I lose my marbles over the littlest things. My entire body is tense and my neck hurts and feels hot.

Yeah, I know. Not Good.

Basically I am constantly on the brink of tears when thinking about it. Even now I am digging my nails into my hands and biting my fingers because I am already getting so ticked off. (Although, writing this down does feel good and is probably healthier than, you know, throwing my book against a wall in rage.) (That did feel good, though.)

So this course is absolutely kicking my ass because I don't understand shit and every time I think I do, I make an assignment, only to have, like, 90% of the questions wrong. Aka cue screaming and tears. And the worst part is that I don't see the point, which is apparently a huge deal for me as well. Idk what it is called in English, but nutsprincipe is a big thing that I am working on, because if I deem it useless, I have a hard time doing shit. This is what my post about bullshit is about. I genuinely do not see the point of this except for Frege to sound smart. I see no use for it at all. Why do we need a fucking formula language for pure thought, so that we can use these formulas to mathmatically calculate thought? Isn't the whole point of philosophy that reality, however you want to define is, cannot be boiled down to a simple formula? If this was exact science, I would at least partially understand it, but come on, you want to create a clear cut formula for language that discusses existence? Leibniz and Frege, turn on your locations, I just want to fucking talk.

AND on top of that, I have been feeling unwell with stress from the last 2.5 weeks because my entire degree is so much I honest to God cannot handle it. So on top of all the frustration and stress of this one course, I am also in a constant state of stress because I have so much to do and I can't find a way to relax, because the only way I can relax is to not do it, but then I don't get it done on time and if I miss one thing I am behind A Lot. One course has a week off, since my teacher is somewhere else, and it is such an immense relief because it saves me reading 3 other papers of idk 100 pages in total. If I also had to do that on top of all the reading and assignments for this week, I don't think I would've handled it. Like, we're not even a month in and I am already on the verge of some sort of mental breakdown. I am constantly tired. I am so tired.

This further isn't helped by the fact that I also have a lot of problems with another course and I feel kinda bad about it. Everyone keeps telling me not to, since this degree is specifically made for people without philosphy knowlegde, which is why the first year is basically a speedrun of philosophy, but every damn time I am in class I realise that others did get it, and that also frustrates me. Like, everyone starts talking about the "obvious conclusion that they read at the end of X" and meanwhile I have read X three times and I had no clue that that was written down there.

Again, I am not even a month in!!! Jesus Christ, but this crappy feeling is unbearable so I am already wondering if this is good for me. It unfortunately reminds me of 2019 which I have dubber The Worst Year, where I was also on the brink of a burn out and couldn't do anything else but cry and only the thought of my thesis made me burst into tears and made me feel like crap.

AND I like my degree, despite everything. I want to do it. I want to understand it (expect for the formula logic, because fuck that for reasons mentioned above.) I look up my future courses and I am excited, so I am sort of holding on to that thought as some sort of fucking lifeline, because in my frustration fuelled thought spiral I did start to fear that I had made a mistake by doing this. YET I don't love it. Others do. Some people were talking about how much joy this brings them and how privileged they feel to be able to do this and how they bike to university, thinking life is beautiful because of this degree. I don't think that, so like Eleanor Shellstrop, it feels like I am literally surrounded by people who are better than me and who belong more. AND I AM AWARE that I shouldn't compare myself. I usually am very good at that, but well, frustration-fuelled-thought-spiral be upon ye!

Not good. I know.

I did find a stress ball but I am at my parents' home and I didn't have that so unfortunately my parents had to endure me at my worst for 2 days. I had a full breakdown yesterday at dinner, mostly because this was just 2.5 weeks of utter shit. Oops.

Am I dealing with this? No, not at all. I need to figure out how to, because this is bleeding into everything. After logics I needed to read a chapter for philosophy of cognition and I still had all that anger in me that I still kept acting out, which obviously didn't bode well BUT I did find a new way to blow off steam. Cause I was slamming books and hitting tables when I realised my mum has one of those Ring Fit Adventure rings, which is made to be pushed in!!! And that's how I did fucking excercise and I fucking hate this but it works because I just smashed through some monsters in Ring Fit Adventure and everything was fine after that. (I hate exercise and sports btw. Fucking dispise it. I am actually not familiar with these positive effects of excercise, because it usually makes me feel worse because I hate doing it.)

I don't have this game on my Switch though and unfortunately we live in the world of digital games, so it's downloaded on my mum's Switch AKA I cannot pop a cartridge into mine. This is why I always say that, if possible, you should still buy your games in physical form! It has resell value AND you can share it. Fuck digital only!!!! (And yeah, great, this works, but I am not paying another €80 for this game.)

I did add my mum's account to my Switch so that the game *is* downloaded on mine, but Nintendo has build a "fail safe" or whatever it's called into the Switch. Other accounts can only play titles from other accounts if it's on a Main Console of the account that bought it. So I can play it with my account on my mum's, but not with my account on mine, because the video game industry fucking sucks nowadays. Anyway, what I am trying to say is that I am gonna attempt booting up the game on my Switch from my mum's account but then see if it's possible in-game to pick mine again, since that is possible in this game BUT I am afraid my progress will not move over to my Switch because again shared saves is paywalled BECAUSE OF COURSE IT IS IN THIS DAY AND AGE.

(Also, lol, Hard Times from Paramore just started playing.)

ANYWAY, this did end on a rant about the video game industry, but yeah, thanks for letting me indulge in writing this whole ass essay.

[missbaphomet]

I actually haven't ever had a trigonometry class. School in the US isn't the best and school in the southeast is often significantly worse. The school I went to was even on the failing list for math during my education. I was so far behind in math that when I tried to attend a local fine arts school for math and science I had to withdraw after just three weeks (and a summer course) because I was just too far behind, which was extremely upsetting to me for several reasons. I was one of only maybe a dozen kids chosen for that year's class out of a few hundred applicants, but I simply didn't have the knowledge I needed in math. I went into honors algebra 1 not knowing the order of operations. That's how bad my school's math education was.

The summer course was three weeks long and we covered a whole textbook in that time. I was out the entire middle week with the worst case of pneumonia I've ever had in my life. I tried to study through it but the meds I was on literally made the numbers jump around the page. I would easily spend 5-7 hours every single night on my daily math homework only to come in the next morning and have every bit of it wrong. My teacher also had a stupid thick accent and I genuinely couldn't understand her, and there was also a rumor that she had a particular disdain for white students because she immigrated from Uganda iirc. She definitely did treat me and the only two other white kids in my class differently than everyone else is all I'll say, but she is no longer staffed there. (Up yours, Mrs. Lugemwa!)

I was a constant ball of stress and anxiety during that time, so much so that I was eating basically nothing but fucking garbage and still dropped 20lbs in three weeks. I do genuinely think it's possible I gained some form of CPTSD from it all or something, and to this day I still freeze up if taking an algebra test. I can do algebra, but something about doing it in a school environment sets me off and I can't think straight and my heart races and all kinds of other anxiety shit. The only classes I have ever failed out of my own lack of knowledge or ability were math classes.

The others were a couple English classes where the teacher hated me and refused to grade my work for some reason, and an anatomy class where the teacher expected us to draw anatomically correct and articulated body systems [muscle, skeletal, nervous, etc] when even my stick figures are deformed and because I missed a huge test that was a pretty significant chunk of my grade because I was having surgery and the professor wouldn't let me make it up. I also had a technical fail for attendance in some fucking mandatory attendance class but my grade was good so I don't count it, especially since I technically shouldn't have been failed because I had a doctor's excuse for that absence but the teacher didn't accept it because apparently I "could have done it later". Like sorry you think some bullshit class where we did fuck all is more important than my health??? And when I say we did fuck all I mean it. We had one graded assignment the whole semester: read a book and take a test on it. I didn't read the book but I made like a 95 on the test so kiss my ass. The rest of what we did were like. Non-graded worksheets about time management and other such skills.

(This is why I wanted to take a gap year, then COVID happened. Now I have to scrape together the funds myself if I want to go back to school in the future)

Sooo many people pronounce my username wrong it blows my mind. I was like 12-13 when I first heard this term, it’s just always been there, so much so I had to ask friends when I would’ve learned it. I just can’t wrap my head around it lmfao

[lasciviouspoison]

my first full length smut fic! this shit took weeks to edit ngl, but it was worth it. with that being said, there are probably still some mistakes so excuse those, lol. tw: breeding, eren calls himself “daddy”, word “mommy” is used, reader and eren are extremely (heavy emphasis on extremely) frustrated. not a tw, but like i always say, this is for my chubby black women, but all are free to read <3

eren has loved you for an extremely long time. he’s spoiled u, fed u, he’s even dressed you head to toe while you were sick.

yet, all of this spoiling and caring for u, does not warrant your brattiness right now.

he’s been studying tirelessly for his midterm for about 2 weeks now, finally on his last day of review before his test in a couple of days. yet, he can’t seem to focus because you keep coming in and out of your shared study every three seconds.

“‘ren, where are the extra washcloths?”

he looks up from his textbook, glasses falling off his nose a bit. you’re even dressed like a brat, skimpy little white tank top and baby pink panties. it makes his head hurt worse than the passage he’s read over 4 times now.

“there’s no way you’re asking me where fucking washcloths are right now. there’s no way.” he says with some bite to his voice. he just needs to finish these last two pages and the longer it takes him, the more it kills him.

your arms cross over your chest, pushing your bra-less chest up and exposing a bit of your chubby stomach. “does it look like i’m joking with you? where are they?”

he clenches his jaw and in a very clipped tone, he responds that they’re under the sink. you scoff slightly and walk out, making an effort to slam the door a bit harder than necessary.

he sits back in his chair and throws off his glasses, big tattooed hands wiping his face. eren knows he’s been neglecting you, and it’s killing him just as much as you. he’s tired of coming home from class too tired to touch you. he’s tired of you having to tell him to go lay down after his head rocked one too many times over his dinner plate.

he’s tired, but he’s not gonna let you act like a bitch just to get what you want. simply because it’s fucking working.

he pushes up from his desk and walks out of the study. he hears the bathroom cabinets opening, so he does everything but sprint to get there.

you peer over your shoulder at him and roll your eyes, “they weren’t under the sink. in fact, they’re all dirty cause, you know, you act like you can’t help with laundry anymore-“

erens grabbed you by the nape of your neck and brought your body close to his. you can hear his semi-heavy breathing despite still being bent over, which caused your heart to race a little. although you knew eren would never hurt you, it doesn’t mean that his pent up energy won’t go to waste.

“a couple things: one, don’t talk to me like i’m a fucking child. two, i do still help with laundry, there’s a whole basket full of folded shirts sitting on the bedroom floor that i didn’t get the chance to put away. and finally, you that cock hungry, or are you genuinely mad at me?” he finishes with a finger running up your spine, back arching at the feeling. he knows this rills you up, which is perfect for him. you don’t get to frustrate him and remain unscathed.

your eyes widened a bit, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop eren’s hand from moving. you could feel just how hard he was and it made you think that he almost had it worse than you. however, that doesn’t mean your just gonna lay here and take it.

“get the fuck off me eren” you said through tight lips. his hands now steadily making their way under your top, with you making no advances to stop him.

he bent down towards your ear as his body almost covers yours entirely, with his fingers now gently pulling at your nipples.. “you know what’s funny? you can act mad at me all you want, but this pretty pussy is never ever mad at me. maybe i should gag you and let her do the talking, at least she’s not a fucking liar” at this point, eren’s hands feel like hot coals against your body. while they slowly make their descent back down your body, you can feel your resolve slowly melting away under his touch.

before you could reply, his fingers begin to softly move along your covered slit, causing your breath to hitch. you push your hips back a little and eren gives you a breathless laugh in return.

“i know i’ve neglected you pretty baby. daddy’s really sorry, just let me make it up to you. i promise, you can have me all night if you just tell me what you really want”. sometimes, you swore that you could hear the smirk on eren’s lips.

you shook your head no and felt a soft slap to your pussy. you wanted to scream at him and tell him just how badly you missed him, but your mouth refused to open. you bit your lip once he began touching you again, attempting to coax a confession from your pretty lips.

you felt him bend over once again, this time to place small kisses behind your ear, kisses that started to travel down your neck and onto your back. the entirety of his ministrations were torture, but it was when he stopped kissing you and replaced his lips with his tongue to lick a stripe up your back that you really wanted to cave.

eren’s middle finger finally found your bare clit, the initial contact causing you to jump hard against his body. small whimpers leaving your lips as you tried to maneuver on his fingers before he stilled your movements.

“m’not doin anything more till you tell me the truth. what do you want from me baby? tell me and i’ll give it you ya”.

you try to grind against his fingers once again before a hard smack to your ass forces you to stop. his grip on your hips tightening, letting u know that he’s really gonna deprive you until you speak.

“want you to touch me ren! wan’ you to fuck me so fucking bad!” you finally scream out.

every gives you a small chuckle before his middle and index finger burry themselves into your cunt. his body almost shakes at warmth you provide. blood rushing straight to his dick, making him indescribably hard.

“that’s it baby, that’s all i wanted to hear.” he sounds breathless, almost like he’s the one that’s been getting teased.

he’s pumping his fingers in and out of you, a small squelching sound coming from your sopping pussy. your grip on the cold marble counter top has your knuckles turning white. at this point, you’re so desperate for more that your meeting his fingers half way.

with tears threatening to run down your chubby cheeks, you make pleas for more. “ren please, please gimme more. i’ll be good i promise!”

he feels so bad. you’ve never acted like this, even when the two of you were still forced to live separately on campus. the desperation in your voice is surprising him just as much as it’s surprising you.

because he knows you like it when he fucks you with his hair down, he pulls his hair from his already loosening bun and all but rips his sweats off. dick hitting his bare stomach with a heavy thud.

he takes his fingers out of you and rips those pretty pink panties off, he makes a mental note to buy you another pair.

he rubs himself between your sticky folds till his cock is shiny, hitting your clit a couple of times in the process, drawing more whines from you. all he can do is look down in awe. it’s amazing to him just how wet you get from just a couple of fingers, but who can blame u? his dick’s been throbbing for four days straight.

he finally anchors himself and spits, emitting a soft puh before he smiles. you’re such a mess underneath him and he can’t wait to make it even worse. he finally starts to push in, but your tight little cunny won’t let him in no matter how gentle he tries to be.

“lemme in baby… please lemme in” his voice is so strained it’s making u gush even more.

“i’m tryin!” you say with a pout, tears running down your face.

eren knows you’ve always been big on eye contact when the two of you fuck, it’s almost necessary… so, he hooks his fingers into the side of your mouth and forces your head to lift. finally you were able to see that tattooed chest and pretty face, and he was able to see those pretty eyes and beautiful tear stained face.

almost immediately do you loosen up and he accidentally on purpose pushes all the way in, causing the both of you to moan loudly.

“there you go baby, take it for me ya spoiled fuckin brat”. his hands have found purchase on the fatness of your hips, his grip so tight that you think he’ll bruise you. not that you’ve ever cared.

“fuckfuckfuck” is all you can say as you watch his facial expressions through the mirror. his hair is down and there’s tiny beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. he’s gone slack jawed while stroking you, a relaxed expression gracing his pretty face. no matter how many times he’s buried himself in your warm walls, he’s never gotten used to how good u feel. once his green eyes make contact with yours and that smirk graces his face, it makes u realize just how in control he is no matter how gentle he may look.

“squeezin’ me so tight baby.. u miss me that much?” he says with a breathless laugh, voice dripping with sarcasm. the both of you know that going this long without touch was both odd and frustrating. it caused the both of you to miss each other equally, hence why this could be categorized as some of the best sex you’ve ever had.

at this point, he knows you’re gonna cum soon, he can feel your walls pulsing and eren feels like his dick is gonna pop.

“g’nna cum rennie, g’nna make a mess on yo- ugh fuck!” your little hands balling into fists as he hits that spongey spot in you. you can hear just how hard he’s thrusting into you, each stroke sounding more sticky than the last. it’s making your eyes cross and toes curl.

your convinced he’s gonna kill you with that horse dick of his one day.

“let it out baby, i’ll clean it up the mess, wanna feel you cum on me.” even he’s getting whiny now, so it’s only a matter of time before you-

“-ohmygod eren!” you cum so hard that your body’s shaking and your knees are buckling. thankfully, eren’s always there to catch you.

despite chasing his own nut, he desperately wants to see you ride out your orgasm. he’s so desperate that he’s picking you up by your hips, forcing you to do small circles against his waist cause he knows it drives you crazy.

however, it doesn’t take long before he’s digging deep into you again, the force of his thrusts causing your head to bounce a little harder than intended.

“god i’m gonna cum so hard in this pretty pussy. i’m so fucking sorry i neglected you baby.. never again, god i’ll never do it again baby i promise. gonna fill you up okay? awe, you like the sound of that yeah? make you the prettiest mommy for me. promise i’ll take care of you forever. god i love you”. he’s rambling and his voice is getting rough. it’s only a matter of time before he cums.

after finding some strength, you finally look back and smile at him and that’s all it takes for eren to cum. his face screws up and his warm hands slide up your back to make you arch a little deeper. you wish you could run your fingers through his hair so badly, but you couldn’t ask for a better view of your beautiful boyfriend.

after a few moments of silence, eren finally comes down from his high with a big huff of air. gently, he spins you around so you face him. he moves your curls from out of your eyes and gives you a slow kiss on the lips, hands resting gently on your chubby, tear stained cheeks.

after a few moments of silence, he starts to speak, “i meant what i said. i’m sorry i left you alone for so long baby. i just gotta pass this test.” his eyes full of remorse.

“i know eren, i just wanted some attention… it’s really easy to miss you, even if we live together”. small smiles find both of your faces and eren finally pulls out to run the two of you a warm bath.

he strips you out of your tank top and carries you over to the tub, where he holds you tightly.

after some comfortable silence, you can’t help but look over your shoulder and ask the question that’s been plaguing your mind, “you really wanna get me pregnant?”

he looks towards the ceiling and let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “i mean, eventually yes. right now? fuck no”

the two of you fell into laughter while the smell of lavender filled your noses and achy bones were finally allowed to rest.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

RESTORATION AND 18TH CENTURY LIT. - COLLEGE AU!TOMURA X READER

✧ pairing: college student!shigaraki x fem!reader | a little bit of shigadabi

✧ word count: 21.3k  | AO3 Mirror

✧ warnings: Shigaraki being an asshole, lowkey kinda hates women, fem reader only because he refers to her as female (derogatory) like once gender neutral pronouns for reader though the few times its used, Angst and Fluff and Smut Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, college au no quirks, dabi is a little shit, dirty talk, swearing, like so much, vaginal se, vaginal fingering, oral sex, virgin shigaraki, loss of virginity degradation, mentions of lactation kink, brief exhibitionism

✧ summary: He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch.And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you. Fucking disgusting.

Or Tomura get's paired up with you for a big final project in some bullshit English class he needs to graduate and quickly discovers that he even though he kinda hates women, he hates you a little bit less. And also really wants to stick his dick in you.

✧ a/n: First off yes this is a repost. Second: Happy birthday to the best boy and happy birthday to this fic (and also this blog)! In celebration of all the occasions and because I didn’t have time for anything else, I’ve compiled the entire R18CL main series here in one place. It was the first real shigs fic I’ve written and still one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever done. I think you can tell how much my writing has improved just in this year from reading this, but I love it how it is, so enjoy~ And finally, it goes without saying, don’t fucking rec this anywhere else.

The door at the back of the room creaked open and jarred Tomura from his half-sleep state. He didn’t look at who’d bothered to slip into this fucking class late, and instead tried to let the prof’s inane droning on Timothy Whoever The Fuck’s 18th weirdo letter book lull him into day dreaming. 

He only made it about a quarter of the way back into his boredom induced coma until he was dragged unwillingly into wakefulness once more. 

“Sorry, could you plug this in for me?” 

Tomura jumped again when you leaned over to whisper to him, computer charger in one hand, gesturing to the outlet on the wall by his head. You’d left the typical courtesy seat empty between the two of you and he stared blankly at the way you leaned your weight on the vacant chair. 

He recognized you.

The classic, dumbass teacher's pet who was always front and center of the room, iced drink at the ready looking like you belonged on the set of some god awful college b movie. 

Well, almost always. You certainly had that loud ass drink, but you’d tucked yourself at the end of his row towards the back of the room and was clearly a bit embarrassed for bursting in almost 15 minutes late. 

Tomura swallowed hard as your shirt gaped in the front. It took an immense amount of control to not gaze outright into the swell of your chest. 

“You good?” you asked softly, head cocked like you were straight out of a fucking manga panel—tits on display with that stupid innocent, puzzled expression.  

“Uh yeah, sorry,” Tomura mumbled. 

You offered him this gross, clearly fake smile—because why the hell would you be grinning like that if it wasn’t just because you wanted something from him—as he threaded the cord behind his chair and plugged it in. 

“Thanks,” you replied and turned back towards the professor, typing away cause you actually take notes in this class. 

Of fucking course you did. 

Probably trying to impress everyone with how you typed practically every word the prof said. Tomura decidedly did not take notes, and didn’t really pay that much attention in general. Usually he just played some trashy phone game under the desk or dozed with his head against the cement wall. 

It had gotten to that portion of the semester when it was warmer outside but the buildings still had the heat cranked all the way up, especially here in the basement where the classroom was. That environment along with his usual hoodie/joggers combo created grade A napping conditions that Tomura took full advantage of. 

As a rule, he actually cared about school and he did relatively well. But this was just some dumbass liberal arts requirement course that had nothing to do with his actual major, so he was perfectly fine with coasting. Why his comp sci degree required him to take a fucking Restoration era English class, he had no clue. Apparently neither did his advisor other than that the ‘administration recommended it’ so their students would have a ‘well rounded learning experience.’ 

It was almost certainly just a cash grab to make him take more credits than was necessary to graduate, but whatever. He was here now. And so were you. Your presence was overwhelmingly clear, typing away and smelling like one of those insanely specific laundry detergent label scents—fucking rolling meadows and grandmother’s clean linen or something like that. 

He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch. You contributed to discussion at every opportunity, turned in shit early, and debated other classmates regularly enough to disrupt his in-course sleep schedule. 

The way you dressed pissed him off too, with a particular style that was enough to stand out but not so over the top that it would cause disinterest from any potential mates. 

And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you. 

Fucking disgusting. 

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

He jumped a third time, attention directed from his lap to the front of the room where the prof stood, listing out names from the board. He heard your name next followed by Kai Chisaki. The list was projected on the board as well, grouping everyone into twos or threes with “Final Project Partners” listed in bold Helvetica font at the top. 

Only fucking English profs used Helvetica. 

He vaguely remembered mentions of a final presentation—one of like three grades in this class cause the prof was almost certainly a sadist. 

No, not almost—definitely. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stuck him with you and that weirdo Kai pre-med student who insisted on acting so elitist you’d think he already had his fucking M.D. 

One time he asked Tomura to move seats at the start of the semester because he looked “dirty” and Kai liked to sit in the back—which, fair enough, it wasn’t like Tomura showered as frequently as he probably should but what the fuck??  

With you rushing in late, chest out and panting every now and again from your apparent sprint across campus, Tomura was certain he’d be subjected to a whole 6 weeks of watching you try to mount that fucking Kai dude instead of actually working. 

This was going to be a nightmare. 

From the end of the table, he saw you shifting and turned to find that stupid fucking smile flashed his way once again. 

If you had a tail, he’d bet it would be wagging. 

“Hey, well that’s convenient,” you chuckled and plopped down directly next to him, sliding your noisy ass drink across the table with you and brushing against his thigh when you shifted your bag to the side. 

“Yeah,” he nodded.

It most certainly was not. 

But Tomura would never say that because—as his roommate put it so kindly—he was kinda a pussy. 

People made him nervous, they always had. That’s why he liked computers so much. Code made sense, there were clear rules and when something didn’t work out, he could fix it eventually, but you couldn’t see people’s codes. You had to fucking guess at shit and it made his anxiety skyrocket which the sides of his neck and finger tips suffered for. 

So he cowered like the fucking dog you probably thought he was instead and kept his eyes on the floor, letting you set up in silence. 

“Who was our third?” you asked, glancing around the room. “Sorry, I was busy making a shared drive and I came in  late so I missed that last bit.”

Why the hell did you feel the need to apologize all the goddamn time? Seriously, who would believe you were actually sorry for being irritating as hell. 

And god if he thought you were irritating. 

“Kai,” he grumbled simply as the man in question sauntered over to the table and fucking clorox wiped down the seat before sitting. 

Tomura watched your smile falter just a bit and grinned inwardly at the slip in your fake little persona. But you didn’t say anything more, just moved your chair back so the three of you were in a semi-circle and pulled up a few pdfs on your laptop. 

“Cool, so I was looking over the directions on the syllabus last week and I set up a little work delegation thing so we can distribute everything pretty evenly,” you jumped right in, tone matter of fact in the down-to-business manner he was used to hearing from you during class discussions. 

It was better than you so clearly forcing yourself to be overly polite, and he honestly couldn’t really care less if you wanted to take charge of this thing. You seemed kinda bossy, but he begrudgingly admitted that your suck up behavior did mean you sort of knew what you were talking about. He was just here to pass and you might actually make that a lot easier. 

It was okay as long as he was taking advantage of you, he told himself. And you would be too stupid to notice, so he could play your game and play pretend nice all the way to an A. 

That walking condescension on the other hand— 

“I’m not doing that,” Kai huffed through his ever-present mask. 

Tomura wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen the bastards face without it. 

“What?” you laughed awkwardly. “Yes you are, you don’t really have much of a choice.” 

You stared at your classmate who simply stared right back with his own, equally confused expression. 

“Why do you look so surprised?” you asked after a moment of silence. 

You weren’t smiling anymore and your voice had dropped down about a fucking octave. At least you sounded more like a person and not some wannabe uwu gamer bitch.

“People don’t talk to me like that,” Kai looked at you down his nose, legs spread wide and elbow resting on his knees. 

Tomura could feel the pretentiousness wafting from him in waves, and waited with baited breath for you to get kicked off your pedestal. Just a bit though, he did need you around to do most of his work for this thing. 

But in a shocking turn of events, you just laughed dryly twice and turned back to your laptop screen, mumbling as you did. 

“Really? Well they should.” 

Tomura would have laughed too, but he didn’t feel like inflating your ego. Kai on the other hand looked a bit like you’d just spit on shoes and furrowed those stupid, plucked thin eyebrows at the back of your head. 

“So Tomura, you code right?” you asked, turning away from Kai completely to address him. “I just remember you saying you were in comp sci when we did introductions.” 

He was taken aback by the knowledge that he existed as a person in your head outside of this room for a moment and simply nodded—suddenly feeling far too hot in his black on black sweats and hoodie. 

God just talking to you made his skin burn. 

“Great, cause we’re allowed to chose the medium we present in and I was thinking of taking it in a more creative direction cause I’ve had this prof before and he eats that shit up,” you begin to ramble again, scrolling through a bulleted list, shifting the screen for him to see. 

“Right,” he murmured, still surprised you’d thought this far and not...actively hating what you’d brainstormed. 

Well, it was a bit juvenile and you clearly didn’t know what you were talking about but the concept wasn’t horrendous. He could work with that and it shouldn’t be too hard. It kinda seemed like you’d overestimated a bit with how challenging it would actually be and saddled yourself with most of the heavy lifting. That or you were just a control freak which was a little more believable. 

He wished you would stop looking at him over the edge of the screen. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Rivulets falling down the nape of his neck and racing across his bare chest under the sweatshirt. Tomura sorta regretted not wearing a shirt underneath but he knew that he wouldn’t have taken off the insulating layer even if that had been an option. 

It would just mean you had more drying, pale as fuck skin to look at and judge him for because he knew that’s what you were doing. Fucking vapid and shallow like everyone else. 

“It’s really rough so far, but I have it the gist outlined,” you indicated to another tab and then turned back to Kai who had been sitting silently glaring daggers into your back. “So, Kai, since you’re in STEM I figured you’d be okay with doing more of the preliminary research—”

“I don’t think so,” Kai interrupted, shaking his head and pushing off his knees to lean back in the cheap, plastic seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for all of us if you two just make it look pretty and I can handle the oral presentation.” 

You gaped and looked to Tomura with this pathetic fucking incredulous stare, like you thought he’d back you up. 

Which actually, now that he thought about it was probably a good idea—he did need you to remain somewhat cordial with him—but he certainly didn’t care enough to defend you in any way. Kai was a dick, sure, but he wasn’t gonna let you rope him into being your white knight or whatever. 

He settled for a similarly disgruntled downward twitch of his lips. The movement pulled at the cracking skin which stung as it tore open even more. Tomura felt the familiar crawling feeling on his neck and shifted in his seat to resist the urge to scratch. 

He couldn’t pinpoint why exactly you staring at him was so uncomfortable. He didn’t like you, he didn’t care about you and by extension didn’t give two shits what you thought of him, but anything he might have said shriveled on his tongue when you spoke or looked in his eyes too long. 

Tomura had never made a habit of talking to females and they certainly had never wanted anything to do with him either. 

Maybe he was fucking allergic or something. 

Whatever the case, you seemed to take his half frown as a sign of solidarity and leaned back in your own seat. 

“Okay, look,” you retorted. “If you’re seriously not gonna at least try to cooperate, then there is actually an option to do the project by yourself and I suggest you take it.” 

The look on your face was distinctly impolite. There was a sharpness to the set of your jaw that Tomura had never seen before, but it looked practiced enough that he could bet it was simply the snake that resided in every woman just waiting to come out. 

“Look sweetheart—” that masked jerk began, also for some fucking reason looking to Tomura for support. 

For someone who was very much used to blending into the background scenery, this was the most eye contact Tomura had ever made in a day. 

Except on the rare occasions his roommate had friends over and he had to make the dreaded trek from his room to reach the fridge. 

“Oh yeah I’m not doing that,” you closed your laptop sharply and rolled your eyes. “I get it, but I’m really just trying to graduate. I don’t think this is going to work out and you,” Tomura froze as you shifted your gaze to him once again, “seem okay, so Tomura and I can just work this out by ourselves and you can find a different group.” 

Kai scoffed behind the black layer of fabric covering his mouth and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Whatever.” 

Tomura watched him saunter straight out the door as the room was filled with the shuffling of notebooks and zipping of backpacks. 

“God,” you huffed and turned back to him. 

His raw skin burned under the new wave of heat and accompanying moisture that slicked his skin when you scooted closer to him. That clean laundry and shampoo smell was suffocating from this proximity. 

Did you fucking bathe in the stuff? 

He was becoming increasingly aware of his less than pleasant aroma and the fact that you not scrunching your nose up in disgust just out of some stupid, ingrained need to appease him. 

“Well, that was...weird,” you chuckled in a way that was probably meant to break the tension. 

Unfortunately Tomura felt more like he was about to break out in hives if you came any closer so it really just ended up making the atmosphere ten times more awkward. At least for him. You, somehow, remained resolutely unaware. 

“Mhm,” he hummed in response and picked silently at the skin of his fingers. 

“Anyway, I have a meeting in a few but we can trade numbers and pick a time to meet up sometime tomorrow maybe?” you suggested, quickly saving the steadily degrading vibes of the conversation and pulled out your phone. 

He really hated the full body pulsation that rushed through him at the thought of getting a girls number. It made him fucking sick at himself for falling into your stupid trap to get him interested. Was your plan to just use him to get a good grade or whatever and then block his texts?

It wasn’t like Tomura didn’t know about his status as the class ‘freak.’ That one guy everyone whispers about and makes sure not to sit next to. And he knows you know, so why the hell else would you act so nice?

He wanted to say something scathing in return. That he could do the whole thing by himself too—which he definitely couldn’t but that was irrelevant—and that he didn’t need you bossing him around either. 

“Sure thing,” he said instead and took your offered phone all too eagerly, typing in his number and watching as you shot off a text back so he’d have yours. 

His phone buzzed against his thigh and he jumped a fourth time, but you seemed not to notice as you packed your bag and grabbed your basic ass drink. The ice clattered against the tumbler, dropping cool condensation against the searing skin of his hand. 

Tomura shivered as you waved over your shoulder and slipped out the door with another rush of students. 

He sat silently in the empty room for a moment, trying to process the last hour. He pinched himself idly, wondering if it had all been just a weird dream, but the results were inconclusive. A minute or two passed before he pulled out his phone to scroll through the list of reddit and discord notifs to find your text. 

Sent at 2:47 pm:

— pEopLe DoN’t TaLK tO mE liKE ThAt 

— not very plus ultra of him...smh

— anyway, library at 6 tomorrow ?

Tomura caved, digging his nails into the side of his neck and hissed at the pain, confirming the day's horrible reality. 

---

Tomura hadn’t stopped staring at his phone since he left the apartment. It was second nature by now—head down at a nearly ninety degree angle, hoodie pulled up to hide hair he hadn’t bothered to comb in weeks, and phone out, held just far enough away that he could see the pavement behind the screen. 

He’d found that people tended to naturally avoid him this way and he didn’t have to risk accidentally making eye contact. It was still a bit nerve wracking to venture into buildings he didn’t expressly have to for classes, so he was still hesitant to make the voyage from his apartment to the library.  But he’d made the mistake of mentioning plans to his roommate and the bastard wouldn’t leave him alone about it afterwards until he was practically shoved out with the door locked behind him. 

He was half tempted to make up some excuse last minute and go hide out at the only cafe on campus he could tolerate, but Tomura knew he was just delaying the inevitable. Biting the bullet now would help to not prolong his suffering. 

Your text thread glared up at him in stark white on blue as he pushed past a crowd of students by the library entrance and flashed his ID to the attendant. 

Group Project Bitch:

— hey I got us a room on the third floor, all the way in the back

—text me when you’re here I’ll wave you in, it’s kinda hard to find T-T

sounds good— 

He shot off a quick text to you that he was hoping on the elevator. The other two guys in the lift may have given him a dirty look for only going up to the third floor, but Tomura sure as hell wasn’t going to risk the physical exertion of stares when just the thought being stuck in a small room alone with you for god knows how long already had him sweating. 

When he stepped out, you were leaned against one of the 90s-green shelves, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He panicked momentarily, thinking he’d have to get your attention cause just walking up without saying anything would be weird right? 

He wasn’t sure. 

He didn’t do shit like this. 

Thankfully, you looked up at the chime of the lift and waved him over. His red sneakers squeaked as they scuffed the linoleum floors and he already regretted choosing his tighter fitting pair of sweats. The tapered legs that hugged his ankles and thin calves rubbed against his skin and stung the raw patches. 

“Hey, thanks for coming,” you said softly and he nodded, following as you began to weave through the stacks. “Sorry it was short notice, graduation’s coming up so I'm swamped with meetings.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t have anything going on.” 

He cringed internally at the way his voice cracked, trying to keep the usual rasp to a minimum. His roommate said it was from the innumerable hours he spent shouting at his monitor or on discord, which was probably true but to you he was sure he just sounded like a fucking teenager. 

“Cool, I’ve been set up for awhile so feel free to move some stuff,” you talked a bit louder now that you’d both stepped into the study room and shut the door. 

Tomura looked around. You’d snagged one of the nicer ones at least, with the big monitors he could cast his screen onto and those comfy chairs he liked but could never beat anyone too on the lower floors. 

You were right, there was shit all over the big table at the center of the room. Notes and printed out readings with highlights galore and sticky notes littering the pages were scattered all over. What a show off. You probably tossed all this stuff out so he’d think you were actually intelligent or some shit. 

Kicking a pile off of the nearest plush armchair, Tomura took a seat and pulled his laptop out. There was a jack in the middle of the table and you plugged yours in to cast onto the big monitor. 

You made a fucking power point for him. 

This couldn’t be real. 

“So I know I ran some stuff by you in class but essentially I was thinking we make like a simple Twine type thing using the rhetorical argument Swift is making…” 

You started rambling again and Tomura almost immediately tuned you out. His eyes drifted between the rough outline you were flicking through on the board and the laptop you had your nose buried in. 

It was covered in stickers, pretty obviously stereotypical for someone as obsessed with being ‘cool’ as you clearly were. But as he scanned through the various old meme phrases and aesthetic shit, he caught a couple of game references he recognized and a panel cutout from one of his favorite manga. 

He almost fell into your trap for a moment, feeling a rush at the prospect of someone—much less a chick—being into his main hyperfixations. 

But it was quickly crushed under everything his years trolling subreddits had taught him. People like you didn’t actually have interests beyond the attention and dick it got them. Plus that manga was pretty popular anyway, you probably didn’t even read it, just thought the line was funny or made you sound quirky. That had to be why you felt the need to drop it in your first texts. 

“What do you think?” you asked, making good on your new habit of startling the hell out of him. 

Tomura blinked, gaze instinctively turning to you but the blatant way you stared made his mouth turn to sand paper, so he looked resolutely back at the color-coded bullet points on the screen. 

“Look’s fine,” he mumbled. 

The more he glanced over it, the more it actually did look fine. A bit more than fine, really, which pissed him off even more. The little choose-your-own debate style story was not a terrible way to make fucking Whatever Swift interesting and it kinda looked like you’d bothered to google some simple coding which gave him a better idea of what you were looking for. 

It was...good. 

And that so fucking annoying. 

Well, he wasn’t sure if annoying was the right word for it, but the proposal coupled with your apparent lack of disgust at working with him made his face hot and that only ever happened otherwise when his roommate left the dishes out for weeks or when some newb on his server fucked up their raids. 

Then, you had the audacity to plop down in the chair next to him and— 

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want,” you began, shuffling in the chair to cross your legs on the cushion, “but I was hoping you’d be willing to show me how you do some of the coding stuff? I tried on my own, but I have literally no clue what I’m doing.” 

He could smell you again, like the whole fucking health and beauty aisle at the grocery store. When he turned his head a bit to look at you around the curtain of his hair, you were crooked—back against the armrest and facing him. 

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, sounding a bit less rude than he would have liked to. 

You just fucking stared right at him though, didn’t wrinkle your nose at how greasy his roots were or how he was wearing the same hoodies as yesterday. 

“I’ve always been interested in it, but my program is kinda stressful and I don’t have much free time so I never learned,” you offered and for once Tomura found he didn’t feel his skin crawl under your unwavering gaze. 

The dry, cracked area around his eyes burned though as sweat beaded on his forehead and he quickly wiped at his face with a loose sweatshirt sleeve. The garment hung off his shoulders, bought a size too big that he never ended up growing into. 

“What’s your major?” 

He found the words slipped easily from him. It was the quintessential question you asked of anyone in college when you met, but he’d never been interested in the answer before. 

You babbled a bit about your specific area of study and your voice was surprisingly not as infuriating as he remembered it being before. It was softer, he thought, than when you were soapboxing in class about the sexist implications of old as fuck poetry—it had a less grating quality and was almost pleasing to the ear. 

Or Tomura would have said that if he thought you deserved the compliment. 

But, obviously you didn’t. 

So he didn’t. 

He just pretended to care about what you were saying and didn’t hang onto every word at all. Actually he was more enraptured in the way your lips moved when you talked. You used your hands a lot too, but his eyes were ensnared on the way your mouth quirked and dipped, at the occasional flash of your tongue between strong teeth. When he leaned in a bit, he could smell your breath too: fruity gum and the remnants of whatever you were always drinking in that loud as fuck cup. He wondered now what exactly it was, so he could buy it and get a better idea of what you mouth might taste—

Nope. 

No, see this was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about. How were you doing this to him? What a fucking slut. 

Tomura steeled his nerves as you started explaining the extracurriculars you did on the side. 

“My roommate freshman year actually started a gaming club and so I’ve gotten more into that over the years,” you explained, pointing at the stickers on your laptop case. 

“Are you talking about The League?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t know if you’d heard of it,” you shrugged.  

He knew of the gaming club on campus. He’d thought about joining when he enrolled but the allure of anonymity online gaming provided was too strong. Plus his discord server didn’t have annoying weekly meetings. 

The thought of you, up late and illuminated by the blue light of a tv screen, tucked away in one of the basement rooms in the media building was...strange. It also prompted an array of new images—you in those fucking cat ear headsets, seated in his lap as he trashed you in Mario Kart which was even stranger. 

Tomura had to physically shake his head to dislodge the thought. 

“Uh, we should probably work on this right?” he cringed at the way his voice cracked compared to your own, smooth tone. 

You should narrate those fucking sleep time mediation things. His roommate used to hide wireless speakers in his room and blast those when Tomura stayed up too late. It was annoying as shit then, but if it was you talking, he probably wouldn’t have minded so much. 

Or no, no he would definitely mind. 

Yes. It would have been worse if anything. 

“Oh shit, you right. It’s been like two hours.” 

He glanced down at his laptop and saw that it had, indeed, been two hours since he got there. He’d willingly spoken to you for two goddamn hours. It felt like no time had passed at all, but the sun was definitely setting, the overhead fluorescent bulbs taking over as the main light source in the room. 

Weird. 

So you settled back in your chair, typing away like you always did, but the sound wasn’t nearly as frustrating as before. Occasionally, you’d glance over his shoulder and ask questions about what he was working on, but mostly the two of you settled into a comfortable silence. 

This pattern continued for the next few weeks. As the weather warmed, you began to show a bit more skin. He never worked up the nerve to comment on the thick expanse of bare thigh that tapered off nicely into your calf, or the curve of your arms not hidden behind knit sweaters—hell even your fucking shoulders were hard not to look at. 

Maybe all those high school dress codes weren’t actually so full of shit afterall. Cause he was definitely distracted by the way your neck swooped into the exposed skin of your shoulder and down your back on more than one occasion. 

Did all girls know that? Was it some kind of massive conspiracy to crumble the patriarchy or some crap to go flashing bare shoulders everywhere? 

Regardless if you really were trying to hypnotize him into liking you, Tomura stayed resolutely in his monochrome, long sleeved attire, and if you noticed the behavior you never said a word. 

Never said a word about his allergy ridden skin, peeling lips or scarred throat. Never commented on his terrible posture or said his eyes were creepy. Even when he’d occasionally toss a negative remark your way, you never retaliated maliciously. Just brushed him off with a jovial ‘don’t be a dick’ and a playful, but hard slap to his chest or the back of his head. 

The two of you always met in the same, secluded room on the third floor. You’d talk with him in class sometimes or shoot him texts about random bits of inspiration or a late night game memes, but for the most part, your conversations were confined to that room. He found he preferred the study room ‘you’ best. You weren’t as stiff. There was more of a solidity to you, like he’d seen when you told off that Kai bastard. 

It...grew on him. 

He was irrationally anxious that there would be a time when you couldn’t secure this particular room—with it’s big monitor and comfy chairs and less annoying ‘you’—but he’d been reassured after your third work session. 

Someone had knocked softly at the thick, wooden door and a head of wild, bright pink hair peaked around the crack. 

“Sup bro,” the intruder quipped, as they stepped fully into the room. 

“Hey, Spinner,” you mumbled back, looking up momentarily from the essay portion of your presentation before going back to typing. 

Spinner had seemed to notice him at that point and offered a small wave in his direction. “Oh hey, sorry, thought you were alone,” he said quickly. 

“Nah, this is Tomura,” you said, glancing up again and jerking your thumb in his direction. 

Tomura nodded and tugged at his hoodie strings to stop from scratching under the newcomer’s gaze. He’d gotten used to you, but other people still made him a bit nervous. 

“Nice to meet you,” Spinner had a nice smile, bright and flashy when he spoke. He leaned against the door and crossed his arms, looking around the room. “You got the nice one, huh. How’d you manage that?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you half closed your laptop and stretched a bit. “Jin was working the front desk, so I’ve just been bribing him with vending machine snacks.” 

“He hasn’t gotten himself fired yet?” Spinner laughed incredulously, but not unkindly. 

“Surprisingly not, but he’s completely corrupt now,” you were picking at the cuticle of your thumb and Tomura fixated on the way the skin split off at the nail. Just like his. “A couple packs of chips and a Monster and I get the most bitchin’ study room whenever I want.” 

“Damn,” Spinner chuckled again and Tomura really wished that he’d leave already. He was beginning to feel himself fading into the upholstery as the conversation left him in the dust. The divergence of your attention away from him or the project was even more annoying that you were. “Well, are you coming to The League meeting tonight? We’re busting out a Smash tournament.” 

“That’s tonight?” you asked, eyes perking up but sliding subtly in Tomura’s direction. “Sorry, I think Tomura and I are gonna be working on this project for a while longer and I’m kinda burnt out. But next time, yeah?”

Spinner rolled his eyes but nodded and kicked off the wall. “That’s not very sexy of you,” he chided and waved a hand in parting. “Gonna work yourself directly into the fucking grave.” 

“Jokes on you, I welcome death.” 

You buried yourself in the screen again and Tomura actually felt a bit grateful for you ending the conversation before he got too painfully awkward. 

But Spinner stopped before he left, looking Tomura up and down from the frayed strings of his black hoodie to the tips of his worn red sneakers. 

“Nice to meet you, man,” he said with a wide grin. “Feel free to tag along next time if you want, we always need more players.” 

The door clicked softly shut behind him and Tomura relaxed back into the silence.

He did end up tagging along—though he spent most of the time hanging off your heels like a lost puppy—to the next meeting of your gaming club and the one after that. Frustratingly enough, he learned that your interests did also extend into skills as you almost bested him in a few rounds Smash. Your profile, lit only by the flashing screen lights, was even more striking outside of his imagined imitations. 

So much so that it found its way into his head late at night when he was too tired to log onto his server. So much so that it had his cock growing firm and tenting his grey sweats without even the visual aid of his go to porn clips. So much so that sometimes, he felt inclined to do something about the throbbing between his legs. So much so that he thought about the way you picked the skin by your fingers. How it looked like his. How your hand might feel like his but softer. Smoother around the edges. With your sweet voice whispering in his ear, making him whine and pant and spill white ropes of release onto his stomach. 

But it was only because you were hot. 

And you were practically begging for him to jack off to the thought of you with those outfits and liking all the shit he liked and noticing when he shrunk away from conversations or including him in them when he started to feel that awful sense of fading into the background. 

Yeah. 

Everybody jerks it sometimes to their group project partners if their ass is nice enough. 

Right?

---

Dabi’s mouth was wet and so fucking warm as he swallowed around Tomura’s dick. 

“Oh fuck…” he groaned as Dabi hummed around his length and did that thing where he flicked the ball of his tongue ring over Tomura’s slit. 

Bright blue eyes stared up through deceptively long lashes, smirking at the way Tomura drooled as he got his soul sucked out the tip of dick. The mattress underneath him creaked at the negligible weight of both their bodies. Dabi settled on his stomach between Tomura’s pale thighs leaving fingerprint bruises in soft flesh. 

They did this sometimes, though he wasn’t not quite sure when exactly it started. Dabi had been his randomly assigned roommate freshman year and he grew so used to living with him that the two of them had just silently, yet mutually agreed not to fuck something up that wasn’t broken. They both berated each other for their strange and somewhat disgusting habits—Dabi would say that Tomura was a gross shut in creep who needed a fucking shower and Tomura called Dabi out on his slutty pastimes and obsession with piercing the hell out of every available inch of skin. 

And sometimes they sucked each other off. 

It was overall not a terrible arrangement—Dabi got his fill of dick and Tomura could no longer be made fun of  for being completely inexperienced. Plus, as much as he was loathe to admit, Dabi was really fucking good at oral. Like, demonically good. He’d been going down on Tomura for so long now too that he’d learned all the things that had him spilling onto that pierced tongue in minutes. 

Tomura jerked from his thoughts when two, lube slicked fingers prodding at his ass. 

“Dabi, what the fuck are you—” he protested, wiggling his scrawny hips up the bed and inadvertently letting his cock slip out of the inviting heat between his roommate’s lips. 

He couldn’t see much other than the shaking mop of black hair and pale hands with chipped black nail polish digging into his legs and yanking him back. 

“Shut up freak,” Dabi slurred, words slick with spit and Tomura’s precum. Dabi said it tasted like battery acid, but it never stopped him from guzzling it like he did with cheap whiskey and cigarettes on the weekends. “I know you like it.” 

He did like it but he wasn’t about to contribute to the fucking manic grin Dabi was giving him as he circled the tight ring of muscle, slipping in a finger to the first knuckle. 

Tomura’s head flopped back on the pillows as he bit back a low moan, “Fuck off.” 

“If you say so,” Dabi shoved his finger in roughly, squeezing a second in behind it and letting Tomura bask in the burn of being stretched too quickly before ripping his hands away. 

“No!” Tomura wailed pretty fucking shamelessly and grabbed the retreating wrist, placing Dabi’s tatted hand back on his dick that throbbed and leaked painfully. 

“Dude, what’s gotten the fuck into you?” his roommate asked, smirking still, but pumping his cock loosely nonetheless. “Our walls are thin as hell, you know I can hear you jerkin it in here every night, and now you’re practically begging for me to suck you off. Usually I gotta come to you.” 

He was infuriatingly right again.

Tomura had indeed asked for him to do this, which was definitely out of character for him. Most of the time they ended up in this position, it was because Dabi spent hours hounding him about it or just fucking dropped to his knees and whipped Tomura’s cock out in the middle of a movie night or snuck into his room while Tomura was gaming and swallowed him whole just to laugh at the way his online friends reacted to the noises. 

He’s just been so pent up lately, and you insisting on fucking touching his arm or sitting on the floor between his feet at League meetings was really not helping it. 

“I don’t know,” Tomura lied, both to Dabi and himself in the hopes that the head of black hair would just go back to bobbing on his dick like he so desperately needed it to. 

“Bro, I have fucked with enough people to know when they’re wishing I was someone else,” Dabi scoffed and ran a blessedly hot tongue from base to tip and suckled softly at the blush pink head before pulling back with a wet pop. “So who is it?”

“I’m not fucking thinking about anyone,” Tomura hissed, fisting Dabi’s spiky, black locks and thrusting into his mouth till he felt the contractions of Dabi gagging around his length. “Usually you're jumping at the chance to get dick in your mouth, so why does it matter?”

Dabi pulled back, wiping the silvery string of spit leaking past his lips away and scowling as his fingers ghosted over Tomura’s balls and sank back into his pliant ass.

“Seriously creep, I’m five seconds away from ghosting and you can fuck your hand like the sad little bitch you are. So tell me their name or I’m walking right now.”

Tomura huffed as he felt Dabi’s long, rough fingers pulled from him again and the heat of his mouth growing farther away. 

“Ugh fine, it’s that bitch I’ve been working on the English thing with.” 

Dabi made a face like his brain was buffering. 

“Seriously?” he asked, mouth gaping in a way that had Tomura even more furious his dick wasn’t buried in it. 

“Yes!” he shouted and grabbed Dabi’s cheeks in both hands, sinking past his waiting lips and practically purring when he felt them close around the base as his long tongue massaged the shaft. “Oh god yes…” 

Dabi rolled his eyes, managing to look smug even with a cock stretching his lips taught against the piercings. He used to try and tease Tomura about how small his dick was, but it was hard to believe him. Especially with how he choked sometimes when Tomura got rough with him despite his boasts of lacking a gag reflex. Not to mention how he looked now, jaw probably aching with the stretch and loving every second of it. 

Tomura lazily bucked his hips up and whined high when the fingers in his ass curled and thrust against that fucking spot he hadn’t known was there until Dabi found it for him. 

The pleased sound he made tapered off into a growl though, when his roommate with questionable benefits pulled off again to run his slutty fucking mouth. 

“Tell me about it,” he mumbled, kitten licking at Tomura’s cock and running the ball of his piercing through the slit again. Tomura gulped when he pulled it back into his mouth to swallow the bead of precum he’d collected. “I’ve seen your fucking paramour around before, pretty serious about school though. And Kinda out of your league too, not gonna lie. So, what would you do if your cute little partner was here instead?” 

Tomura bristled at the insult but couldn’t keep his pissed off look when Dabi went back to sucking his cock like a pro and curling those fucking fingers against his prostate. When he did speak, he blushed hard at the way his voice cracked and sounded like he was crying. 

“I don’t fucking—holy shit—know,” he gasped and Dabi hummed both to egg him on and to get a whole new wave of precum gushing out of Tomura’s dick. 

“C’mon man,” Dabi groaned, and Tomura distinctly heard the sound of a pants zipper and felt Dabi’s hips canting against the sheets. 

That fucking masochistic whore. He would get off to Tomura dirty talking about someone else while he sucked his dick. 

He considered stopping the whole thing right there, but then Dabi was sinking a third finger into his ass and thrusting hard while he hallowed his cheeks around Tomura’s cock and sucked— 

“Tits!” Tomura cried and covered his burning, red cheeks with his hands. “I want to put my fucking face in them and taste them in my mouth. Sometimes I can see the outline of their nipples when we’re working and the air conditioning comes on and I want to suck on them so fucking bad I can’t think about anything else the whole night.”

Once he got started, Tomura found the words just spilled from him like a dam had burst. Dabi, the depraved bastard, groaned loud and ground his pierced dick harder against the mattress as he continued to deep throat Tomura’s cock and fuck his ass at the perfect angle. 

“Sometimes when they drag me to their stupid club I lose the rounds cause I—oh god, oh fuck—just imagine them in my lap, sitting on my cock and fucking writhing and squeezing me while we face off. Such a fucking—Dabi more!—stereotypical try-hard, bitch but I want to be inside them so fucking bad,” he felt actual tears stinging the raw corners of his eyes when Dabi sped up on his dick. 

Tomura scrapped his nails against Dabi’s scalp, holding on for dear life as his breathing became even more ragged than usual. His friend’s cruelty streak reared its ugly head as Dabi sensed the tensing of Tomura’s balls and the clench of his tight ass and slowed down a fraction, keeping him teetering on the edge of an explosively pleasurable release.  

“Fucking asshole,” he growled, but didn’t dare try to fuck Dabi’s face lest he make good on his threat to leave Tomura high and dry. “I just—shit, ah, don’t stop—they talk to me sometimes and I just wanna suck their tongue into my mouth so they shut up and I need to hear them fucking falling apart for me or using that stupid, stuck up teacher voice on me and fucking my ass—Dabi Fuck—is that what you wanted to hear?”   

Dabi, because he got off on being a little shit, gave him one last delicious swallow before pulling back and fisting Tomura’s sopping wet cock. The fingers had stopped thrusting and were now pressed hard against his prostate, sending shocks through his body and making him twitch violently as his blood rushed with endorphins. He never stopped grinding his own dick against Tomura’s cotton sheets the whole time. 

“You got it bad huh, don’t ya creep,” he mused, letting a fat glob of spit fall from his lips and keep his palm slick. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk about fucking anything, much less another actual person.” 

“No I fucking don’t, “ Tomura writhed against the pillows, giving in to the undeniable urge to simultaneously fuck up into Dabi’s hand and ride his fingers. 

“Who knew you were such a desperate whore, falling for the first person to show you a modicum of attention,” Dabi jeered and squeezed the tip of his dick hard, listening to Tomura let out a choked sob. “I’m actually kinda proud of you, bro. My little neckbeard baby’s growing up.” 

Dabi cooed at Tomura, sinking sharp teeth deep into the meat of his thigh and sucking a bruise into the flesh. 

“You’re the one—nghh—getting off on it,” Tomura clapped back but didn’t bother denying it again. 

There was a sense of dread growing in his gut alongside the mounting pleasure of his orgasm that Dabi was currently holding hostage. Dabi may have had  a dickish personality just as massive as the actual dick that was currently painting Tomura’s comforter in stains, but he knew him. 

And he did, admittedly have much more experience with these types of things than Tomura. 

“Fuck yeah I am,” Dabi grunted. “Last time I let you return the favor you bit my fucking cock. I gotta get off somehow.” 

“Don’t say rude shit to me and I won’t bite you.” 

“Watch it, Tomura,” Dabi huffed and nipped at his thigh again. “You should be thanking me for my services.” 

“Not if you’re gonna keep running your mouth instead of sucking me off,” he tried to sound intimidating but he was well and truly wrecked and couldn’t find the energy to give his words an edge. 

“You should ask them out,” Dabi continued, ignoring Tomura’s failed attempts at banter. “Bring ‘em over or some shit. Maybe then if I lock down that blonde piece of ass I’ve been talking to, we’ll both have much more interesting things to go down on.” 

“Your whore ass is the one always jumping me, don’t act like it’s a fucking chore,” Tomura groaned as Dabi started licking at his cock again, pressing sloppy, half kisses on the tip as he jerked it in his fist. 

“Not my fault I get bored sometimes,” he replied and closed his eyes as Tomura clenched particularly hard around Dabi’s relentless fingers. “But seriously, you should go for it. I’d kill to find out if you’re just as bad at eating pussy as you are sucking dick.” 

“Fuck y—” Tomura started to say when Dabi reared up till they were chest to chest and their foreheads knocked together. 

“I fucking will if you don’t shut up, creep, and I think it’d be so much better if you handed your fucking virginity to that pretty little partner bitch instead,” he said and stunned Tomura into silence when he licked into his mouth. 

Dabi had kissed him before, but Tomura could count the number of occasions on one hand and almost all had been when his punk ass roommate was drunk as hell and in his feels about some tortured past. But Dabi’s eyes were bright and lucid now, blinking down at Tomura as he dragged their tongues together, flooding his mouth with the faint taste of cigarettes and jizz. 

Their cocks brushed together too, the stimulation making Tomura whine into Dabi’s lips, who dropped a merciful hand down, taking them both in his fist and began pumping. 

He didn’t stop as he pulled back, grinning down at Tomura like a fucking maniac—all shitty tattoos and silver piercings. The little barbels that stuck through Dabi’s nipples brushed against his own and made him moan at the cool metal and hot skin on his sensitive chest. Tomura was fucking sensitive everywhere, as Dabi had helped him discover, probably from a lifetime of being touched more by cheap sweatshirts than human hands. 

“Now,” Dabi grunted as he thrust loosely against Tomura’s cock and his own fist before pulling away to settle back between his legs. “Shut up and cum down my throat—gotta give your virgin ass a refresher on mind shattering orgasms, so you know if that bitch is any good or not.”

Tomura’s tongue was halfway around a witty comeback when Dabi swallowed him to the hilt once again and started working his ass even harder. He really fucked hoped the neighbors were not home to hear him get his shit rocked at 2pm on a fucking Tuesday, cause Dabi might have been flunking out of his classes but he’d get a goddamn a plus for sucking dick. 

The hand on his thigh, spreading him open, migrated to his hip so that Tomura could snap his legs shut hard around Dabi’s ring littered ears as he guided Tomura to grind down on his hand. The pressure in his gut built up exponentially higher now that Dabi wasn’t trying to hold him on the edge of climax. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to acquiesce to Dabi’s request, as he tightened up in a full body clench before gripping Dabi’s hair and spilling rope after rope of hot, sticky release straight onto his roommate’s tongue. 

Dabi, the fucking slut, made a show of swallowing every drop that spilled from Tomura’s abused cock, milking his prostate the whole time and only letting Tomura slip from his mouth when he was soft and finally spent. 

The fingers in his ass remained though, still for the most part and slowly dipping in and out every so often. Tomura whimpered and clenched but was somewhat thankful for the remaining feeling of fullness. 

“So, did you really mean all that?” Dabi asked with his signature smirk. “You really want your group project partner to cockwarm you and fuck your tight little ass?”

“Fuck off,” Tomura scowled and smacked Dabi hard across the face with an errant pillow. 

Dabi yanked it from his grasp and tossed his ammunition onto the floor. “Hey, it’s not actually too bad in here,” he wiggled his fingers for emphasis which elicited an embarrassingly high gasp from Tomura, “give ‘em my number if you need a reference for asshole tightness.” 

“Get the fuck out of my ass and my room,” Tomura kicked at Dabi’s back as it shook with laughter that lacked it’s usual sneering bite. 

“What? Saving the cuddles for your new S/O?” he shot back and nuzzled his cum and spit covered face into Tomura’s neck. 

With their chests pressed together, Tomura could feel the cooling, sticky remnants of Dabi’s own  release coating his stomach. He squirmed against the feeling and pushed at the offending chest until his friend flopped down onto the scant space left between the mattress and the wall. 

“Ew,” Tomura ran a finger through the mess Dabi had left smeared on him. “I’m taking a fucking shower.” 

“God, finally!” Dabi exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and producing a cigarette from god knows where. He let the paper rest between his lips unlit. “I should have thought about getting you fucked out on the reg earlier, creep, if it’ll stop you smelling like ass.” 

Tomura launched the discarded pillow which hit it’s mark with a dull thump. 

“You better be fucking gone when I get back,” he hissed and stumbled naked, on shaking legs into the hall and to their shared bathroom. 

Dabi’s cackling followed him until the door shut and the lock clicked behind him. Tomura turned the water on quickly, letting steam cloud the mirror before he jumped under the spray. The only products on the shelves were Dabi’s for the most part with the exception of a store brand bar of soap and some 3 in one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. 

Tomura new he should clean himself more often, but his skin was so fucking raw all the time it hurt to do, so he mostly avoided it unless the smell got really unbearable—or Dabi was painting him in jizz whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

He tried to get in and out as quickly as possible so he didn’t have the opportunity to think too hard about the admission his fuck buddy roommate had pulled from him mid blow job. Because if he did, in his post nut, clingy state, he’d most certainly imagine you were with him, tits pressed against his back and your soft, insistent tongue dipping past his lips, tasting like fruit gum and expensive cafe drinks instead of nicotine and cum. 

And he really couldn’t handle that, cause Dabi was right, he had something fucking bad for you and the thought of another rejection loomed large. 

When he did towel himself off and shuffle, still naked back into his bedroom Dabi was nowhere to be seen. Tomura’s phone however, was left sitting right next to the jizz stain on his sheets. He frowned at the open balcony door where Dabi was no doubt smoking and snatched the device before tumbling onto the pillows. 

He powered it on and scrolled through his notifs before one caught his eyes. You and Dabi were really the only people that ever texted him, but the contact name above this one had changed. 

bitch (endearing)

— hey, starting an impromptu round of Smash soon if you’re interested <3

The stupid text heart made his chest throb and he stared at Dabi’s new nickname for you, not even noticing the fucking grin that tugged at his cheeks. 

He bit his lip to stop the twitching when it pulled too hard at the chapped skin and scrambled for his clothes before shooting a quick confirmation text back. Tomura opted for his only pair of black jeans this time instead of sweats and the least stained sweatshirt he owned. 

Dabi peaked around the corner when he heard the clink of Tomura’s keys. The bastard was smoking in just a pair of underwear that left half his ass on display for all the whole fucking street. He smirked, quirking his eyebrows and bringing his hands up to slip his index finger through the circle of his middle and thumb on the other hand in a silent, vulgar gesture. 

“Screw off,” Tomura shouted over his shoulder and made for the door. 

“Wrap it before you tap it, bro!” Dabi called after him, cut off by the slamming door. 

Tomura took the stairs two at a time, pulling out his phone and tucking the hood over his damp hair, this time to hide the growing smile playing at his lips. 

---

Your project was almost complete. 

In some ways, it sort of felt like the end of an era. To Tomura, who was, by nature, a creature of habit, it was doubly strange to imagine no longer spending hours a few days each week locked away in your little study room with you bugging him to teach you simple html and him not-so-discreetly sniffing your hair. 

He still hadn’t asked you out or whatever he’d been trying to do, much to Dabi’s chagrin. And because of this, Tomura was consistently plagued with the feeling of time running out. 

You were supposed to meet today for probably the last time seeing as the presentation was coming up at the end of the week. He knew it was now or never at this point. If he didn’t fucking say something now, he never would and then he’d have to live with the same his roommate wouldn’t let him live down. 

So instead of heading directly to the library after class, Tomura took the old route back to his apartment and shot you a quick text—praying to the fucking boner gods, as Dabi called them, that you’d take the bait. 

hey would you mind putting the finish touches on shit at my place?— 

there’s some parts i gotta do from my desktop— 

It wasn’t completely a lie. It was nicer working from his pc setup, but before he wouldn’t have let you come anywhere fucking near there. Not until he’d finally accepted that you’d wormed your way into his brain somehow and he couldn’t live another day not knowing what your tongue tasted like. 

bitch (endearing) 

—no problem

—what’s your address?

Tomura’s heart fucking pounded mercilessly against the bony prison of his ribs. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to some good old fashioned anxiety, but he’d never felt a strange stirring in his stomach quite like this. Like he might puke, but in a good way. 

He quickly sent back his street and apartment number, and waited on the corner for you to text back that you’d be there in an hour before he rushed inside. 

“What the hell are you doing, creep?!” Dabi snapped at him when he burst through the door and yeeted his backpack onto the kitchen table. 

Tomura didn’t answer, just made a beeline for the bathroom and slammed the door. He doused himself in record time, unbothered by the hot water causing red, patchy flare ups to bloom over his skin. He was almost disgusted with himself for putting in this much effort for someone like you. Someone being definitely kind of a slut if the way you dressed was a good indicator. But he just kept thinking about the way your hair or skin smelled so goddamn good when you leaned in close and he wanted you to be obsessed with him in the same way. Wanted you to want to bury your face in his neck and breath him in. 

When he stumbled out into the hall moments later, towel drying his hair roughly, Dabi was taking a shot over the sink. 

He looked at Tomura like hell had frozen over. 

“Two showers in like a month?” he mused, sucking his teeth as the alcohol slid down his throat. “What’s the occasion? The fucking, second coming of Christ?”

“Well the bitch is coming over so…”

“Oh, that is a fucking miracle,” Dabi whistled and knocked back a second shot. 

Tomura glared, stepping into his room and tossing his towel aside to tug on his nicest pair of black joggers and t-shirt that gapped a bit at the front, showing off a large expanse of his chest. It made him a bit nervous even just looking at his reflection but you definitely stared the few times he’d taken off his hoodie while you were working, so the risk seemed worth the reward. 

“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to piss off for the night,” Tomura shouted into the kitchen as Dabi sauntered over to lean against his doorframe. 

“You know, I conveniently do have a dick appointment with my own bitch, but now I don’t want to go.”

His tone was teasing, eyes hooded and clearly enjoying how flustered Tomura was already before you’d even gotten here. Tomura moved to snatch another pillow and do battle but Dabi raised his hands up quickly in defeat. 

“Oh no, no, I just fucking did my hair for this Keigo asshole you are not gonna ruin it with that petty shit,” he shot back and disappeared somewhere into his own room. “I’ll be out of your greasy ass hair don’t worry.” 

Tomura seethed and bit back of reply of his hair for once not being greasy as hell, but the multiple cum stains—both his and his nasty fucking roommates—marring the comforter caught his eye. 

“Ugh,” he mumbled and balled the whole thing up, shoving it under the bed and spreading out one of his merch blankets from that manga you both liked. 

Hopefully you wouldn’t think that was too cringey, but he had definitely seen your room plastered with merch in the background of your social media profiles which he totally did not stalk at all and maybe jerk off to on occasion.

The rest of his room was quickly cleared by a combination of shoving random crap into his closet and filling up their recycling bin to the brim with empty energy drink cans. He tackled the kitchen next which wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Neither he nor Dabi cooked all that frequently, so the dishes weren’t an issue and the vague, lingering smell of whatever the fuck Dabi had been smoking early was cleared out a bit by leaving the balcony door ajar. 

He checked the time on his phone obsessively, about ready to pound on Dabi’s door and throw him out on the step when the man in question emerged on his own—black platform boots donned with his ass hugging ripped jeans and loose tank top. He had on fucking eyeliner.

God and he thought Tomura was being desperate. 

“What? Wishing you’d locked this down first?” Dabi sneered, grabbing his jacket from the rack and shoulder checking Tomura on his way to the door. 

“I—” he stammered for a second, bristling as Dabi towered over him a bit in those fucking boots. “No, asshole, just leave before they get here.”

But at the exact moment that Dabi rolled his eyes and flung open the door, Tomura’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Looking up in mingled horror and embarrassment, he watched the door hit the wall and reveal you, a little more casually dressed than usual looking stunned as Dabi grinned down at you with pierced lips. 

“Hi, I’m-” you started but Tomura’s live-in nightmare cut you off. 

“Oh I know who you are, dollface,” Dabi wiggled his fucking eyebrows at you, clearly playing up the dramatics as much as possible to a degree even Tomura didn’t think he could pull off. “Name’s Dabi—” 

“Uh, yeah and he was just leaving,” Tomura hissed and placed his shoulder firmly in the center of his roommate’s back, launching him onto the welcome mat as you side-stepped through the door. 

“Yeah, see ya later creep,” he fucking winked as the door slammed shut in his face. 

Tomura’s cheeks burned in the following silence which was only broken by your quiet chuckle. He noticed you did that a lot. Laughed at things without even thinking about whether it would sound weird. 

“He seems like a lot,” you mumbled and glanced around at the living room/kitchen/foyer of his tiny apartment. 

“Yeah…” 

He thought he might feel the same sort of disturbance he usually did when Dabi brought his dates home but you seemed to fit easily into the space, unobtrusive but bright against the dingy walls. 

“So, should we get to it?” you asked with a wry smile, spinning to face him and silhouetted by the sun set filtering in past the balcony. 

He may not have felt the usual discomfort of intruders in his space, but his hands shook where he clutched at his thighs nonetheless. And just like always, if you noticed the bunched up fabric and the not so slight tremor in his bony arms, you didn’t say a thing about it. 

You looked so good propped up on his bed, back against the wall and legs dangling off the sides as the now strangely comforting sound of your furious typing filled his room. It had been a few hours now, and Dabi had been true to his work, seemingly gone until tomorrow morning. The room was lit only by your screens and his small desk lamp that lit up your legs like a stage spot light. 

His mind fogged over more than once with the fantasy of laying in between them. 

“I just shared the final bit of script,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. 

The notification pinged at the top of his screen and he hummed in acknowledgement, plugging in your last pieces of text and saving the program. 

And just like that. 

It was over. 

“I think we’re done,” Tomura whispered. 

He didn’t really mean to say it so softly but it felt strange to talk at full volume so he just rasped out the words, knowing you wouldn’t care how shitty his voice sounded. 

There was a creak and soft footsteps behind him as you shuffled off the bed and over to his desk, hands resting way too close to his shoulders than necessary while you leaned over his chair to look at the finished product. 

It was still a little rough around the edges but Tomura found himself feeling a little swell of satisfaction now that it was complete. All things considered, you’d come up with a pretty damn good concept and he liked knowing he played a role in helping it come to fruition. 

The piece you picked was weird as shit. Some political satire about eating babies, lots of juxtaposition about the private life versus the public self and some bullshit rants on the nature of humanity blah blah blah. 

It actually reminded him of you a little bit, now that he thought about it and used your position as an excuse to stare intently at your eyes scanning the screen. Not the eating babies thing, but the whole private self stuff. In the half semester he’d spent locked away with you in quiet rooms and noisy, dimly lit basements, he could see such a stark contrast between the you he’d known from class all those weeks ago and the you currently sighing in relief over his shoulder. 

Softer, more real—not so Stacy, bimbo, pick me slut like he’d always imagined you to be. 

“Damn, we did it my guy,” you nodded, clearly impressed with yourself and him as well, which had Tomura’s chest puffing out just a bit under the attention. “I could fucking kiss you, I thought we’d never get it done.” 

You turned to him, eyes closed in a half laugh but Tomura was so far from laughing. Cause you were really, really fucking close and he could smell you again and you’d been chewing that fucking gum cause it was hot on your breath and he knew, he really did, that you were kidding, that tis was just a thing people say when they’re relieved but he couldn’t help the weird, deer in the headlights stare that his face froze in. 

Blinking, you raised your eyebrows at him questioningly when he didn’t make some crude comment about your chest brushing against his arm or shrug you off like he might have before. 

And then you got this knowing, little mischievous look that reminds him far too much of Dabi for a split second before you pressed your face just an inch closer. 

His eyes flicked down instinctively to your lips and his face burned when realized there was no way you didn’t see the way he looked at you. Shockingly, despite the churning in his gut and the shaking in his legs, Tomura leaned forward just a bit too, working up just enough scant courage to maybe close the gap, but then you started laughing? 

It bubbled up quietly in your chest, more of a giggle than anything else. 

You were laughing and shaking your head and his stomach fucking dropped to the ground and his face was on fire cause you were laughing and that meant he’d been fucking played like a goddamn fiddle but— 

But then you gave him this faint smile and you weren't laughing anymore, because you were kissing him. 

You were fucking kissing him. 

Which, while yes he had set out to have this be the end goal of the night, he hadn’t actually believed it would ever happen. He’d never felt it in his bones, like he was supposed to. 

And holy shit your lips were so soft??

So soft and smooth with no cool, sharp metal poking or pulling at the splits on his. It was like fucking crack, or what he imagined crack might be like with the way your mouth just glided against his. It was so easy to follow you, which was good cause he didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing for the most part. But you made it feel simple, and you even ran your tongue over the little scar that bisected his lips in this painfully adorable way that had Tomura pitching a tent in his pants like lightning. 

God but when you pulled back and just enough to look him in the eye— 

It was like every one of those cutesy, shojo manga suddenly made sense. The panels where the main character’s look at each other and flowers bloom off the fucking page while they stare with those dark, hungry eyes— 

Yeah. 

Yeah he got it now. 

And he was gonna ride that wave while he had it. So Tomura steeled himself and surged forward, grabbing both your arms and smashing his face much less gracefully against yours. He stood and you straightened with him, that same half giggle slipping out in the gaps where your lips parted on his as he clacked your teeth together and pulled back at the jarring sting. 

“Eager are we?” you have that stupid smile on your face again but he honestly didn’t care anymore if it was an act or if your face really just looked like that with no fucking ulterior motive.  

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to catch your lips again and you mercifully let him. 

And Tomura nearly fucking came in his pants when your licked into his mouth and oh fucking god he really could taste the gum and that loud ass shit you were always drinking. Dabi was right, this was a fucking miracle. Did other people always taste this good or was it just you? 

He responded enthusiastically to say the least, sucking your tongue into his mouth and letting out a choked little noise when you licked at the back of his teeth. The movement of your legs, pulling him back towards the bed went mostly unnoticed until he felt himself tipping forward, landing with a thump on top of you as you both tumbled onto his mattress. 

Tomura’s lips wondered boldly down your throat, smelling the soap or lotion or whatever the hell made you so fucking baby smooth compared to him and he actually growled into your nape when you laughed again. 

“God, what the fuck is so funny?” he sounded muffled from where he was tonguing at the fleshy joining of your neck and shoulder. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you pressed your lips against the peeling crown of his head and that alone made up for the interruption, “I’m just basking in the glory of being right.” 

“About?” Tomura nipped at your skin once before lifting his chin to rest on your sternum. 

“I just always thought you were sorta into me, but it was hard to tell cause you’re so quiet about that sorta thing.” 

“....oh,” he didn’t really have an argument for that so he didn’t try to fight you. 

“Did you think I didn’t notice all the convenient excuses to touch me or like the fact that you’re mean as shit to everyone else but me?“ you asked not unkindly as you stroked a hand through his hair, frizzy from being left to air dry. “I also got the vibes you thought I was kinda a slut anyway and it wasn’t super clear if that was a turn on or not.” 

He cringed a bit at the blatant way you acknowledged all ruder inner monologues about your character. 

“Well, I did a bit initially,” Tomura glanced off to the side, suddenly finding the chipping paint much more fascinating. God he really wanted to get back to the good stuff. “But I don’t now…”

“Oh no,” you cupped his face, running a thumb against the cracked skin on his cheeks and didn’t cringe when the drying skin flaked onto your shirt, “that was a pretty astute assumption.” 

“Uh, what?”

He felt his draw drop and you dipped your thumb past his front row of teeth, towing with the pooling saliva. 

“All the better for you though,” you continued dragging his chest against yours so he could feel your nipples through his shirt, “cause that just means I know how to show you a good time, and I get the feeling you’ve never had that happen before.” 

You punctuated your words with roll of your hips against the fucking iron rod in his pants. The noise that left Tomura was inhuman. He thought back to the day you got partnered with him. How he thought it would be a fucking nightmare and Tomura wanted to let the record show that he officially retracted that statement. This was in no uncertain terms, actually a wet dream come true and he was sure Dabi would never fucking believe  him unless he walked through the door right now. 

“That works,” he stuttered around the finger in his mouth and you reared up to wrap your legs around his waist. 

Your lips found his again and he hummed in approval only cut off as you rolled so he was laying back and looking up. When you pulled away, he shivered at the way you raked your nails over his chest. 

“So, you gonna tell me how much of a disgusting whore you think I am?”

---

“I don’t—”

He couldn't finish the sentence, not when you were grinding down on him like that. How the hell did you even know how to move your hips in those little circles? Was there some Being a Massive Slut for Dummies book he was missing out on or?

“C’mon, Tomura, we’ve been through this,” you sighed and leaned down to such a trail of sloppy kisses from his jaw to his ear, biting down on the soft flesh, “I know you’ve been thinking so much nasty shit about me, the least you can do is let me hear it.” 

Those hands on his chest were moving again, curling into the hem of his t-shirt and tugging until it was over his head and tossed aside on the floor. On an embarrassing instinct, Tomura’s hands shot up to cover himself, only stopped when you leaned onto your haunches and tugged off your own. 

“Shit,” Tomura whispered. 

You weren’t wearing anything underneath. 

He drank in the sight of those cute fucking tits he’d only ever caught glimpses of through those low cut tops you always wore. You grinned down at him, both hands coming up to play with your chest, fingers pinching and rolling the pretty buds. Tomura felt drool slip from the corner of his mouth. 

“Is that all you got?”

He wasn’t completely in control of his body as it catapulted off the bed to smash his face between your squished up tits, but neither of you were complaining if the sounds that followed were any indication. You hummed happily as he pressed his cheeks to the warm, soft flesh and his lips closed around your nipple, sucking and laving his tongue over the pebbled skin. 

“You really wanted everyone to see these, huh?” he meant the words to have more bite but it was hard with your fucking boob in his mouth. 

And he wasn’t looking to stop suckling at you anytime soon so….

“They’re nice tits, what can I say,” you shot back and he couldn’t wait to have you fucked so stupid all those witty one-liners would die on your tongue. 

You fucking tasted so good. He hadn’t ever thought that tits would have a fucking taste but it was like some odd combination of skin and spit and it was addictive. 

“Got a whole fucking eye full that first time you talked to me in class,” he growled, sinking his teeth in hard enough to leave a mark around your nipple. “Fucking parading them around every time you leaned over. Thought you were so fucking desperate for attention.” 

If you really wanted to know all the vile, gross shit he thought on the daily then who was he to deny you that pleasure. 

Cause you were definitely feeling some type of way about it based on the way your fingers threaded through his hair and held him to your chest as he tongued and bit at the skin. 

“Think I’m just a stupid attention whore, is that it?” you moaned when he switched breasts, palm kneading at the one he’d abandoned. 

“I think you’re a useless slut who’ll do anything to get a guy to fucking look your way,” Tomura gasped and sunk his teeth in again. 

A shiver ran through him at the whine leaving your lips. 

He did that. 

He needed to do more of that immediately. 

“You like it when I call you a fucking slut?” 

Tomura didn’t know what came over him in that moment—what weird spirit of horny confidence possessed his body—but suddenly, with a surge of motion, his hand left your chest and latched onto the smooth column of your throat. The move had actually been quite graceful until he tried to flip your positions and got his legs tangled with yours, resulting in more of a...sexy pile than the smooth transition of power he was going for. 

You didn’t seem to mind though. 

You never did.

Tomura guessed if he was going to admit something nice about you, then it would be that at least you were consistent. 

“I do like it when you call me that,” you breathed into his ear, hands under his arms to haul him back over top of you and replace the hand at your throat with a smirk, “and you love that it’s true.”  

Fuck. 

He really did, now that he thought about it. All those message boards always talked about finding virgins who you could mold to your dick just like they were meant to be, but…he was so fucking anxious at the best of times, having those eyes that pissed him off and knew it made this so much more fun. 

There was probably a more eloquent word than that, and you would probably more than willing to supply it, but the goal was to shut you up and he wasn’t gonna be okay with just coasting this time. 

“God, you need to learn how to shut the fuck up,” he spat and subsequently yelped as you leaned forward, licking a wet trail up his chest before latching onto one of his nipples. 

The flushed, pink skin disappeared into the heat of your mouth, leaving his dick twitching violently in his pants that had grown too tight and damp for comfort. The languid motion of your tongue over the rapidly pebbling flesh and the goldilocks perfect way in which you nipped at him was enough to corroborate all your claims of experience. With the constant, electric spark pleasure running from his chest to his pants, Tomura found formulating sentences a little challenging, so he just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Why don’t we give you something even better to with that fucking whore mouth, hm?”

It was cliche as hell, stolen straight from one of the admittedly plentiful pornos he’d watched in his day, but you just grinned and popped off his nipple, nodded frantically at the innuendo. 

Those clever little fingers that seemed to type without ever stopping dropped to the waistband of his sweats and tugged them down his thighs. He kicked a bit awkwardly to get them off his ankles but you were already yanking the elastic of his boxers. You smiled up at him through your lashes as you tucked the fabric just under his balls and let your eyes wander slowly from his splotchy red chest to the patch of hair just at the base of his dick. 

If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought you were drooling. 

Tomura felt a bit more in his element here, having had some actual frame of reference—as his asshole roommate was so generous to provide—so he didn’t waste any time. Falling onto his back, he squirmed up the sheets until his head was resting on a pillow and you were crawling between his thighs. God and you and you had your ass up too, wiggling it back and forth like you were wagging your tail at just the thought of getting his cock in your mouth. 

Well, since you were so eager, Tomura decided to jump right in. You seemed to like things a bit rough anyway, so he reached out, burying a hand roughly in your hair and plunging in. 

The cute and kinda disgusting choking gasp you let out was addictive. 

And now he fucking knew Dabi was lying about his dick being small, cause you had a big fucking mouth to talk all that shit and it was absolutely stuffed full. Your lips were stretched obscenely not even halfway down his shaft and your eyes were already pricked with tears at the edges. The fucking feel of your mouth was like how he imagine silk might feel, if it was soaked and scorching. Your throat constricted around him as you gagged and oh it was fucking cock sucking heaven he was in. 

Tomura was almost tempted to grab his phone and snap a— 

Actually, that was a fucking great idea.  

His free hand fumbled for his pants, closing around his phone and unlocking it while you hummed and pulled back, bobbing your head twice before sinking back down, Your eyes flew open when the camera flash lit up the dark corner of his room. He could feel you trying to move away, to snap at him for taking his little keepsake but he quickly fisted your hair and bucked his hips up to keep you firmly on his dick. 

“Oh no, you were so eager to suck me off, you’re gonna finish the fucking job before you breathe again,” he panted, holding the sides of your face and fucking your mouth in earnest. 

He’d found it easy to simply follow the instinctive rhythm of his hips, constantly seeking out the wet heat source. Your eyes rolled back in your goddamn as his length slid past your lips over and over again 

Holy shit it felt so good. 

And it felt even better when he could see how much you loved it. 

How much you loved his filthy fucking almost virgin cock shoved down your throat and he finally felt the vulgar dam in his mind break. 

“I think about you all the time,” he gasped, keening high when you ran your tongue over his slit on ever upstroke, just how he liked it. “I lay here at night and fuck my hand and think about sinking into your tight fucking cunt. I wanna fill you up so bad, it’s the only thing on my mind whenever I talk to you.” 

The only thing stopping him from cumming straight down your throat in that moment was sheer horny force of will. 

“When you mouth off in class, all I hear is you just begging for someone to bend you over and fuck that cocky fucking arrogance right out of you,” below him, you reached a hand up, pinching hard at his nipple and humming at the squeal he made. “Fuck, and I want eat your pussy while you’re up there presenting this shit, so I can watch you try and keep it together so know one else knows what a fucking whore you are for me. Such a fucking slut for me.” 

Something was washing over him, some weird, intense revelation of something that perhaps he’d always known but just needed the motivation of a fucking earth shattering blowjob to work out of him—that he wanted you. Really wanted you. Felt entitled to you. He’d spent so much mental energy obsessing over it, that really, no one else fucking deserved to touch you but him. 

No one else would want you this much. 

No one else would want him this much.

Your hands had found their way to his thighs and they were rubbing sweet little circles into the soft skin. 

“You’d love that wouldn’t you?” his voice was wrecked, even more than usual, from the near constant string of high pitched whining “You’d love to have me fucking ruin you, make you cum all over my tongue in front of everyone. Let them fucking know who does that shit to you.” 

You managed a nod, even with his cock buried deepdeepdeep in your throat. And Tomura was fucking twitching at the thought. The muscles in his legs jumped under your touch. A slimy mix of spit and precum was gushing down his length, slipping over his balls and slicking his ass. It was sloppy and the room was so full of the wet slap of his hips against your mouth. 

It was so much, too much, oh shit, shit he didn’t want to cum like this— 

“Wait, wait!” he cried, back arching with the agony of leaving the plush paradise between your lips. “Please—I wanna cum in you.” 

You looked up at him, head hanging from his grip in your hair, with your jaw slack and dripping and nodded. He felt as though his ribs were lined with magnets that pulled him into your outstretched arms, kneeling as he pressed his mouth frantically to yours, uncaring of the mess of the faint taste of bitter precum. 

There was something frantic in the air, like a switch had been flipped. The need to feel you, to be connected at every point— to get just a little bit more of what he’d earned—grew stronger with every passing second. 

His lips were rough and raw and stung when you licked them but that only made it sweeter. You tongued at his teeth and sucked him into your mouth like he was warm food after months without. It was needy. Needy and ragged because you needed him. 

You needed him. 

What a fucking thought that was. 

Your pants were quickly discarded along with his boxers, and for the first time in his life, Tomura didn’t care about all the exposed skin. He didn’t think about all the unsightly patches of irritation or scaring, because you never had. Not once had you ever stared or commented and you weren’t starting now. Your hands smoothed over every inch of him, just as desperate like he always knew you would be.   

Because you were so— 

Perfect. 

Fucking disgusting. 

Tomura let you fall back onto the mattress and whimpered at the feeling of your thighs hitched around his waist. He made the mistake of letting his eyes leave your mouth to glance down and oh, oh he was enraptured. 

Dabi was right, he’d never actually seen a pussy in real life and holy shit. 

His fingers gravitated immediately to your lips, fucking soaked, soaked in arousal that had smeared on your thighs. 

“You get this fucking hot just from my cock in your mouth?” he asked, grinning as he collected some of the slick on his fingers and brought them curiously to his mouth. 

Delicious. 

“Yes—fuck—yes!” you whined and pulled him closer with your thighs. 

“You want me to fuck you that bad?” his fingers ghosted over where he thought your clit might be and was rewarded when you moaned low as he brushed over a raised little bud. “Does this nasty little slut want me that fucking bad?”

“Please Tomura…” his name on your tongue was better than any crazy ass party drug Dabi ever brought home, “you have no fucking idea how long I’ve been wanting you so fucking deep in me—”

Your words cut off with a sob as he ran his fingers down, searching for your entrance and sinking in hard when he found it. And it was so nice in there. So fucking hot. 

“What are you?” he asked, thrusting his fingers in and out, trying to remember how Dabi did it to him and what felt good.

He plunged them deep and curled up towards your belly and you sobbed, “A fucking slut!” 

God he was so glad no one else was here to hear that. 

This was just for him. 

“And who’s fucking slut are you?” 

He really could help himself, he just wanted to hear it so fucking bad. 

“Yours,” you whined and rolled your hips down so his thumb caught on your clit and. “I’m your fucking slut!” 

“Shit,” he rasped and ripped his fingers from you. 

He wasn’t entirely conscious of his movements. There was just one, very loud voice, screaming in his head to bury his cock in that perfect fucking heat and suddenly his was gripping himself and pushing in and— 

“Ahh, fucking god,” Tomura whimpered, body going limp as his tip was sheathed fully inside you. 

His forehead dropped down to rest against yours, arms like half cooked pasta on either side of your head, failing to hold him up. You brought your arms up, sliding fingers through his hair and down his back as your ankles locked right above his ass to urge him forward. 

Tomura’s cock sunk in inch by inch until he bottomed out with a groan. His mouth moved even when the rest of him couldn’t

“So tight…” he mumbled, head slipping into the crook of your neck and sucking lightly at the skin, feeling the comfort of it in his mouth. “Didn’t think it’d be this tight.” 

“Are you trying to insult me or were you just a virgin?” you huffed out, but there was a laugh bubbling just behind the words. 

He weakly held up to fingers to indicate the second, dropping them immediately to clutch at the sheets when you clamped down on his cock, nestled sweetly against your cervix. 

“Wait really?” you asked, hands skimming up his back to grip his cheeks. 

Tomura tried to hide himself in your shoulder, because the fucking dopey ass smile on his face would surely feed your ego and he didn’t need you knowing that your pussy had him fucking higher than a goddamn kite. 

If only his bones hadn’t suddenly taken on all the physical properties of jello. 

“I’ve fucked around before,” he said, which was technically true, “just never...like this.” 

He didn’t even need to move—which, well, wasn’t entirely true he was burning with the urge to drive himself frantically into your dripping cunt—but he was so blissed out from just the soft, warm, tight hug of your walls around his cock that pulsed precum with ever clench, was enough. 

What he wouldn’t give to have this all the time. Have you constantly sitting on his cock, keeping him warm and hard and cumming inside you. 

At the reminder of why exactly he’d set out to do this, his body regained a bit of it’s former solidity. 

“Oh,” you began, voice strained and hips shaking with the effort of not rocking back on his dick. “Well, you feel fucking amazing—”

Tomura cut you off with an experimental thrust. He pulled all the way back, watching as his tip just nearly popped out of your cute fucking hole and then snapped in again. You were a fucking mess above him, gripping at the pillows and then at his arms, dragging red scratches down the pale, fragile skin there.

It only spurred him on. 

“You like that? Like my huge fucking cock in you?” he growled, flopping down so he could feel your nipples brush against his while he railed into you. 

As much as you apparently enjoyed hearing all the filth that spewed from him, he really liked having a receptacle for it all. It had been hidden inside him for so long, the release was only made sweeter with the addition of your slutty fucking pussy clenching at every word. 

“So fucking big, Tomura—”

You rocked up to slip your tongue into his mouth again, sucking softly at his rough lower lip and drinking down all the less than dominant cries that poured from him as his release grew again. He wasn’t really sure how to get you off, but you seemed to understand the intentions behind his hand wandering to nudge at the space he was driving his cock into. 

Those soft fingers held his and guided them up to that nub he’d found before and moved his hand in little, rhythmic circles that had you fucking sobbing into his mouth. 

Real tears streaked down your face as you moaned into him, “Oh fuck, yes Tomura, baby, just like that…!”

And for once, he had absolutely no qualms with doing exactly what you said. He wanted—needed—to know what it would feel like for you to cream all over his dick. Wanted to see the stupid fucking face you would make as he ripped you apart on his definitely massive length. 

You were rocked back into ever thrust, drinking in the sound of slapping skin, mouth permanently attached to his—tongues locked together.   

The taste of fruit gum mixed with salty cum and the smell of sweat and sex and cleanlaundryshampoo was fucking everywhere. It was intoxicating and heady and all he had ever needed. 

Really, you weren’t so bad when you were crying on his cock.

And you were fucking crying, screaming for him—his name, calling him ‘baby’ in a way that had his heart stuttering uncomfortably in his throat and babbling about how good, how fucking perfect he felt inside. 

“C’mon,” he grunted, “c’mon, I wanna see my fucking slut cum for me, all over my cock.” 

And for once, you actually followed an order. 

His fingers on your clit never gave up and he could fucking feel the orgasm wash over you. Your cunt spasmed and clamped hard like a vice, tighter than anything he ever could have imagined. And you choked out his name, so desperate:

“Tomura, fuck yes baby!”

God your face was so good, all scrunched up and then relaxing into a blissful, panting, open-mouth grin.  

It was sort of beautiful. 

But he wasn’t gonna fucking say that. 

“Good fucking slut,” he said instead, and arched his chest into yours so he could feel the swell of your pretty tits against his chest. 

And he almost fucking lost it right there but he needed more, needed to feel full too. The clenching of your pussy was so unmatched by any sensation but he guessed Dabi always called him a greedy whore for a reason. 

His hand grabbed at yours—hips only letting up when he couldn’t actively get his dick out of you as you came—and brought it roughly to his lips. Tomura was still slick, covered in spit and sweat but he sucked two of your fingers into his mouth anyway. His tongue delved between them as you watched with wide eyes as he spat onto them and whined.

“I need—oh shit—inside, inside...fuck…” 

He could fucking get his tongue to make words but he dragged your hand to his ass and prayed you’d get the hint. Prayed you’d fill him up too. 

And you certainly delivered. 

His hips started up their unforgiving rhythm again now that you’d rode out your release, slipping even more easily into your pussy with all the slick spilling out of you. God that would be his cum soon—his cum dripping out onto your thighs. Your feet dropped to the bed and Tomura grabbed your waist for leverage. 

Your clever little finger circled his hole, wrist bent from the awkward angle below him but working nonetheless. His spit and precum made less than ideal lube but he welcomed the burn of you entering him. A second one joined behind the first and it was rough going for a moment until he was able to rock back fully, finding a certain bend of the knee and half thrust that had him simultaneously grinding into you and fucking himself on your fingers. 

And then you managed to get deep enough to brush against that fucking spot, that magic fucking spot that had him seeing stars and screaming your name—not slut, not bitch, not some other fucking cruelty—your name and spilling rope after rope of hot cum against your walls. 

Your eyes did that thing where they rolled halfway up and crossed like this was some fucking hentai and you weren’t knuckles deep in his ass while he came inside you. 

Tomura went completely limp then, boneless like a cheap chicken wing and collapsed onto your chest, whimpering when your fingers left him empty but comforted by the rhythmic clenching of your cunt, warming his cock and keeping his cum safe inside. 

“So good,” you whispered into his hair, soft palms smoothing over his back in slow circles. “Felt so good, Tomura. You were so good.” 

He shivered in your arms, lulled by the feeling of your breasts under him and breathing in the mixture of soap and sex that radiated from your skin. Everything about it was strange, but in that wonderful kind of way that new games sometimes were. A tingling at the prospect of a new adventure, a new world, and a new journey to embark on. 

You pressed your lips to his sweat slicked forehead and didn’t turn away in disgust. 

No, instead you just held him on his cum soaked sheets and slept. 

---

Tomura woke about an hour later, dick finally soft and tangled in a knot of limbs with you on his bed. You’d stretched and let him kiss you without asking, accepting his tongue on yours just as easily as you had before. 

After detangling yourself from him, you left to take a shower and Tomura found that he couldn’t bare the notion of being apart from you for more than twenty minutes now even more than he couldn’t fucking stand showering, so he’d joined you anyway. 

You didn’t talk much and neither did he, but it was that same comfortable silence you’d formed in your little study room hideout. He let you drag him under the spray just long enough to wash most of the jizz and spit from his thighs before he stepped back to lean on the tile and watch as you rinsed yourself. 

Only once did you mention the rough, scaly skin on his neck and face. Your hand was gentle, roving over the cracks and asking him if he’d tried any soap for sensitive skin. That yours was like that too and you’d let him borrow some to try out. He blushed at the implication of seeing you again after this. 

It was well past midnight when you toweled off and dried him as well. He lent you one of his few clean t-shirts and you wore it without any underwear. Tomura shameless stared at your bare ass when you bent over to strip the ruined comforter from his bed. 

He thought about burying himself in you again, and because he hasn’t dressed yet—and you don’t push him away when he presses against you—he does. And you moan for him again when he fucks you from behind, just as rough but it all comes easier the second time around. 

You told Tomura, later—when you were both exhausted again and stained with release—he was kinda a natural and something about the praise really got to him. 

“You’d fucking know,” he snipped at you, curled on his side with his face in your tits. 

This was his new favorite position, he’d decided and he snickered at the thought of planting his face right in your chest while you were both in class. He’d pay money to see the horrified look on your prim fucking face. 

“Yes I would,” you hummed into his hairline, mouthing softly at the baby curls around his crown. “So, when are you gonna take me out?”

Tomura felt the loading circle of death spinning in his brain for a moment. Like a 404 error had occurred somewhere in amongst his neural pathways. 

“I thought you said you were a slut?” he asked and almost immediately wished he could quit the game, even if it meant he had to replay all the scenes before this moment. 

But you didn’t pull away. 

You really never do.

He thought idly that you both must have some weirdo bug making you enjoy all the disgusting bits of the other. 

“Well yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take me on a date if that’s something you’d like,” you chuckled and he felt your chest rise with it and the breath on his forehead. 

He nestled his face deeper into your tits, “yeahsurefinewhatever.”

The lips pressed to his head smiled but you didn’t say anything again for a long time. Not until both of you were drifting off again, falling into the trap of shared body heat and the odd human craving of skin against skin. 

“Your freaky roommate isn’t going to walk in right?”

Tomura grumbled, mouthing at your nipple and suckling softly, “no, you’re mine now, he can’t have either of us.” 

You signed contentedly for a moment, moaning lightly as he swiped his tongue over your sensitive skin before the words caught up to you. 

“Wait, what?”

“Nothing, go to sleep.” 

You didn’t push it any farther, or remove Tomura from his sucking at your tits. It was quite possibly the most peaceful night of sleep he’d ever gotten, which only ensured the fact that you would never be allowed to sleep anywhere else. 

This was your responsibility now, after all, and you fucking loved responsibility so he didn’t see any problems. 

Shockingly, Tomura did let you leave the next morning to grab some things from home and change clothes. He watched you walk down the sidewalk from his window and only meandered back into the kitchen when you turned a corner out of sight and the front door slammed open. 

Dabi was plopped on the couch when he ventured out, shirtless and absolutely covered in hickeys. Tomura would have commented on it, but he knew he didn’t look much better and didn't want to invite the comparison. 

“What the hell got into you, creep?” he asked incredulously, leering from the cushions, looking him up and down. 

“I got into bitch (endearing),” he cupped his hands to form parenthesis in the air and grabbed a Monster from the fridge. 

Dabi gaped, pushing himself up and not so subtly limping over to cage him against the counter, “No you fucking did not.”

“Did so,” he shot back, knocking his shoulder roughly into Dabi’s chest so he could stalk back into his room. “Looks more like someone got into you.” 

You’d put him in such a weirdly pleasant mood, he really didn’t want to give that up, but Dabi was present, the bitch. 

“We got into each other,” Dabi huffed, flopping down on Tomura’s bed and ruining your scent on his sheets, “No fucking way you had the balls dude.” 

Impulsively—in part because he really needed to ego boost of proving Dabi wrong and to convince himself as well that last night (and this morning) had really happened—Tomura whipped out his phone, flashing that pretty picture of you choking on his dick right into that smug bastards face. 

The fucking grin only grew wider. 

“I’ll be fucking damned, creep,” he stood from the bed to get a closer look, but Tomura locked the screen quickly and shoved it back in his pocket. “How much did you have to pay her?”

“I don’t know what you have to do to get some,” Tomura scoffed, “but mine was free.” 

Dabi looked like he had something smart to say back to that but Tomura didn’t want to hear it. 

“Get out,” he called over his shoulder as he took Dabi’s place on his bed, inhaling the little wisps of you left over on the cotton. God he was never gonna wash these. 

“Aw, don’t wanna give me all the details?” 

He peaked up at Dabi, leaned against his doorframe. 

“No, I have to get dressed,” he paused before the next words that left his mouth, hiding his face in the pillow so Dabi wouldn’t see the furious red of blood rushing to his cheeks. “I have a date later.” 

---

“Stop fucking squirming,” you leaned forward to bite at Tomura’s lips as he shifted under you.

Your hands were gathering his hair and pulling it in twists to the side, tying the strands away from his face. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but your legs wrapped around his waist as he sat in his desk chair, cock soaked and deliciously warm in your pussy was harder to ignore. Especially when you clamped down on him every time he moved while you worked.

“Then get off my dick,” he snapped, leaning back in the chair for better leverage as he snapped his hips up. You looked straight out of those hentai memes, eyes almost crossing when he pushed you down to meet his thrust. “Fucking greedy slut.”

“Excuse-ah,” this time it was you bouncing on his length unprompted, “me, but I wasn’t the one with my cock out begging cause it was so cold.”

Your tone was entirely too even for his liking, and Tomura frowned as he dug his hands into your hips and made you grind into his lap. He really was dating such a fucking whore.

“Well, if you hadn’t fucking insisted we go to this dumbass party, then I could have fucked you hours ago,” he knew he was pouting, but you’d started meeting every roll of his hips halfway, using your thighs now to start up a slow rhythm. “Maybe don’t take so long picking an outfit next time.”

“I was picking yours asshole,” you caught his lip between your teeth again and sucked.

Joke was on you though, the more you tried to fucking tease him, the deeper he was gonna fuck you.

How d’you like that, bitch?

“What—don’t you dare fucking stop—was wrong with my outfit?”

He could feel spit pooling under his tongue. Your fucking pussy always did this to him, made his mouth water and this thighs shake while you rode him in earnest now, moaning into his ear as he made sure you felt him in your fucking guts.

God, he was never gonna get over that—the sounds you made. The sounds he pulled from you.

“Tomura, baby,” every word was punctuated with a gasp, one of his thumbs drawing those little circles on your clit that he figured out pretty quick made you cry. “I love you—and the easy dick access sweatpants provide—dearly, but your ass looks so fucking good in these jeans.”

Something weird always happened to his chest when you said stupid, cheesy shit like that. He knew that was thing fucking normies said all the time, and he used to gag whenever he heard people in the halls professing their feelings to each other. But whenever you did it, Tomura’s lips just instinctively fought to turn up at the edges and his lungs suddenly forgot what air felt like in favor of dedicating ever braincell in his body to memorizing whatever dumb as hell, sweet thing you said.

“Why does—mm yes fuck...” he stared entranced at his lap where your slutty goddamn pussy swallowed him up and pulsed around his cock with every tight circle drawn on your clit. “Why does it matter how my ass looks?”

You paused while he fought with the neckline of your top so your tits bounced free and he could suck at your nipples. And holy shit, you could call him a baby all you wanted, but he’d never get tired of the fucking taste feel smell of your chest filling his mouth and pressed so nice against his face.

Shit, he’d fucking live in your tits if he could. Suckle at you endlessly until you poured sweet fucking milk onto his waiting tongue.

Cause you told him one time that was a thing that could happen. Swatted his head away when he pawed at you for too long cause apparently if he sucked hard enough all the time—

“Listen, if your cute little boyfriend had the tightest ass on the fucking planet, wouldn’t you want to show that off to all your friends.”

His face lit up. Tomura could feel whatever blood left not pumping through this dick, rush to his cheeks and he buried his face more resolutely in your tits so as not to give you the satisfaction of flustering him.

You fucking cooed at him every time and squished his cheeks up, calling him your baby boy.

Fucking disgusting.

But damn if he didn’t love it.

“Whatever,” he groaned, picking up his pace and drinking down the delicious little whimpers you let out every time his cock met you coming down on his lap. “Shut the fuck up, and take it like a good fucking whore.”

“My fucking pleasure,” you grunted before losing all semblance of attempted hairstyling entirely, letting out a long, low moan as he pummeled that pretty pussy and sped up on your clit.

Tomura would absolutely never admit to it, but fucking you always had him feeling so fucking needy. The second your lips or your cunt were swallowing him up it was like a dam broke and every selfish request just poured out of him.

“Wanna cum,” he mumbled into your breast, whining as your walls fluttered and pulsed.

He knew what that meant now. Tomura was what you called ‘quick on the uptake’ and honed in fast on what it felt like when you started to lose it.

“Yeah? Does my pretty boy want me to make him feel good?”

God fuck yeah.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it out loud but, yes. Tomura was your pretty, baby boy and he needed he sweet fucking bitch to make him bust so deep inside you.

He was about to reach his peak too, teetering on the edge when the pounding started.

And not the fun kind. Not the bend you over his bed and rail you till you couldn’t fucking walk.

No, no, no.

This was balled fist slamming against his door and Dabi’s grating, smoky voice shouting from the hall.

“Could you fornicate later freaks?!” he called through the door. “You’re gonna be fucking late.”

Tomura’s orgasm hurtled to a painful halt and you groaned again—well growled was probably a more appropriate term for the snarl you let out into the crook of his neck.

“Why the hell does it matter to you?!” Tomura shouted back, the force of his voice shifting the angle of his cock. The minute stimulation felt so good he kept up the slow grinding motion.

You groaned again—decidedly much sweeter—and sucked a cheeky fucking mark right on the side of his neck.

“What are you fucking doing?” he hissed to you, but it was Dabi’s voice who answered.

Along with the click of his knob turning.

“Well, it sounded like you were having a hard time getting your bitch off, so I was gonna offer—“

Dabi stopped, taking the split second before the controller Tomura chucked at his head connected to stare fixedly at your bare ass seated on Tomura’s thighs.

“Yes, my bitch, so get the fuck out!” he yelled, coming out a little choked at the end as your slutty self kept grinding on his cock.

“Yeah, and he’s doing a great job,” you mused, languidly raising your head from his shoulder and kissing up his jawline, completely unfazed entirely by the new audience.

Tomura’s brain was ping ponging so hard between rage, cheek burning embarrassment, and being the most turned on he’d ever been in his life.

The things you fucking did to him.

“If you say so sweetheart,” Dabi, also completely unperturbed by watching you grind on his roommates dick, leaned against the doorframe like you all were chatting about the fucking mayoral election.

“I do,” you lifted your hips then, showing off one full bounce that had both Dabi and Tomura’s eyes rolling.

Though the latter was much more annoyed than Tomura could hope to be.

“Fucking show off,” his roommate muttered.

“Isn’t your boyfriend waiting in the kitchen?” you huffed and glared over your shoulder at Dabi in his platform boots and mesh top.

He scowled and flipped the two of you off with chipped, black nails and sauntered back down the hall calling, “not my boyfriend,” as he went.

He left the door wide open.

Tomura almost yelled for him to come back and close it, but you took the silence as an opportunity to start riding him full force and even though you were the one bouncing in his lap, he had to grip your waist and hold on for the ride.

Fucking bitch.

Tomura’s fucking bitch.

You held his hand as you walked across campus to the media building in the budding Spring evening. And that was almost as bad as you saying all those pointless, nice things to him.

Cause people looked, like they watched you linking fingers with that creepy guy in their classes or from the dining hall, and you walked swinging his hand in yours the whole way like it didn’t fucking matter.

Didn’t even occur to you that everyone on campus would know now that the hot chick they saw walking around was with him.

But all those imaginary eyes seemed to melt away as you dragged him behind you, down the old path you both used to take everyday after working in the library. Along the worn concrete sidewalk to the ‘secret door’ in the alley that was perpetually propped open with a copy of the Manifesto, taking two flights of stairs down to the basement and following the soft blue glow to the unofficial layer of The League.

You didn’t let go of his hand even after your both walked through the door.

Tomura recognized most of the people there as friends you introduced him to. You’d met them all through classes or through other friends, forming a close knit group of everyone who knew everyone which was apparent from the way they all cheered when you walked in.

He suddenly was reminded why he never came to shit like this. Not that people were scrambling to invite Tomura Shigaraki to their parties, but his skin itched even when the eyes never focused on him.

Across the room Spinner, the other co-leader of the club, who he knew the best out of everyone, waved at him, and Tomura nodded back. His eyes quickly picked Dabi out of the crowd, leaning off in the corner with a red cup in hand, forehead pushed up against his blond boyfriend’s. Keigo was apparently a reluctant member of the other gaming club on campus—cause of course there was a demand for fucking two—the president of which knew Spinner and who, of course, knew you, which led to Tomura’s asshole, sometimes voyeur roommate being invited along.

Fucking social circles were so needlessly complicated.

Tomura vaguely recognized the other blond guy in the room—Jin was his name? Maybe?—enough to pick his wild, sandy hair out of the crowd, tucked off to the side of the table laden with shitty vending machine snacks. He had his arm slung around someone Tomura had never met before, talking with another short blond girl he didn’t know and Jin’s roommate, Magne. He patted himself on the back for remembering two out of the four names. He also remembered Jin worked at the library, though he hated it, and had been tangentially responsible for hooking the two of you up in that study room, your study room.

Tomura nodded at Jin too as he saw the two of you walk in and enthusiastically shouted some greetings and only one profanity. A new record for him.

Someone else Tomura hadn’t been introduced to shouted from the floor by the gaming set up as Spinner punched the air in triumph in the glow of the victory screen.

“I’m gonna grab us some drinks,” you whispered to him, and he let go of your hand reluctantly, watching as you stopped, doling out hugs to everyone—excluding Dabi—as you went.

He looked around, cast adrift without you to hold him to the dock of social interaction.

It was clear he’d have to find a backup person to cling to for the remainder of the night if you were just gonna fucking abandon him for your friends.

Though Tomura did his best to not be all that salty about it. The residual anger melted a little bit as he watched Magne bear hug you off the floor so hard your back popped. It was only when he felt a hand on his shaking shoulder that Tomura realized he’d been laughing at the spectacle.

Spinner flashed him a toothy smile, arms crossed and watching intently as you pretended to gasp in a breath when Magne finally dropped you from her massive arms.

“Hey man,” he said, wild hair the color of those weird unicorn drinks from that cafe you liked sticking up on end. “How’s it going?”

Tomura shrugged, unsure how to respond without you to fill in the unmediated gaps in conversation.

“Fine, I guess.”

Spinner was not who he would have chosen to hang with all night. Yeah, he knew him the best, but Tomura sorta got the vibes your roommate lowkey hated his fucking guts. And while no one would say he was the master at interpersonal relationships, Tomura could fucking tell when someone didn’t like him. Most of his life till now had been spent in a constant state of snide side eyes and fake politeness.

Maybe that’s why he used to find you so fucking off putting.

But you were different now. He knew you meant all that bullshit. Spinner just wasn’t as good at pretending as he thought he was.

“Nice,” Spinner acted as though he didn’t notice the edge in Tomura’s tone. Or he was just fucking stupid. “I’m glad you guys actually came tonight, I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

He chuckled a bit to soften the blow of that last part, rubbing his neck and smiling sheepishly. Tomura didn’t return the gesture.

“Yeah,” he said simply, kicking at the scuffed linoleum with his sneakers.

He very much wished that you hadn’t tied his hair back so he could hide his face away from Spinner’s stare.

“Listen bro,” that pink head ducked down to catch Tomura’s eye, looking a little bit more guilty now than before. “I know I’ve been kind of a dick lately—and I already talked with them,” he gestured to you, currently pouring some awful, glittery concoction into Jin’s mouth as the smaller blond girl clapped beside you. “But I was just sort of ‘going through it’ for awhile and, well it doesn’t fucking matter, anyway sorry for being such an asshole...”

Tomura’s mouth got dry like it did whenever you hugged him in public or said you liked his eyes. The words drifted around in his head, spitting back error codes as they swirled.

He honestly couldn’t recall a time anyone had ever apologized to him. And he never knew what to say in normal conversation, much less fucking this. Spinner kept looking at him expectantly, but as the silence dragged on, Tomura watched his face falter just a bit.

And that made him feel even worse.

Fuck.

What would you say? Something nice??

“Don’t worry about it,” he blurted—which really was your catchphrase, but he was sure you wouldn’t mind him borrowing it.

“Thanks bro,” Spinner grinned again, this eyes closed, thin lipped thing that made Tomura feel hot just looking into the glow of it. “We’re cool yeah?”

He couldn’t see you, but he could feel that disgusting, proud stare you got every time he elected to order both your drinks when you went out or asked for extra ketchup on his own.

“Whatever, yeah,” Tomura scratched absently at his throat and Spinner jerked his head over to the gaming setup. The Smash music was drifting softly out of twin speakers.

“Wanna play a round?” he asked.

Tomura glanced quickly over at you, now watching as Jin attempted to juggle some of the small snack bags and Magne tossed more flying chips into the mix.

Yeah, you’d probably be awhile.

“...sure.”

It was halfway through the round—in which Tomura was goddamn slaughtering Spinner’s Kirby—that you finally wandered back over to him, two red cups in hand and a few bags of stolen Chex mix.

You set them both down on the small coffee table—also ‘donated’ from the theater department—and plopped next to him on the couch. Spinner growled from the floor, the other club president—The Commission apparently, who the fuck was coming up with these names?—sat kneeled behind him, hands on his shoulders and shouting words of encouragement.

The adrenaline of the fight rushing through him increased exponentially when you gripped his bicep and added your voice to the din.

“Fuck yeah, baby! Kick his fucking ass!”

“Oh wow,” Spinner yelled back. “Now I see where your fucking loyalties lie.”

“Has nothing to do with loyalty,” you laughed. “I just want to see you eat shit for once.”

“Should have come to the big tournament then!” The Commission president chuckled too, looking over their shoulder with a grin.

“Damn, now I’m really sorry I missed it,” you swung your legs up onto the cushions only to tuck them up under yourself as you stared down at the couch. “Ew what the hell is this stain?”

The Commission president was suddenly very much not looking back at you anymore, Tomura noticed. Spinner, at your comment, choked on his fucking spit, not quite dodging Tomura fast enough and tumbling straight off the map.

As Tomura’s character flashed first on the screen you cheered and gripped his face, landing a quick, wet smack of a kiss straight to his fucking lips. Spinner and his friend groaned in unison and there was a chorus of friendly disgust from everyone else gathered around watching.

He could care less.

The air felt strangely alive, people’s gazes flitting over him as though he were part of the scenery. But in a good way this time. Not the purposeful overlooking of his existence, not as though he were an accessory to the room, but a crucial part of it. Like there might be an empty space they would notice if he wasn’t occupying it.

Like he belonged attached to your hand or your hip or just on his own, playing games and drinking shitty juice and laughing at whatever weird as fuck thing Jin shouted at unprompted, random intervals.

Everyone remained gathered by the monitor as you selected your character to face off against him in the next round.

“I’m gonna...” you growled, coming in with an impressive attack and backing out of range, a move signature of yours, “suck your fucking dick!”

“I’m gonna fucking suck yours first, bitch,” he retorted and Magne offered up a kind “hell yeah” in support.

Her large fist came into view over his shoulder, which he found himself bumping against his own without a second thought.

The music filled his ears, the shouting voices no longer suffocating, but adding to the thrum in his chest—the same beat that had his lips pulled up in a smile which ached in his cheeks, but it didn’t matter.

The burn in the cracking skin around his lips and eyes was inconsequential. His face bare of the usual curtains of hair was turned up towards the screen in full display.

He watched you, silhouetted in the blue like of the monitor, saw the figures of your friends gather close around him, engulfing him like an ameba, adding Tomura in as another cell to this new organism.

He breathed.

And felt alive.

[icemankazansky]

Bit of a lurker here. But what better wsy rp get to know you. For the comfort character meme: Iceman 🤍

I would love to know about 7 and 14.

Thanks and have a great day✌

I am thrilled to have you peek your little head out to play ask memes with me. (In this analogy, you are a small, shy woodland creature.) Hello! I have noticed you around, but welcome aboard officially.

7. the moment of theirs that made me the happiest & 14. what i liked about the way canon portrayed them

Whoops I kind of answered these both at the same time. Anyhoo.

I have talked about this before (erm, more than once), but I am so excited for the chance to talk about it again!!

Ice is an introvert. He is careful and precise and he takes great pains to keep himself composed. Names are so important, and the call signs are also very important, because they're names that the pilots have earned. It's what they're called when they're in the cockpit and since life is what happens when they're in the air, the call signs are more important than their given names. And Iceman—just like Maverick, but in an entirely different way than Maverick—wears his proudly, and he works to fit it, and sometimes it becomes a mask, a shield. People who are so highly disciplined and ask so much of themselves, who work so hard to be the best always and never to let anyone see them when they're down, are under an enormous amount of pressure. They are walking a tightrope at all times, and they're doing it with their shoulders back and their eyes forward, but that motherfucker shakes. Usually people who are that tightly controlled are that way because they've been damaged as children, and/or because they're deeply insecure, so there are Layers.

Honestly, my favorite parts of Ice are the moments we get to see when he does not feel the need to hold himself like that, when he relaxes enough to show what's behind the mask. I love the moment in the TAC room where he is just lolling against the railing, sunglasses on, head down, just So. Fucking. Bored. It's a beautiful contrast to a lot of what we're shown of Ice, and it's also something that struck a chord with me personally, because that was me. That is me. Through most of life.

In America we have this bullshit called "Gifted and Talented" programs where they take the kids who are working ahead of everyone else and give them a little extra project to do like once a week or some shit. I always thought of myself—and I think of Ice this way—as Gifted and Talented and BORED. American public schools are woefully underfunded, and while there are definitely children who are left behind—I have a friend who teaches college English, and she often has students who cannot read. This is not hyperbole. They have graduated from American public schools illiterate.—the children who are working faster than everyone else are also a problem, because there's nothing to do with them. Teachers have 30+ students in every class, and they have to focus on getting everyone on the same page, which meant for me (and many others) that I spent a huge amount of time, throughout my entire public school career, in class unsupervised with nothing to do. Carly, sit quietly and read. Carly, why don't you work on assignments for other classes? Carly, have you done ALL the assignments for this class? Have you read THE WHOLE textbook? Carly, go see if you can spend the rest of the period in art. I started getting migraines in high school and would not infrequently just lay my head down and then sleep for an entire class, and not once did any of my teachers ever say anything about it.

There's this perception of Ice as aggressively rule abiding, but he's NOT. That's not it. The arguments he has with Maverick are all about collectivism and working as a team; he never gets on Maverick's ass about following the rules. And the thing is, Ice is occasionally irreverent and pushes against boundaries he can get away with. Did you know chewing gum is against the Navy's uniform code? THAT BOY ALWAYS HAS SOMETHING IN HIS MOUTH. He chews gum in the cockpit flying Mach 2. When Viper is handing out assignments and Ice responds to his SO with, "Yo," my heart sings. We love to see it.

(And let us never forget that it is, in fact, Iceman Kazansky who is a brat in every room of this house.)

Oh geez why did you let me talk so long? OKAY. FINALLY. The actual answer to your question is:

When Ice confronts Maverick on the deck of the Enterprise, he BLOOMS. His frosty mask and his tightly held composure drop away in an instant, and he smiles and it's like SUNSHINE. (Also his little orbicularis oculi muscles contracting KILL ME DEAD, but that's slightly beside the point.) I love it so much. I love him so much. I'm going to cry.

Thank you for playing.

[acinongalli]

Was not tagged, but Nameless left the invite open, so...

1. were you named after anyone?

yes, my legal name is technically a biblical name (mega cringe) though it only appears once in the whole book. (name would be Ethan, btw) My preferred name, Galli, comes from my legacy days in Sea of Thieves, when I would solo on a galleon. People called me Galli and I loved the name so much I kept it all these years.

2. when was the last time you cried?

My grandfather, one of my greatest allies and friends, died two days ago. I miss him a lot...

3. do you have kids?

Brother, I'm only going to be 19 this year, I hope I dont have kids.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Irl, almost every other sentence. Online, tone can be a bit harder to decipher, and I never got into using tone indicators. If I'm gonna specify I'm being sarcastic, isn't that like explaining a joke to someone. Might as well be dead serious/funny.

5. First thing you notice about people.

Usually eyes or body language (tense, relaxed, etc). I'm small and light, so I always read body language in case someone wants to start some shit with me.

6 eye color?

green-gray / blue-grey, kinda depends on the lighting. I've heard both used to describe me.

7. scary movies or happy endings?

I get massive second-hand anxiety from the smallest things, so I prefer happy endings. If only realistic endings were an option...

8. special talents.

Very advanced reading speed and vocabulary (i was the kid reading entire textbooks out of boredom), proficient writer, and invisibility/stealth, because people rarely ever notice me, even professors and my family.

9. where were you born?

San Diego, California is what's on the birth certificate. I call Munich, Germany my other birthplace though, since my parents had just immigrated from there right before i was born. So legally its only San Diego, but mentally, both ;3

10. hobbies.

I do writing, coding, play guitar/drums, some art (I suck), and local esports. Also hiking, when possible. The American South has very few worthy mountains, unlike Cali.

11. pets?

yep, I myself have a dog, but my aunt who lives in our house has 2 dogs of her own I help care for. (left is one of my aunt's dogs [they're twins so both look the same], right is my big lovable chocolate lab-pit mix.)

12. sports?

I play golf. thats about it. Most other sports could get me trampled like the runt I am. :|

13. How tall are you?

5'4-5'5... hmph.... as a bonus, since i mentioned it before, also weigh 102 lbs. Some of my buddies use me as a exercise weight (once a battering ram. ow) plz dont call me smol like others do.

14. fav subject in school?

Computer Science. The teacher was a retired soldier and gave 0 fucks as long as you didnt bother him. 3 highschool years of playing games and watching youtube in that class.

15. dream job?

Cybersecurity Manager. hence 3 years of Computer Science classes. Got most of the certifications too. Maybe one day... Author is a close second though.. if you couldnt tell from previous answers. :>

ill tag @disconekt13ff @the-vamp-ram @your-favorite-closeted-bi @amingethia and @not-ur-goth-girlfriend. I cant remember any more people off the top of my head. Anyone else seeing the post, feel free as well lol.

I take my leave now...

15 questions, 15 people

I feel like I might've done this before? I forgor

tagged by @asbealthgn

1. Are you named after anyone?

kinda sorta- I changed one of my names to my grandma's last name because she's my hero

2. When was the last time you cried?

like yesterday I think (death of a book character)

3. Do you have kids?

FUCK NO

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

yeah but I can't tell if I use it too much ya know?

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

their eyes I guess? either that or nose because I'm short

6. What's your eye color?

very dark brown

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings, I'm a big baby

8. Any special talents?

I can copy pretty much any drawing without needing to trace

9. Where were you born?

east coast united states

10. What are your hobbies?

just reading and playing video games (slime rancher, minecraft, and stardew are my go-tos)

11. Do you have any pets?

three dogs and a cat

12. What sports do you play/have played?

I played baseball when I was 7, I miss it

13. How tall are you?

5'3" (ew)

14. Favorite subject in school?

science! english class took the joy out of writing

15. Dream job?

don't judge ok: youtuber/streamer (cringe ik)

tag list: @kinddogg @beep-beep-robin @rat-teefs @navnae @unclewaynemunson @dictionarydyke @steviesbicrisis @princessstevemunson @strawberryspence @legitcookie @azrielgreen @infinite-orangepeel @hey-rowan @stevethehairington @heavenlycrashes

[majahu]

Scream: Ski Trip

I tried following the plot of scream (at least for the beginning) and there are spoilers, so I wouldn't recommend reading this if you haven't seen the movie. I also tried not to be super graphic writing this, but if you're sensitive to violence, mentions of murder, and mentions of sexual assault then I wouldn't read this story. I originally intended for it to be a Stu Macher x Reader x Billy Loomis story but it's kind of a slow burn and also

SPOILER ALERT

I didn't want the reader to forgive them for being literal murderers.

Also it takes a couple chapters for ghostface and (Y/N) to actually interact but I'm building it up so bare with me.

This is also posted on my wattpad (@ majaahu)

Prologue

Word count: 1,320

You woke with a start, sitting up in bed and gasping for breath. Beads of sweat dotted your forehead as your eyes darted around your bedroom, searching for some imagined threat that wasn’t there. You had been having the same nightmare over and over again for the past week: you were in a house you didn’t recognize, a room to be specific. You weren’t sure how you got there but you were panicked, searching the room for a way out. There were no windows, only a door who’s knob was shaking vigorously as if someone was trying to get in. Just before the door burst open and you saw who was on the other side, you always woke up. You mentioned this nightmare to your parents but they said it was probably just stress since semester finals were coming up.

Practically jogging up to the school, you spotted your friends, Sidney and Tatum on the sidewalk outside. “Hey guys!” You smiled cheerfully, walking up to them and shaking snowflakes out of your hair. They looked over at you, lacking the same enthusiasm. “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Oh god! You don’t know?” Tatum said, tucking a strand of short blonde hair behind her ear.

“Know what?”

“Casey Becker and Steve Forrest were killed last night.”

Sidney flinched as you stared at your friends in disbelief, the familiar feeling of dread creeping up in your stomach. “What?!”

“Yeah.” Tatum responded, “her parents found her hanging from a tree… insides on the outside.” You clapped a hand over your mouth, “I think I’m gonna be sick” you barely had the stomach for these things in the movies, much less in real life.

“Do they know who did it?” Sidney asked, also looking a little queasy.

“Fucking clueless.” Tatum said, “They’re interrogating the entire school.”

The three of you walked into the building, with a small sympathetic smile at them you split off and headed to your locker. Today was going to be a rough day.

Pulling your physics textbook from your locker, you heard a loud bang as a hand slammed into the locker next to you. “Fuck!” You gasped, whirling around to face a toothy grin and pair of baby blue eyes. “Not funny Stu!” You glared, shoving your textbook into your backpack. “Calm down nerd,” Stu said, tussling your hair “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Everyone’s so depressed today.” “Can you blame them?” You looked up at him, whispering, “Casey and Steve were murdered!”

“Yeah, yeah… I better walk you to class the, you know, to protect you and all” he said, flexing his arm and winking at you. Walking down the hallway with Stu at your side, you headed towards your physics classroom. “You should try having some tact, you know. It couldn’t hurt.” Stu could be funny sometimes but you didn’t think he should be joking at a time like this when half the school was grieving. “Aw come on, (Y/N) don’t be mad at me, I was only messing with you.” He nudged your arm. “Yeah, whatever.” You said, splitting off from him and heading into class, not bothering to continue the conversation if he wasn’t going to take you seriously.

You spent the whole class thinking of Steve and Casey, you heard comments in the hall about how they had both been gutted and your stomach twisted. You couldn’t help but imagining the most gorey scenes featuring your two classmates. You were torn from your thoughts as you heard your teacher repeating you name. “Sorry, Mr. Bentley. I was distracted.” “It’s your turn,” he responded, nodding to the classroom door.

Your interview didn’t last long and you felt a little at ease with Tatum’s brother Dewey being there. They asked you if you knew Casey or Steve well and if you knew anyone who would want to hurt them, but that was it, no interrogation. You headed out to the courtyard, lunch in hand, though you weren’t sure if you’d be able to eat today with everything that was going on. You and your friends always ate in the courtyard, and despite the chill, you were glad for the fresh air. You sat down next to Billy and Sidney, Billy nodding at you. Tatum was rolling her eyes and calling Stu sexist. “Casey and Steve were completely hollowed out! Takes a man to do that.” “How do you gut someone?” Sidney said quietly as Billy draped an arm around her shoulder. Stu leaned in “you take a knife and slit from the groin to the sternum.” The group collectively rolled their eyes. “What?” Stu said defensively, putting his hands up, “she asked.”

“It’s called tact, you fuckrag.” Billy snarled at him. “That’s what I said…” you mumbled under your breath. Randy and Stu continued to make crass remarks while Billy yelled at them. “Hey, are you okay” Sidney said, reaching over Billy’s legs and poking you in the arm. “Yeah, just thinking about Casey and Steve… do they really think a student did it? I mean, who could do something like that, murder their own classmates like nothing? I feel sick just thinking about it.” You frowned as Sidney got up from her seat and moved to sit on the other side of you, giving you a small squeeze. You and Sidney had been best friends since childhood, and although this was maybe the worst moment of your life, you were happy to have her by your side. She always knew what to say to make you feel better.

Your attention snapped back to the conversation when Randy brought up Stu and Casey’s short lived relationship. “What are you saying? That I killed her or something?” “Stu was with me last night.” Tatum said, smiling at her beefy idiot boyfriend. Randy and Stu continued talking about the gross details of the murder, all while Stu and Tatum were engaged in some light PDA. You stepped away from the group, taking your stuff over to a neighboring bench and burning your head in your hands.

You felt a hand on your back as someone sat down next to you, “What’s the matter doll?” Billy said, offering you a small smile. “It just seems like nobody is taking this seriously, like people are excited or something!” You looked over at Randy and Stu, still cracking jokes. Stu said something about Liver and everyone rolled their eyes. You turned towards Billy, “I didn’t even know them but still… How’s Sidney holding up?” You couldn’t even imagine how your friend was feeling, worrying that this was bringing back some trauma for her. “She’s getting through it” Billy said, “and we’ll always be here for her right?” He said, guiding you back towards the group.

[meltwonu]

| 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 |     [Chapter 1] 

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x reader

this chapter’s notes; fratboy!wonwoo, dom!wonwoo, dirty talk, masturbation, sex toys, mentions of sexting/sending photos/videos, baby this has hella plot lmao dkhf 🥴💕 WELCOME TO UNTIL I MET YOU!! THE MINI-SEQUEL TO CAFFEINE! A bit of a shorter chapter but I didn’t want to overload with too much everything in the first chapter, ykwim? 😎 Thank you so much for your patience with this sequel, I know there were a ton of people asking for a sequel for months after I said I would 💕😭😭 As always, inbox roundup tomorrow! And don’t forget, next chapter for UIMY goes up on Feb 26th! T|H ch 1 next Friday! 🥰💕 Enjoy ch 1, have a great weekend and I love you! 💕

chapters; 1 - x - x - x - x

“Mmh… Wonwoo…”

His hands roam all over your naked body; warmth spreading all over when he digs his blunt fingernails into the skin of your waist.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Did you miss me, sweetheart?” His voice is soft, gentle, yet teasing; barely above a whisper as your back bows off of the bed to lean into his simple touches. “I missed you, sweetheart. Missed your ‘lil cunt too.”

A choked sob falls from your lips, followed quickly by rushed, hurried cries for Wonwoo to move faster.

“Don’t you want me to take my time? We haven’t seen each other in months.” 

There’s a smirk on his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief when you reply back with a shaky whine. “Don’t you want me to slide my cock into your pretty ‘lil pussy nice ‘n slow? Let you feel every inch of me filling you up, just like it’s the first time all over again.” He stares at you dreamily; fixated on the way your body chases his hands when he drags them down to your thighs. “Or would you prefer it if I fucked you hard and fast? Your cute body squirming and trembling from how good I give it to you and my cock slamming into your tight ‘lil cunt.”

Wonwoo’s fingertips spread your folds as he licks his lips; appreciating how wet you already were for him.

“Bet your toys don’t feel as good as the real thing, huh?”

You shake your head ‘no’ furiously, “N-no, god, no! Wonwoo, p-please!” The male grins down at you, pouting mockingly at your desperate, pleading eyes. 

The wetness between your legs is unbearable and the sobs are caught in your throat when Wonwoo leans over you, lips ghosting across your own.

“Okay. Just say--”

You’re shocked awake by your alarm clock; chest heaving in deep breaths as you sit up in your crumpled sheets. “Oh, fuck...” Groaning, your clammy palms reach for the ringing device as you shut it off and sigh.

The clock reads 10:02AM; tired eyes trying to blink away the sleep that threatens to take you back to the dreamland you much preferred. Although, dreaming about Wonwoo was becoming a little bit too common these last few days.

Sighing once more, you move to get out of bed; already finding your panties soaking wet and sticking to you like a second skin when you stand.

“Ugh... Damn it.”

You press the vibrator harder onto your clit; teeth chattering with the pleasure that pours over your body.

“Oh, god, please, p-please…”

Images of Wonwoo dance behind your eyelids; sultry smirks and teasing glances bringing you closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm.

If there was anything that the last few months without Wonwoo taught you, it was that you couldn’t afford to lose him - in more ways than one. And despite his lack of calls or even text messages, you held out in hopes he still felt the same way that you did despite the distance.

You sent him pictures and videos of yourself often; teasing images half naked, toys in hand, and videos crying out his name while you came. And while he took the time to reply to those with praise and adoration, he almost never sent anything back. 

When he did, it was always short, clipped replies of how exhausted he was and how he didn’t have much time.

“Ngh, h-harder…” Your toes curl against the bedsheet; phantom feelings of his cock fucking you hard and deep making you cry out in desperation to be filled by his cock.

Your phone rings on the nightstand next to you as you cum - vibrator pressed so hard against your clit that your back bows off of the sheets while your thighs shake uncontrollably. 

And for the first time in a long time, it’s an orgasm that feels like it’s worth something.

‘Gyu: hey did wonwoo text u?

‘Gyu: he’s back next monday he said

‘Gyu: idk abt classes tho, might be out of commission for a while bc jetlag

‘Gyu: thinking abt throwing him a party on friday after he comes back...

‘Gyu: u wanna plan with us orrrrr? U got a private party or sth 🥴😏

‘Gyu: lmk

You’re nervous. Shy, even.

After you’d come down from your orgasm and checked your phone, your mind momentarily went blank from shock and the first thing you’d done was text Wonwoo to ask if he was really coming back that soon.

‘Ah, yeah, I was just about to text you. Prof said we can go home early if we wanted since we finished up classes. I’ll see you sometime next week? Jetlag and stuff.’, was all he had said and in your excited state, the only thing you had responded with was an, ‘Okay, great!’, without asking when, where, or what time.

You figured you’d give him some time to readjust instead of bombarding him as soon as he got in. But each second that you knew Wonwoo was home, you found yourself itching to just be in his presence.

You just had to be a little more patient.

Wednesday morning comes and you find yourself skipping your morning class to go to the library.

For studying, you tell yourself.

The male at the receptionist table shoots you a small smile to which you awkwardly smile back before ducking into an empty aisle. All you knew was that it seemed like Wonwoo wasn’t here.

Maybe he’s still at the frat house, you wonder.

Sighing slightly under your breath, you decide that maybe getting some work done would actually help distract you from looking for the male.

You find an empty table, setting your things down before pulling out your phone. 

In all honesty, you weren’t even sure why you were being so shy and nervous about contacting Wonwoo, especially when you so unabashedly sent him nudes every few days when he was away. 

Although, with how things had been before he left and the prospect of actually dating once he came back from his semester abroad - the butterflies in your stomach had been nonstop with the different scenarios that played out in your head. You’d even gone so far as to plan what happened if Wonwoo had decided he didn’t want to make an attempt at dating you.

“Sweetheart?”

The grip you have on your phone only tightens as you whip your head around to find Wonwoo standing behind your chair and you swear your heart stops beating the same time your breath gets caught in your throat. “H-huh?”

He smiles gently down at you and you can’t help but wonder how long you were spaced out to not notice him there. 

“Is this a dream too?” You wonder aloud - Wonwoo chuckling in response as he moves to collect your things for you.

“Have you been dreaming about me that much, sweetheart?” You stutter and stumble over your words; embarrassment eating at you every second that Wonwoo has a knowing smile plastered on his lips.

“C’mon, let’s go get something to eat since we both know you’re not really here to study.”

The version of Wonwoo that sits across the cafe table is… different.

Not bad, just different.

His arms are much tanner and definitely more muscular and the glasses missing from his face lets you appreciate his eyes even more when they’re not hidden behind the thick frames. He had even opted to wear a sleeveless shirt; something that you weren’t used to when he usually was around campus in long sleeves and sweater vests.

Although, you can’t and won’t deny the way your body reacts to this Wonwoo.

“Hey, I’m talking to you and you’re just spacing out.” Muttering, he leans over the small cafe table until his face is only inches away from yours and the smirk on his lips already lets you know that you’ve been caught staring.

“Listen, I know I’ve been gone for three months but you’re lookin’ at me like you haven’t had a fix in all that time.” Your lips press into an embarrassed firm line, avoiding his stare as he raises a brow at you.

“Wait, you didn’t fuck anyone in the three months I was gone?”

“No… did you?” Your voice is barely above a whisper; a little afraid that his answer will be ‘yes’ when he takes a second longer to respond.

“Nah,” He settles back into his seat, “I told you, didn’t I? I was willing to try the whole… dating, relationship thing with you when I got back. Although, I’m somewhat surprised one of the others didn’t try to seduce you while I was gone.”

You laugh slightly, cheeks warm as Wonwoo teases. “I wouldn’t have given them the time of day anyway.”

Your entire body burns hot, palms clammy in your lap from how giddy you were to be with Wonwoo and it made your heart do backflips knowing that he’d still been willing to try with you.

“Ah, how was it abroad anyway? You… didn’t really say much over the past few months so I feel like I don’t know how you were. Just some messages about how tired you were...” He takes a sip of his coffee; unintentionally making you internally scream when his lips form a pout while he thinks.

“Honestly? Other than the days we were excavating ‘n stuff, it was pretty boring. Really hectic though, and a lot of documenting which meant a lot of paperwork. I swear, I closed my eyes and I saw the inside of my textbooks.” He chuckles lightly, eyes focused on the cup of coffee in front of him.

“I just want to say sorry for my lack of communication. I really didn’t expect to be so busy that I couldn’t even pick up a call.” There’s a genuine apologetic look on Wonwoo’s face when he looks back at you. “And the time difference was really rough too. I didn’t want to take it out on you over the phone if I was stressed about not sleeping or the workload. I know we can get a little rough when we ‘play’ but this wasn’t that and it wouldn’t have been fair.”

Oh.

“T-that’s okay, I understand!” Your heart does somersaults in your chest, “I--thank you for thinking about me too.”

The feelings you have bubbling up inside of you make you feel like you’re falling in love for the first time, all over again. “Um… Sorry I sent so many pictures ‘n stuff.”

Wonwoo laughs, this time throwing his head back slightly before he tries to hide his wide grin. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t apologize.” Your eyes meet his and for a split second, you see the familiar dominating look in his eyes before he leans over the small cafe table again.

“I might’ve not had all the time to entertain you those times but I thought about you alllll the time. I missed everything about you.” His voice is barely above a whisper - careful to not let anyone else in the cafe hear the topic of conversation. “Which, by the way…You piqued my interest earlier with your question. You never really answered my question about having dreams about me.”

You shift in your seat as you avert your eyes from his; eyes flitting down his toned body instead as you mentally curse yourself.

“I… kinda? I m-mean… not normally but just--just these last few days. It’s almost been every night… I wake up and--and it’s just… I’m...” You trail off; somewhat shy to say the rest of what you were going to say even though you’re almost certain Wonwoo already knows.

“Odd. Me too. I kept dreaming about you, which is, honestly, kind of why I thought to come back earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Mm, we still had 2 weeks left, technically. A bit of a spillover since my professor wanted us to explore the city once finals were over. But I just wanted to come home.” He finishes with a chuckle - a soft look in his eyes.

You pout back at him, “You didn’t come home early just for ‘lil ‘ol me, did you?” You say it jokingly, but deep down you do wonder.

“Would that be so bad?” Grinning, Wonwoo sets a couple of bills down onto the table to cover the meals you both barely have touched.

“Like I said, I missed everything about you, sweetheart.”

Wonwoo walks you back to your place afterwards; laughing and joking with you as if he hadn’t been gone for the last 3 months. 

There’s a certain playfulness about him that makes your heart bloom and part of you wonders if he’s opening up to you more now that there’d been some time apart.

“Are you gonna be working at the library again? Or is that done forever now?” “Mm.. I mean, it’d be kind of weird if I stopped, don’t you think?”

The grin of his face is telling and you have to mentally stop yourself from letting your mind wander in the middle of the sidewalk. “Y-yeah... Studying in my apartment isn’t really the same, y’know…”

Laughing, Wonwoo takes the opportunity to swing an arm around your shoulder as he tucks you under his arm. “I was actually at the library earlier to ask about my position back. I start tomorrow.” Goosebumps rise on your skin and the close proximity is enough to make you whimper.

“I’m only taking two classes this semester to give myself a bit of a break so I’ll be in the library more often to fill up the time. You can always call me if you need to know where I am. I promise I’ll respond this time, sweetheart.”

Before you know it, the two of you are already standing outside of your complex as Wonwoo takes his arm off of you.

“Will I be seeing you tomorrow?” There’s a hopeful lilt to his voice that has you nodding feverishly in return.

“I have a morning class but I’ll come by in the afternoon? I can text you to let you know, just in case.” You offer back.

Wonwoo licks his lips, tilting his head before leaning down and kissing you on the forehead.

The soft gesture momentarily throws you off as you freeze but the smoldering look in Wonwoo’s eyes when he pulls away lets you know that he’s already scheming.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”