#there is probably MORE to say but also i got class in like.... hour and a half | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

usedpidemo · 1 month ago

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Savior (aespa Karina)

“Someone help me. Please!”

“Scream as loud as you can, no one’s coming to save you, princess.”

“That’s right. So just be a good girl and give us your money.”

“Help!”

It’s at this point where, against your better judgment, you stop dead in your tracks. The damsel in distress’s right behind you, backed into a corner by two bullies. Her possessions are strewn all over the floor, purposefully kicked out of her reach. There hasn’t been much physical harm done to the girl, but she looks to be the delicate type—someone who’s bound to crumble and break after a few hits.

Looking over your shoulder, the two students spot you and turn their attention against you immediately, recognizing you as a threat. “Hey,” says the first student, stepping forward to intimidate you with his burly physique. “This has nothing to do with you. Run along if you don’t want to join this loser over here.”

“Yeah. Don’t go around acting tough just cause you got two other guys with you. Just keep it pushing,” says the second thug, lankier in figure, in agreement with his partner.

Standing your ground, you steel your resolve, having no intention to run. In fact, it’s the complete opposite: you’re down for a fight. Your two companions also follow suit.

“So you wanna be a hero? You’re gonna regret it,” the first bully says, cracking his fists, ready to swing. “Oh, you’re so gonna regret it!”

That is to say, he’s the one who’s about to regret his life choices.

Like a raging bull, the thug lunges toward you, only for you to swiftly kick his legs from underneath, sending him flying across the hallway before he violently lands head first on the ground, most certainly giving him a concussion. He’s done.

The second bully tries to throw a follow-up punch, but you stop its momentum with one hand. Twisting it sideways, the bones crack loud, immediately followed by a screech of pain from his lungs. He drops to the floor in agony, holding his bent knuckle with his healthy arm.

“Oh—oh God—oh fuck—fuck—” Tears flowing from his eyes, he grovels in extreme discomfort, unable to stand before you. “What are you—”

“Now run,” you order, and he promptly complies, hopping off the ground, then fleeing in the opposite direction.

All that’s left is the girl. She had been watching the entire time. She’s overjoyed.

“Y-you saved me,” she says, tone relieved and her spirits held high. “How can I thank you—”

“Don’t push it,” you tell her, already walking away with your companions, waving her off. You don’t help her as she gathers her belongings. “Don’t get yourself in danger next time.”

Part of you already has second thoughts saving this girl. Jimin, the name written on her ID, is undeniably pretty, but you have nothing to gain from this encounter—or from her. She’s only studying in this university on a scholarship, and it shows in her appearance: she’s not the cleanest, nor is as well dressed as everyone else on campus. At best, you’ll probably get called into the office regarding this incident, as well as getting another target placed on your back by those bullies.

None of which are worth a drop of your concern. You can study anywhere else; you have the resources and the connections courtesy of your rich family, and the two companions by your side are your trusted bodyguards that have been with you since childhood. You can honestly live out your whole life without even lifting a finger. Generational wealth is the ultimate lifehack.

And yet, you’re in college at the behest of your parents, who spend more time abroad than at home. This is you going through the motions, looking after yourself.

After the next class, right as everyone’s packing their things and exiting, you spot her again. Jimin’s natural beauty is a lovely sight for the eyes. It’s only now do you realize you’ve shared at least one class with her. Maybe more; you’re too oblivious to the world around you to really notice. You only care about the bell that rings at the top of the hour so you can finally go home.

“Hey,” Jimin suddenly calls out to you, having noticed you glancing at her every now and then. You attempt to feign ignorance, but she approaches you and seizes your hand, catching you red-handed. “Can I speak to you, please?”

She sounds too nice to turn away. You’d be in the wrong to ignore her.

Still, you won’t fully look at her, the glint in her eyes blinding. You can only pray this is a brief exchange. “Sure. But make it quick.”

“I just want to say thank you—for earlier,” she says, her voice warm and sincere. She’s shaking your hand in appreciation; you allow her. “I’m not as rich as everyone else here, as you can see.” She looks down at her modest wear, apologetic about her appearance for some reason, “So—I don’t really have much. I’m only here on a scholarship—”

“Right.” You interrupt her, trying your hardest not to sound annoyed or bothered, though some of that impatience permeates through your filter. “Anything else you wanna say?”

Jimin becomes flustered, seemingly aroused by your low voice. A brief glance reveals her cheeks flushed red, her body trembling anxiously. She can’t have her way with words, either. “S-sorry. I just wanna say if you need help with schoolwork or anything, my services are available! My grades are good, I promise! That’s all. Again, thanks and see you around!”

Before you can even say a word or call her name, she already has one foot out the door, along with her belongings.

—————

One look at the student database proves her point: Yu Jimin, nickname Karina, might be what she advertised: an academic genius.

Her grades are mostly in the mid nineties across the board, if not low nineties. She’s only a year away from graduating—alongside you. The offer lingers on your mind, positively tempting.

“Sir, this just seems like a waste of money,” your one bodyguard turned hacker tells you, swiveling his desk chair around to face you. “There are more reputable tutors with better qualifications we can fly in from across the country if you really need a personal tutor. Also, your grades are good as they are. You don’t seem to be struggling with any specific major or subject right now. There’s no reason for this.”

“Yeah, and whose money are we spending?” you reply, annoyed at his admittedly sensible comment.��

“What will your family say about this?”

“Did I ask to be enrolled in this university? This course? Besides, they’ve never shown up for any of my graduations! I doubt this will be any different in a year or so. Go find her number so I can contact her.”

Sighing in defeat, he eventually acquiesces. They have to. “Of course, sir.”

—————

The next day on campus, Karina’s seated at the dining hall with her friends. Her eyes can only focus on one thing, or in this case, one man: the person that saved her yesterday.

“You’re serious? Him?” Ningning looks concerned about her friend. She’s glaring at him with plenty of skepticism. They all know who he is. Not Karina, though. “That guy’s no good at all.”

“What are you saying?” she looks at her, puzzled at her comment. “He really did save me from those bullies. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yeah, but like—he’s not a good person!” Giselle frowns at the man, hiding the bottom half of her face behind her hands. “He’s a chaebol kid. He’s seriously no good! I’ve heard he gets into fights often; that's why he has bodyguards to intimidate anyone who tries to oppose him.”

“Rumor says he’s in cahoots with some crime syndicate—or at least his dad is,” Minjeong interjects, more trepid than anything. “That’s how he got his money. Who knows what kind of evil they might be doing!”

“But he was nice to me yesterday! If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have tried to save me, you know?” Karina stubbornly pays no heed, insisting her case to them, despite their growing frustration and fright. “You guys are overthinking this way too much.”

“It’s just so he can gaslight you into believing he’s a good guy. Please, Karina, he’s not what you think he is.” Ningning implores for her to listen, but to no avail.

“We’re not saying he’s truly bad, but there are signs,” Minjeong adds, agreeing with Ningning. “We just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look—if he’s actually a bad guy, I’m running, all right? I’m ditching him right then and there, no questions asked.” Karina reassures them, hoping to calm them down right as the man approaches their table. “He’s coming right now.”

While the others silently avoid any form of contact or communication with you, hiding their not so subtle disdain, she happily waves. “Hi. Did you think about it?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, nodding. “I’m interested.”

“Really?” Karina’s eyes gleam at the opportunity. “What do you need help with?”

“Lots. I’ll tell you after class.” Knowing her friends are evidently uncomfortable with your presence, you simply walk past her and through the cafeteria door. “See you around.”

“Bye!” she waves at you again, delighted that you’ve taken up on her offer.

When it’s clear that you’re no longer in sight, Karina’s friends turn to her in utter disbelief.

“Please tell me you’re not going to—”

“I will.”

“Oh, God dammit.”

“Karina, please.”

—————

Later that day, Karina’s waiting by the campus parking lot, holding on to the promise of you showing up. It’s been almost an hour since classes ended and there’s no sign of you anywhere nearby. It looks like you’ll leave her out to dry, until—

“Miss Karina.” A man calls out to her from inside a luxurious car. As the windows roll down, she recognizes the driver as one of your companions. One of the rear doors automatically swings open. “Please step inside.”

Without a second thought, she enters the vehicle before it drives away.

During the ride, the bodyguard asks her a question. “Does Miss Yu have a drink preference?”

She’s slowly taking it all in, flustered at how you’re treating her so generously. It’s overwhelming at times. “N-no. I’m not really a drinker. W-where’s—”

“He has already gone ahead. He’s preparing the house ahead of your arrival. When we get there, you will change clothes before meeting him. At his request, I have been assigned as your personal assistant and driver.”

“Y-you? Assistant?” She can hardly believe it. “Wow…”

Karina is rendered speechless for the rest of the ride. She’s taken aback at her sudden change in predicament. It’s a Cinderella story through and through. The only missing element is some antagonistic force threatening to end this fantasy abruptly, but that’s the least of her worries. What’s more concerning is how she’ll compose herself before you.

Especially when she sees the scale of your house upon arriving. She’s never seen wealth this exceedingly open and grand.

There’s no time to admire the opulence, however. She’s brought inside hastily by your bodyguard. Inside, a team of stylists are waiting, rushing her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms for a complete overhaul. They’re careful to measure her hair, her size, her everything. Everything is done on the spot, with next to nothing in terms of personal input from Karina herself.

—————

You hear it. The gentle, careful steps of heels clicking. Karina’s ready. So are you.

Turning around to welcome her, you’ve got this whole speech practiced and memorized, with a card hidden in your pocket for good measure. Instead, you end up tongue tied; her presence proves overwhelming to the senses. You can only stare in awe. All black dress and matching heels aside, she looks like an angel descended from heaven. Without blemish, without any sort of imperfection. She’s unreal.

Any less of a person you are and you would have fallen to your knees on the spot, groveling on the ground when Karina walks forward, ignoring how nervous she is as you. She modestly smiles, carefully twiddling her fingers. She doesn’t recognize how pretty she is.

It becomes all the more embarrassing when Karina makes the first move. “I knew you were rich, but not this rich.” Her eyes are glancing around the expansive room, admiring all the little details, thankfully dismissing how speechless you are.

“Mhm,” is all you’re able to blurt out, unsure of what to say. In her sight, you’re her hero, her knight in shining armor that can seemingly do no wrong. Meanwhile, you’re overcompensating your lack of social skills by hiding behind a shallow enigma and as much vanity as possible. “Not exactly my money, to be fair. My parents raised me like this.”

You’re trying not to look anywhere in her direction—whether that be her pretty eyes, her warm smile, or her shapely figure in that body-hugging dress. It’s the only way you can function normally without completely falling apart.

“So—you’re gonna introduce me to them?” she asks, her tone saccharine and innocent.

“I wish,” you reply, sighing wistfully thinking about their absence throughout most of your formative years. She’s unaware; you’ll let the insensitive question slide. Only for her. So you immediately change the topic. “Let’s go outside. Our dinner is waiting for us.”

You reach out your hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. In your mind, you’re already jumping around, performing cartwheels in celebration, with fireworks blasting everywhere. For the most part, you’ve been punching up, failing to impress girls unimpressed with your wealth and are far beyond your reach. Everyone else in that campus would kill to be in Karina’s position right now, but something about her caught your eye that no one has.

The purity in this girl’s heart is something else.

Outside, a table full of hearty food is set before you two, a candle lit at its center. Sitting her down on one end before joining her at the other, it’s only background dressing for conversation. She refuses to eat, struggling to make sense of all this. The appeal behind all this luxury is wearing off at an alarming rate.

“What’s up? Not hungry?” you gently ask, already making predictions of her answer. Your designated assistant for her is on standby for anything she wants.

“Not really,” she says, her eyes staring back, wide, accompanied with her innocuous smile. A direct attack on your heart. “I’m—here for tutoring first. I don’t know what this is all for.”

“Yeah. You are here to help me,” you tell her, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts, already in a state of panic. “I’m just—” you swallow a sudden lump in your throat, “welcoming you since it’s your first time visiting.”

“Like, I think this is really cool! I appreciate what you’re doing, but I can’t afford any of this.” Karina’s trying not to put any more pressure on you, but it’s really doing the exact opposite: you’re already seeing signs of a terrible end. “I just thought you were nice because you saved me from those bullies, you know? That’s it.”

“Yeah. I know,” you reply, looking down as the awkward air between you grows larger and larger. See, she has a point: it was never about asking for help, nor was it ever about improving your grades. It was always about her. Something changed overnight. You simply don’t know how to directly convey those feelings.

“So—let’s just keep things between us simple,” Karina proposes. She rises from her seat, walking over with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m here to help you with whatever project, research, whatever—you only have to pay for my services. Is that good enough?”

“Wait. Karina let me ask one thing,” you say, finally mustering the courage to look her directly in the eye.

“What is it?”

“Your friends,” you rapidly blink, “What did they say about me?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that.” Her answer is delivered bluntly, straight to the point.

“They think I’m a bad guy, right?”

“N-no,” Karina stammers. That’s where you catch her. “They never said anything like that—”

Suddenly dragging her by the arm down to your level, you whisper in her ear, “Don’t have to lie, princess. I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s only between us. Promise.”

Karina’s unsure of what to do. She’s quietly keening, lightly sweating, looking around for an out. The points her friends made are starting to make sense, but there’s nothing substantial—not yet.

After taking a moment, she folds. “They think your dad’s working with a syndicate. That’s it! There’s nothing else—”

You lightly shove her away, immediately concealing your face in the opposite direction. You didn’t expect her to catch on quickly. Karina’s utterly shocked by what you just did to her, cupping her cheek.

Empathy overrides every other thought.

“Sorry. I just—” You immediately approach her with a handkerchief, immediately assessing the damages, what little they might be. Karina takes a step back, trembling with fear.

“So, it’s true after all.” Her eyes widen. Gone is that sweet innocence; taking its place is a heightened sense of panic. “You’re really a bad guy—”

“Wait, Karina.” You raise a delicate hand, your voice as calm and little as possible. “Please give me a moment to explain.”

“Go on,” she says, cautiously wary, readying herself to run at any given moment. “But say it quickly,”

Stretching your body out to pursue her, examining her every move, every muscle. It didn’t have to end up like this. Surely, there are safer, more inconsequential ways to explain yourself. What a first date you’ve gotten into.

“It’s—not exactly what you think,” you tell her. Out of all the things to begin your justification, you’ve picked the worst possible choice.

“Really?” Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t buy it. “What’s with the reaction, then?”

Hesitating, you’re scrambling to find a believable reason, only to find just one option: the truth. “I—well—your friends are right, but—my dad doesn’t have anything to do with criminals!”

“So it’s you who’s dealing with them?” she replies, her brows furrowing, glaring at you.

“It’s nothing really serious, though. And I’m not involved with anything either! Believe me, I’m not going to get you hurt!”

Throughout this tense exchange, you’ve both made your way back to the house, one big step at a time.

“Trust me when I say: the only reason why I helped you was because I didn’t want to see you hurt,” you continue, your voice cracking. “Goddamn it—this is why I shouldn’t have stepped in, fuck—”

“You did that because—” she pauses, “you cared about me? For real?”

“I guess so,” you say, nodding vehemently, both your hands still raised high starting to ache. “I don’t do that for anyone! My bodyguards tell me to ignore what’s happening, but I just can’t stand someone as pretty as you getting hurt like that.”

“Y-you think I’m pretty?” Karina blinks, coming out twinkling and doe-eyed at the sudden revelation.

Secret’s out. There’s nothing to hide anymore.

Pausing, you admit, nodding much less energetically, silently cursing yourself spilling your innermost thoughts so casually, “Well, yes. I think you’re beautiful. All the more now.”

Karina stops moving. Her wariness is turning back to more open and willing caution. “So—this was really all for me.”

You continue to nod, this time in agreement. She still has so many questions. About you, your family, your income, your secret dealings. Clearly, her friends are onto something, whether by luck or by some past experience; not a hundred percent, but at least five to ten. It would be rash and irrational to completely trust every word you’ve said. No amount of kindness can possibly make up for the worry you’ve given her—

“Come here,” she says, lunging forward to wrap you in a sudden, tight embrace. Before you can comprehend anything else, her lips are pressed deeply against yours, sealing your fate with a passionate kiss.

That’s where it should have stopped. A better person would have pushed her away, taken things slowly, spoken her through the terms of engagement. Even Karina said it herself; this is a transactional relationship. But seeing as you’re taking lease of her back, as well as her waist, tasting her saccharine lips—it appears as if she’s reneged on her word.

You feel her tongue slip between your mouth, humming these incomprehensible delightful sounds your ears want to hear. It isn’t accidental; the taste takes you by surprise. Can’t show a little weakness, even if you’re close to buckling under the rapid growing pressure. The way she pours herself into the kiss, how she pushes you closer inch by inch—you can tell she’s wanted this. To be treated like a princess, to be treated right. It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from the wrong influence, the only thing she sees is your willingness to take her with open arms.

The only thing pulling you away from her is the ceaseless ringing from a phone.

Karina pulls a phone from her skirt pocket, her eyes tilting down, fingers moving with urgency, furiously typing on the screen. Her cheeks burn a rosy red, ashamed of having to put herself first in this situation. She’s smiling innocently at you, a sight you’ve grown to love even more. You understand if she tells you she’s leaving; you’ve already got her ride home on standby.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pressing buttons, hearing the ringer beep as the message is sent. “I’m still living with my parents, so—” Looking around, she’s shaking her arms loose. “I don’t think I can spend the night here, or come home looking like this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you cut her off, confident, if not a little smug. “Neither of those things are gonna happen. I’ll get your ride ready and your clothes taken care of. But it’s still a little bit early,” you say, glancing at your watch, grinning at the time. It’s barely past seven in the evening.

“I told them I’d be home by around ten tonight,” she remarks, putting her phone away, her gaze returning to you.

“That’s all the time we need.”

—————

Like the gentleman she thinks you are, you escort Karina up the stairs, hand in tow, leading her to your bedroom. Once the door is slammed shut and tightly locked, you immediately drop the act, and you’re back to kissing her passionately again.

You can’t be any less patient. Only a few minutes have passed, and you’re already dreading the end. The feeling of letting her go, of having to go back to your normal life the moment she walks through that door. You can’t imagine interacting like normal students again. Most importantly, you can’t imagine being the bad guy in everyone else’s eyes.

Karina brings out both the best and worst impulses from you. Abruptly breaking the kiss, you shove her onto the mattress, issuing a simple command. “Take that dress off.”

It’s been the only thing racing through your mind ever since. This divine, angelic figure straight out of heaven—effortlessly shining, effortlessly wearing the simple piece like she’s meant to be a canvas to be painted and used.

Gracefully rising from the bed, Karina looks you dead in the eye. Taking one strap in her hand, she pulls it down her shoulder, then the other. Reaching around her back, gravity does the rest. The garment smoothly rides down her body, revealing inch after inch of her skin, until she’s reduced to only her panties.

Kicking the expensive fabric aside, along with her heels, Karina’s near naked presence demands worship.

“Fuck,” is the only thing you’re able to say, and it’s apt—fuck is the only thing you want to do to her. Hard. Fast. Without care for comfort or concern.

Your eyes have no fixed area to rest on. When it comes to Karina, every little part of her is a treat for the senses, whether it be her slim waist, her tummy, her slender legs. But nothing captures and retains the attention quicker than her well-endowed breasts. So huge, so pliable, you can only wonder in amazement at how she’s been able to keep them secret for the longest time.

“Something wrong?” Karina asks, snapping you from your mindless daze, her tiny voice a contrast to the sheer sexiness she’s radiating just by standing there in the nude. God, she’s so blissfully unaware that you’re oh so obviously focused on her tits only; it’s endearing and sweet.

“Nothing. You’re perfect, actually.” Try as you might, you can only linger on her chest, watching them stare back, inviting you to come closer. Her nipples are taut and rigid, ripe for the taking.

The comment makes her face blush brighter. “Thank you.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, your pants already halfway down, shedding them along with your boxers. You’re imagining how they would feel sandwiched between your cock; you can’t help it. You’re stroking yourself to hardness, made substantially easier thanks to the image before you. “Has anyone told you you have perfect tits, Karina?”

“I’ve heard it here and there,” she says, delivered so casually, like it’s something she hears everyday—as she rightfully should. “I guess people sometimes notice through my baggy clothing.”

Pumping your shaft till you’re fully erect, you rid yourself of the rest of your clothes. Button up shirt and coat thrown away carelessly and readily forgotten. Karina takes the hint and slips off her panties, putting you both on equal footing. Creeping toward her, you press your finger on her chin, nuzzling your forehead against hers, setting the mood with a quick peck of her lips. There’s so much you want to do, visualizing all the possibilities with a body like hers.

“I want to touch you,” you tell her, tone low, sultry. Your hand traces down her collarbones, pointing out where they want to be: on her chest.

“Go. Anything you want, but promise me one thing,” she replies, mimicking your inflection. Any request sounds so much hotter in her voice.

There’s zero hesitation. “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll pour all that cum deep inside me. I’ve been in relationships before. Just—give me a good fucking.”

“I will,” you say, kissing her passionately on the lips, your hands firmly pressed on her tits, watching Karina’s eyes close and open in slow motion. Going down, you leave kisses on her neck, collarbones, before reaching your intended destination: her chest. Burying yourself between her breasts, clamping down on her rigid nipple, forcing a sharp cry out of Karina’s saccharine lips. “I love these fucking tits, Karina. I love them so—so—much.”

“Please.” She coos up to the ceiling, grabbing you by the hair, pressing you further into them, intending to suffocate you—which is a demise you’ll happily go out on. Gasping, panting, struggling to keep herself steady, you both collapse onto the bed, allowing you to fully drink in her breasts. Darting your tongue, sucking on her stiff tits, sloppily leaving wet marks on her otherwise porcelain skin. “So—fucking—needy—”

Karina’s right. You’ve got her pinned down on the sheets like she’s prey, devouring her like a hungry animal. Giving her tits equal attention, going back and forth til you’re satisfied—which will never happen. Not with breasts as delicious as hers. Muffled by her bosom, you can only grunt and groan in appreciation, forgoing your ability to speak to keep satiating your unquenchable need. You love how her skin folds, how they crush in your hands. Squeezing them like your personalized stress balls, making her squeamish and erratic underneath you.

Meanwhile, she can only stick her head out, keening and mewling helplessly as you drown yourself in the heat of her breasts, without care for her personal comfort or yours.

It’s always been part of you—greed. It’s what you were raised on. How you selfishly desire something and will stop at nothing until it’s in your grasp, no matter how little it has in value or how many resources are wasted. Not Karina. She’s one in a million—a diamond in the rough. A treasure worth cherishing over everything else, and you’d give up everything for her without a second thought.

Kissing down her rather tiny figure, her tummy, until you reach the depths of her aching core, already in heat. Looking up at her, so wrecked, so utterly incapacitated, you sink further—and she cries out in pain and in pleasure.

Propping her thighs up in the air, spreading her legs that extra inch wider, Karina cries, cries, and cries. Your tongue sucks away at her sticky nectar, her quivering core, putting immense pressure on her most sensitive spots. Soaking up just how wet she becomes with each passing second, you’ll happily drown in her skin. You love how she clenches, how she throbs and moans a pitch higher with every pass, every lap of your tip against her pussy brings her ever closer to her end.

Had it been anyone else, you would have finished right there. Make them unwind and cum all over your face as you indulge yourself with their juices, then leave them out to dry right after. Instead, you muster up the willpower to restrain yourself, reemerging from the depths of her cunt, before kissing up the path you’ve marked along. You can never grow tired of admiring and worshipping Karina’s breasts.

Brushing loose strands of hair aside to get a look at her pretty face, glowing brilliantly even under duress. Whispering against her ear, you tell her, “Gonna fuck you right now.”

“Do it,” she says, breathless, gasping—and heaving—for air. “Please give it all to me.”

“Always.”

Slowly dragging your cock between her folds, your usually stiff expression gradually disintegrates upon vicious entry, unable to endure how tight she feels. The pulse and flex of her walls pulls you apart in every direction, her cunt threatening to snap you with one wrong move. Every little bit of resolve counts. Your fingers intertwine with hers, holding her down in place, even though she’s nowhere close to fighting back. In fact, it’s the exact opposite; she wants to be taken and used.

The cry of your name escapes from Karina’s lips, delivered like a call for help. A plea. It bounces around the room, echoing repeatedly in your head, the imagery instantly seared into your brain.

“You fill me so fucking well,” she says, breath hot and heavy, her jaw agape as you hover atop her head. Her eyes snap wide open, on the verge of tears, “Does my pussy feel good? Does it feel so tight around you?”

You’re struggling to keep yourself together, showing signs of falling apart. You’re breathing heavily, only nodding back in agreement. The inability to move your body, desiring to stay inside her warmth out of fear it’ll prematurely ruin the moment speaks volumes. It’s a clearer response than any word can ever answer.

Karina lightly rolls her hips forward, the friction far too great to remain still. You can only draw back in painstakingly slow motion, as if pulling a piece out of a collapsible tower. Even so, the feeling leaves you dizzy and lightheaded, the suffocating sensation quickly overwhelming the rest of your functional senses.

This little push is more than enough to set you snowballing further down. Thrusting back inside her heat, her fresh wetness allows you an easier passage in and out of her quivering pussy. Between calculated, deep breaths, you watch Karina take every inch of your cock without any resistance, letting these profanities and praises slip from her lips instinctively, punctuated by the growing echo of your skin slapping skin.

It becomes effortless rather quickly. The slide in and out of her heat. The pace more than enough to let all the ecstasy sink in. How she immediately relinquishes any semblance of control to you. Karina’s glued to the bed by your hands, her body rocking with every stroke, her tits jiggling in a hypnotic rhythm that captures your eyes. So perfect. So right.

Unknowingly, she’s driving you mad. A little bounce isn’t gonna satiate you at this point. One poorly timed blink and you’ll be punishing yourself for it. There’s no going back. You needed more of her.

As the bed violently creaks below, so does Karina’s tiny figure. As quickly as you’ve found the perfect rhythm to pound her, you just as quickly abandon it. Something about her brings out the best and worst in you, and you clearly see why. It’s the bounce—that damned ripple of her breasts, swinging up and down forcing your hips harder against her, threatening to break her. Her words turn to loud cries—of pleasure, of pain, and everything else in between.

“More—oh, baby, please—” she keens, her eyes still completely shut, her lips twisting and contorting, struggling to find her words. Freely offering herself to you no strings attached, she takes it—and takes it all. “Harder—I’m so fucking close—please—”

It’s a request you’re more than eager to oblige.

Taking purchase of her back with one hand, lifting her slightly, and grabbing her breast with the other, you’re hammering away at her hot cunt, gasping. Squeezing her flesh, hearing her whine, turning her usually pale flesh red while her arms find solace on your shoulder—anything to keep your rapidly dwindling resolve from dissolving entirely. The end is imminent; you can only delay it by mere moments, minutes at best.

Karina is so dangerously close, as she said—and as much as you hate to admit, so are you.

It’s a race that you don’t want to win. As much as you want to keep it together for longer, your body says otherwise. You can’t stop fucking her, no matter how hard you wish to try—and even if you did, why would you even contemplate the idea; your thoughts mostly comprise of how incredibly good she feels around your cock, how they pulsate and grip you with every thrust. Moving inside her is second nature at this point. You eventually lay her back down, only so she takes every inch of you when it eventually happens.

“Don’t stop—don’t ever stop—” she pleads, as if your own mind wasn’t enough to invalidate the idea. Her nails cling to your scalp and neck, barely hanging on for dear life. She’s trembling, uncontrollably jerking beneath. Even she herself doesn’t want it to end. “So good—oh God—”

A handful of thrusts later, Karina cums, with your cock buried in the crevice of her cunt.

Once again, her voice shoots up to the sky upon impact, screaming your name, her head tilted far back as the sheets allow her to. Jaw widely slack, her neck and collarbone exposed, she can’t stop trembling through her climax. Writhing in your grasp, she lets out a prolonged moan till her vocal cords flame out, her chest heaving for much needed oxygen.

It doesn’t stop you from pounding into her pussy, even as it overflows with her slickness. If anything, it only accelerates your own demise. The wetness overload coating your cock proves to be overbearing for what little spunk you have left.

“Me too, Karina—” you blurt out, hammering into her, gasping, bracing for impact as well. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

Your own peak overtakes you, rendering you speechless. Everything comes to a standstill. All you can do is bury yourself inside the absolute depths of her pussy, make her take every load, every drop.

Filling the air with a harmonious moan as it hits you, your cock throbbing achingly, full of all that repressed need, and then—release.

Spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum you pour into her womb, not wasting a single drop. Karina cries and moans with every shot, while you can only groan a deep groan from your lungs. She takes it up, milking you of all your worth till you can’t anymore. Even as she drains you empty, you can’t stop pounding into her cunt, slowing your movements back to a grinded out pace till your orgasm dies, and so does your strength.

“That’s it—that’s all I needed—so, so good—”

Karina sighs, her fingers digging deep into your neck, dragging them across your shoulders, then sliding down your arms right after. She can barely open her eyes, only to find you slowly crashing into her, leaning your head to the side so you can rest beside her. Even your hips stop moving. You only have enough energy to wrap an arm around her tiny frame before you finally collapse under your own weight.

“You still have to take me home,” she whispers, mindful of your ear directly next to her, delivered in that oh so saccharine tone.

“I know,” you mutter through the sheets, eliciting a gentle chuckle from her. Karina’s the one coming out of this in a better state.

“Can you do something for me? Please?”

She didn’t need to say the word, but it certainly helps her case tenfold.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I need you to drive me home.” Karina dips her head at an angle to face you. “Not your bodyguards. You.”

Tilting upward to get a good look at her, you lift a curious eyebrow. “I don’t mind—but why?”

“I just—” she faces away, pausing, breathing heavily. She’s about to say something she’ll regret. “Think it would be safer, yeah? Besides, I wouldn’t wanna be caught by my parents just being dropped off by people in suits.”

“Oh right.”

“I mean this is nice and all but—” Karina stops again, lightly brushing your arm away. A reminder that wealth does not equate to relationship. “I think we’d be better off if we kept things strictly professional. You didn’t have to do all this. You were kind to me and that’s more than enough.”

You roll onto your back, staring up directly at the ceiling. You can only hope Karina is doing the same. She shouldn’t see how deflated you look—after you fucked her, no less.

“Karina, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You don’t know exactly what to say. You’re only thinking about the what ifs and the what could, expecting the worst. So you look away, unable to face her a second longer.

Moments later, you feel the sudden tug of her embrace, a leg wrapped around yours. The softest kisses on your shoulder. You can feel her soft smile pressed against your neck. She’s cuddled up on you, intent on never letting go.

“Just keep being kind.”

—————

In the days ahead, it was about saving face.

Karina’s wish has seemingly been lost in translation and disregarded, as you’ve been putting distance from her. Any little sign that she’s around is your signal to leave. It helps when you have two extra pairs of eyes keeping watch and alerting you at once.

All this to reinforce the same statement you’ve heard from her friends: that you’re no good whatsoever.

Cautiously eavesdropping on their conversation through your unassuming bodyguards, you hear Karina’s distress over your earpiece, lamenting to her sisters about your absence in her life.

“I seriously don’t understand you. Are you deaf? Are you stupid?” says Ningning, vindicated about her stance. “He ghosted you. They always do that! Not just him! Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”

“Please trust us. Rina, we’re worried about you,” adds Giselle, her tone showing more empathy and concern. “There’s no use in worrying about a man after you did—that.”

“No no. I want to believe,” Karina replies, insistent on you, ignoring all the red flags being waved around. “He really appreciates the affection I gave him. I have to. He seems like a good person in heart—”

“Ugh—here we go again with that good guy shit,” interjects Ningning, frustrated at her friend’s stubbornness. You hear a powerful thud, presumably from a table getting slammed in anger. “He isn’t a good guy! God, Karina, this is why you get bullied—”

“Hey, Ning. Let’s not go that far,” Giselle interrupts, her tone low. “Everyone’s looking at us.”

Dead silence follows, seemingly lasting an eternity. And then—

“Good job, Ning. She left and you made us look bad in front of everyone else,” Giselle adds, breaking the vast stillness, huffing before the audio goes quiet again.

“All the girls have left the cafeteria,” says your first bodyguard, the one you’ve assigned to Karina the first time.

“That’ll be all. Great work,” you tell them over the earpiece before disconnecting.

You’re not hiding anywhere inside campus. In fact, you’ve been resting in the comfort of your own home the entire time. On your phone’s screen is Karina’s number, having been registered in your contacts since last week. Not once have you bothered messaging her, let alone call—yet you constantly return to it. With each passing day, the temptation to press that button grows stronger and stronger.

You place your phone down on the desk, as if that’s gonna change anything. Seconds later, it’s in your hand, still on those 10 digits. Calling to you, as if her very voice is somehow playing through those tiny speakers. It’s all in your head, yet it feels vivid through your senses.

It all but confirms your own feelings: you can’t move on, and neither can she.

You’re looking around, even though not a soul’s in sight, convincing yourself to turn back before you fall further down. Seeing as there’s not a form of opposition, whatsoever, you pull the trigger, consequences be damned.

In the few seconds between calling the number and her imminent responding, you’re hoping she doesn’t answer. That she sees her friends’ points, to prove that you’re in the right by leaving her to dry.

All it takes is a few key words.

“Hey. I missed you.”

—————

There’s a lot to take in, but first—you swallow your own pride. This is your own doing, after all.

Looking out the window from your couch, it’s already night. Last time you checked, the sun had only begun setting; that was four hours ago, apparently. Meanwhile, Karina lies flat on the bed, every part of her mindlessly used, mindlessly fucked. Her skin gleaming, blemished in a sea of fiery red and sticky white. Her clothes scattered all over the house, their purpose rendered obsolete the moment she walked back in. You were standing there—waiting, expecting. Along with her body, came a simple request, in her words:

“Take me like you fucking missed me.”

Delivered straight to the point, Karina is something else. She’s twisted and cruel in her own way. To make such a demand in the sweetest voice possible—you can only chalk it up to witchcraft. And to think she was the one who wanted to keep things professional.

Any intentions to study and help with projects and research was a complete lie—it was more of a roundabout way for you to get inside her, over and over again. If anything, her body was the primary object of interest.

All the ways you can fuck her, how she wants it—anything to get you to cum in her pussy. And that’s exactly what you did.

Spearing your hips against her frame, you find that Karina is so flexible, malleable to your every whim. How she complies without complaint or moment of hesitation, propping herself in whatever position your mind thought of in the moment, and there’s a few you were dying to try. On her fours, with her legs spread wide, on her knees, making an example out of her. So utterly shameless.

And God, she takes it all quite effortlessly, like it’s second nature to her. Milking you dry with her cunt, with her mouth, making you cum with some friction from her tits—everything is a little too easy. Taking just one look at her perfectly sculpted figure, it makes a lot of sense. Yet, Karina has to explain to everyone else why she can’t walk properly in the morning.

A week’s worth of repressed desires and wanton needs, completely gone in a few short hours. It may as well have been a year, maybe two, since you last met.

You can only watch from a distance, from your couch, as everything falls apart. Even a single second that you’re at arm’s length and she’d be burying your grave deeper. As if it’s gonna change tonight’s outcome.

Like a reanimated corpse coming back to life, Karina rises from the bed, assessing the damage. It’s quite a lot. She’s an absolute wreck.

“I think I may have gone too far in some places,” you remark, observing her take your cum into her mouth with her finger.

“I don’t believe that,” she says, taking another scoop and savoring the taste, flashing her pasty white tongue. You instinctively avert your gaze, much to her amusement.

“Christ—Karina, what happened to setting boundaries?” you ask, genuinely concerned. Even if it’s for one night, that’s all it takes for everything to snowball out of control. “I don’t think we can do this on the regular, even if I wanted to.”

“True,” she tells you, matter-of-factly, before stepping on the ground and pacing towards you, limping, barely recovering, “But I got nothing else except you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? You’ve genuinely changed my life,” she says, propping her hands to her knees to lean forward. “No one bullies me anymore. Because they think I’m your girl. I’m your possession.”

The way Karina calls herself yours gives you goosebumps. Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“This is what you’ve done to me,” she continues, tracing a finger down her drenched core, splayed and ruined—your handiwork—before rubbing her slick against your arm, eventually pushing it between your lips. You allow her. Her voice turns a pitch lower with each sentence. “I can’t express how much I need you right now.”

Sinking further back into your seat, you slowly tilt your face towards her, greatly alarmed. “You’re scaring me a little, Rina. We really should—”

She places that same finger between your lips, now to shut you up. Pressing herself forward, straddling on your lap, she makes sure her cum-soaked tits are directly in view of your face, threatening to smother you between them. Her smile is the cherry on top, inviting you to relax the senses and let yourself go in that familiar lust once again. “We can talk about this—on the other side.”

And before you know it, Karina’s riding you hard, with your face buried deep between her chest, worshiping her. You had no chance.

The next time you gain awareness, you’re back in bed, cuddled beside her. With her back against yours, she’s soundly asleep, despite the repeated calls from her phone and your supposed agreement to have her home by ten.

It’s already half past midnight.

“Goddammit, Rina,” you mutter, eliciting a light shudder as your hot breath tickles her skin. “I can’t.”

“Just for tonight,” Karina tells you, as if you aren’t gonna be doing this again tomorrow—and the next night, and the one after. “My parents aren’t home,” she adds, clearly lying through her teeth.

“We seriously need to talk about this,” you tell her, rolling out of bed, scrambling for a fresh pair of clothes from the nearby closet. Meanwhile, Karina remains lying on your bed. She has no intention to leave. You have to reiterate again, “What happened to setting boundaries?”

Even the simple act of propping herself up draws your attention, more so in the nude, especially when she’s glistening in your sheen. The question amuses her; look at her teasing expression, ready to fire back. “You’re the one who called me here. So—”

“Jesus, Karina,” you sigh, working around the clock to get everything in order. Car’s ready, her clothes are in the wash. God willing, she’s actually telling the truth. “Why are you like this—”

She laughs—heartily.

—————

The next day on campus, you make it official. Sort of.

Karina’s friends are seated across the hall, their wary, foreboding gazes singling you out of the whole room. Intentions aside, you have no fight with any of them; it’s nothing personal. After all, it’s her choice. You’ll let them judge. You’re on your own for this one; you’ve told your bodyguards to leave you alone so as to make yourself look approachable in their eyes—even if there’s a negative chance they’ll ever buy it.

Then she enters the room, giving each one a kiss and a hug, as if they’re about to part ways for a long, long time. They’re overreacting; it’s not as though you’ll whisk her away and isolate her in some lonesome high castle.

You get a good look at her when she finally walks over. She’s wearing the new clothes you gave her last night. She makes your heart race with delight.

When she takes her seat directly opposite yours, you can’t help but silently remark, “They really don’t like me.”

She lightly chuckles. “Trust me. I’ve tried.”

“Yeah, I’m not asking them to like me,” you tell her, smiling from ear to ear, reaching out your hand, which she accepts. “I’m just—hoping they’ll see me one day as you do.”

“Sure they will. I believe deep down, you’re really a sweet guy.”

You lower your head, unable to face her, but your face tells it all.

“Just to be clear, you’re not gonna make me actually sign a contract?” Karina asks, puzzled about the need to meet up on campus specifically to set your boundaries. The truth is, anywhere else that wasn’t school would be a distraction.

“Of course not,” you say, baffled at the idea yourself. “Dad usually did the paperwork, and that seems really weird.”

“So is having sex shortly after saving the damsel in distress,” she says, smirking through each word, mentally patting herself on the back for that remark.

Shaking your head in disgust, she laughs at your annoyed expression. That never gets old.

“Right—so what are we then?” Karina leans forward, grabbing your stretched out hand, her eyes widening. She’s looking to kiss you—at least that’s what her face is doing.

Ruminating through your next words carefully, occasionally giving the corner behind her a glance, her friends running through your mind, you reply, “Let’s just say I’m your benefactor for now. I don’t really want anyone to get surprised, and let’s just say, I’m not ready to handle everything just yet. But I want to stay close with you.”

“So we’re friends?”

“Yeah, if that’s how you want to see it.”

“Then there’s no need for this. Aren’t we already close?”

“Well I’m giving you money and clothes, in addition to letting you come over to my place once a week, so—”

Karina tugs your hand forward, interrupting you. “I don’t really need any of this. I just want you to treat me like anyone else. Like a friend. Just do that.”

You end up choking on your own words. Even when she’s admonishing you, Karina remains gentle in tone. And she knows how to bring the conversation around gracefully.

“So, what do you say we go out and have a snack later? After class?”

With a lovely face and smile like hers, you’d be foolish to refuse her offer.

As the bell rings, you’re nodding in agreement when everyone stands up in unison, heading off to their next class. Karina leaves to regroup with her friends, but not without giving you a kiss goodbye as she walks through the door. You can only stare back—smiling.

Then you get a notification on your phone. A text from an anonymous number, seemingly demanding something urgently in all caps. Something about delayed shipments, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

Paying no heed to the message, you’re cancelling your plans for today to make room for your first date with Karina.

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! Was supposed to drop around Christmas, but then the holidays got busy, and then literally the day after Christmas, my dumbass just had to get food poisoned and hospitalized. Oof. Just poor timing all around, damn.

Fun little prompt, I was feeling a little edgy writing this, not gonna lie. Definitely left some clues for when I wanna revisit it. Karina is unfathomably hot, and I'm starting to like aespa a lot lately. They've probably had the best year of any girl group, and it's well deserved. Thank you for reading!)

#kpop smut #aespa smut #karina smut #aespa #karina

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100vern · 5 months ago

Text

ex-conomics | csc

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

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

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

“You’ve got to be joking.”

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

“Um—”

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

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

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

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

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

That, however, was two years ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And continued wearing it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They never do.

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

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

This time it is an accusation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cannot go there again.

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

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

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

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

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

But you did, so it stings all the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Depends. How long do you have?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At this university?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh—yeah, right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

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

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

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

“Not bad, actually.”

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

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

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

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

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

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

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

“Oh. Are you okay?”

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

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

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

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

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

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

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

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

Seungcheol shared a location with you

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

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

“That’s not what I’m say—”

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

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

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Also fruitless.

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

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

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

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

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

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

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

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

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

Kaori invites you to a party.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cut to black.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m sorry.

I love you.

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

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

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And start recording.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you, too.

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

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

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

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

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

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

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

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

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

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

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

“I always will.”

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

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

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

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

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midday-clouds · 4 months ago

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Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 II

Part I Part III Part IV

Thank you so much for the love for the first one! 💞 There are so many ways I can imagine how this story can go and it's hard to pick one or try merging all the ideas. Nonetheless, I hope this meets your expectations!

CW: Stalking, Breaking and entering, Violence(Being stabbed, beating up a thief), Blood, (Menstion of past) Kidnapping

You had officially moved into your apartment in Bludhaven

Everything has moved so quickly and now you can finally relax

You gave up connecting with your family, got kidnapped, died, came back to life and moved out

It may be a bit much to pick the farthest college from the manor but you’re clearly unwanted there

Your family has neglected you and didn't do anything when you were kidnapped, so you have every right to be as far away from them as possible

It was honestly quite lucky that you were already accepted into a college in Bludhaven during your senior year. If you had applied after your kidnapping, the chances of you getting in would have been low.

But you’re here now and can finally feel happy. Well, if you don't count some of the nightmares you get from when you “died”.

Sometimes you do wonder how you survived that gunshot. Were you not hit somewhere vital? But then, where was the hole?

A part of you was curious and wanted to replicate the injury but that would be painful. You surviving the gunshot also could have been a one-time thing

You never ended up going to the police or the hospital because what were they going to do? You don’t have any proof that it even happened because your injury is gone, the blood left at the abandoned building is likely dried up and doesn’t look fresh, and Bruce probably threw away the ransom letter.

The only proof you have that it even happened is your memories and you telling your friends. But the police or doctors would just look at you and say “You look fine now, no need to look into the situation anymore.”

But enough about that though, you’ve got a few more hours before it gets dark and you want to get to know about the area.

It is still the middle of summer so your college classes haven't started yet. You could have waited until class started to move but you wanted to be out before Alfred returned from his vacation.

Alfred was the closest thing to family in the manor. But he and Bruce have never felt like safe adults to share your problems with.

He should be back from his vacation now, has he found out about your kidnapping or did Bruce cover it up? He probably did to avoid getting news out. You should probably look into how you can change your surname.

Just as you finish your thoughts about the manor, you use your laptop to find interesting places in the area before heading out the door with directions in a notebook

Bruce and the rest of the family may know where you are currently, but bringing you back home was the hard part. Alfred had to convince Bruce that if he wanted you back, he shouldn’t just barge in all of a sudden.

You’ve been hurt by the family's actions and won't return without a fight.

But even then, Bruce has to see you. The entire family needs to see you with their own eyes at least once.

With this in mind, the whole family decides to take a small road trip to Bludhaven. They’d find you and figure out the best way to approach you without scaring you off.

It was almost sundown when the family got to Bludhaven. They change into their vigilante gear so it’d be easier to hide in the shadows

Tim loads up the tracker on your phone and leads the way. It seems the tracker you have isn't the best because once the family gets close to your apartment, your phone just says your laptop is nearby instead of its exact location.

No problem though, Tim can easily hack into the computer system for the apartment and find which room is yours.

Once your room is found, the family takes a peek inside. You’re nowhere to be found, which is a little worrying.

The locks on your windows are broken as the family opens them and sneaks inside. Your living room and kitchen are littered with boxes but that’s it. They each take a look around to find you but come out empty-handed. If you were here, they may do exactly what Alfred discouraged and just take you home. However, because you aren’t home, the only other place you could be is outside. Where it’s dark out and you’re alone.

Worried for your safety, the family immediately goes on another search for your

Because you could be anywhere, the family decides to split up to find you

You look around as you walk back to your apartment, a few small bags of food and snacks in your hands. Because it’s getting dark, you do begin to pick up the pace. You’re so focused on not getting home that you don’t notice when a person peeks over at you from a rooftop.

You’re just about to pass a convenience store when someone runs out and knocks into you. The person curses as they quickly get up and reach for their bag of stolen goods. Filled with adrenaline, the thief takes out a knife and stabs you. They were aiming to kill you so there weren’t any witnesses but ended up putting the knife in your shoulder. As the thief makes a run for it, a certain vigilante quickly blocks their path

Nightwing goes full force on the thief. How dare they hurt his baby bird. He refuses to make the same mistake of leaving you alone and hurt.

Your heart is racing as you attempt to pull the knife out of your shoulder. Your eyelids feel weak but you refuse to fall asleep. Unlike before, you aren’t restrained and can still escape.

You pull the knife out and let it fall on the ground next to you. After a few breaths, you do your best to stand up. You take a small glance at Nightwing before quickly running back to your apartment.

Once inside, you almost collapse on the floor but try to get your first aid kit.

Your bandaging may not be that good but the best but it’s enough for you to feel comfortable sleeping for the night

Nightwing got a few swings in before he heard the sound of something falling onto the ground

He looks up to see that you've pulled the knife out of you and about to stand up

Before Nightwing could help you, his opponent throws a punch while he was distracted.

The vigilante shifts his attention to the thief when you suddenly make an escape. Night wing attempts to call out to you but it appears you didn't notice.

He sighs as he handcuffs the thief. This guy was such a hassle that Nightwing almost forgot why he was in such a hurry to wrap up the whole situation

The vigilante turns to where you were but only finds a bloodied knife and the bags you left behind. He carefully picks up the bags and knife while he considers where you have gone.

Spotting a trail of blood, Nightwing quickly follows it, contacting the rest of the family as well

The family gathers at the same spot near your apartment and finds you sleeping in your bed. Wanting to help you, Nightwing comes up with an idea

You lay on your bed, waiting for sleep to consume you when a knock comes from your door. You try to ignore it but the knocking continues. The only thing that gets you up is the realization that the knocking is too loud to be from your door. Opening your eyes, you realize that someone is at your window.

Getting up, you pick up your pepper spray as you slowly walk towards the window. You have your curtains closed so you try to peek past them to see who is there

Who you see is Nightwing and it gets you worried. Does he think you were involved with that other person? He must have seen that the thief stabbed you at least

Not wanting to make the vigilant wait, you open your window slightly. Only enough so you can hear what Nightwing has to say

Nightwing happily greets you and shows you the bag of items that you left behind when leaving the scene.

Surprised, you thank Nightwing and open the window. Making sure to not open the window more than necessary, just enough to collect the bags

Just as you reach for it, the vigilante points out your bandaged shoulder. He goes on to say the importance of properly handling injuries and offers to rebandage your arm.

It takes you a couple of moments before you agree to his help.

Like a big brother, he sits you down and redoes the bandages. Honestly, it makes you wish your actual big brothers would care for you in this way. Even though one of them is right in front of you

Once your shoulder has properly been bandaged, you thank Nightwing for his help. He offers to stay the night but you tell him that you’d be fine. Plus, doesn’t he still have to take care of Bludhaven

You make sure to close and lock your window once Nightwing leaves before going back to bed. As sleep consumes you, your whole family watches from a distance. You didn’t seem to recognize Dick as Nightwing so it may be possible to get you to trust them before taking you home

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batboys #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #platonic yandere #neglected reader #yandere dc

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sttm99 · 1 year ago

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Part 2 here!

'Fuck.'

It had been just two nights since you'd given him head in the dark of his dorm room, and Bakugo hadn't been able to rid his mind of the sensation ever since.

He knew it was stupid to even agree to it. You were the one girl in class he felt comfortable enough to talk about anything with. Be it grades, his fears and even more sexual topics. It also helped that he knew you wouldn't ever judge him for anything.

You were his closest friend; more so than Kirishima. And he liked that... he liked that he has someone he could trust with his life, someone he could relate with so effortlessly.

And you felt the same way with him. You told him everything; every little secret, every dirty detail, and he never laughed or judged.

Which was why you both were in his room, many hours past his bedtime, sitting opposite each other on his bed as you recounted your most recent almost-sexual endeavor.

"-and it was so awkward cause it was just hanging there in my face and I didn't know what to do." You groaned out, with your body hunched over, face covered with your palms as you recounted your experience in the school's storage room with a General Studies boy you'd been seeing casually.

Bakugo chuckled at your demeanor from where he was. "Yeah then maybe you should have stopped him when you saw him undoing his fucking belt."

You glared at him through the cracks between your fingers.

"Seriously," he laughed. "If you didn't wanna give him head, you should have told him the moment you entered the closet."

You groaned and fell back unto his bed. "The thing is I want to do it."

You turned your head to stare up at Bakugo.

"So why didn't you?"

You groaned again. "I don't know. I mean... look, I wanna be able to make the guy I like feel good, you understand. And I really thought I wanted to give him head, but then he was pulling his jeans down- and I was getting cold feet and then he pulled down his boxers and I wanted to run away right then....

"But I pushed through- and I got down... and it was just staring at my face and-"

"Maybe you just don't wanna do it." Bakugo raised his brow, cutting you off from your rambling.

You frowned. "Maybe. I mean, I think about giving head...and I wanna do it, and then I get an opportunity and I panic. You're probably right."

There was silence for a moment, before Bakugo shifted in his position, pulling his knees higher up, closer to his body, and leaning his forward.

"Or maybe... you don't wanna do it with him."

You furrowed your brows. "Meaning..? I don't really like him or what?"

Bakugo shrugged, "I mean, do you?"

You began sitting up. "Don't I?"

"Come on, Y/N." He raised a brow, giving you an unimpressed look, "You don't even text him unless he texts you."

"Yeah because he's always texting me."

"See! You even say it like you're frustrated." Bakugo jutted his arms out at you.

You paused, sitting up and pondering it.

Bakugo groaned. "Listen, I know you, okay? You- frankly, you're horny... more so than most people-"

You scowled at him.

"-and the fact that you don't even let him put his hands under your fucking skirt most times should tell you that you're probably not all that sexually attracted to him."

You stared at Bakugo, eyes narrowed as you began to see his point. "I guess you're on to something."

"Look," he began, "I honestly think you're just with him because of how aggressively he pursued you. And that's fucking dumb."

You pouted. "I guess... so now I have to find someone else to practice head with."

"Why do you wanna learn how to give head?" He laughed.

"Cause the girls were talking about giving head one time and I wanna be able to join in conversations." I groaned out, exasperated, and flopped back unto your back.

Bakugo took a moment to look you over, before adjusting his shorts and clearing his throat.

"I can give you pointers if you want."

Silence.

"What?" You mumbled, sitting back up, with your weight on your palms and narrowing your eyes at him.

He scowled at you. "I'm not repeating myself."

You rolled your eyes and hissed at his stubbornness. "You idiot."

"But..." You started slowly. "If you're offering to give me tips on sucking dick, I don't mind."

He shifted a bit. "Yeah... well- it'll only work if you're sexually attracted to me. If not, it'll just be like with that guy earlier- and shit would be awkward." He was looking away now.

"Wanna find out?"

And that was how he found himself heaving against his headboard with his shorts and boxers flung at the far end of his bed.

"Shitshit- fuck Y/N."

His hands were fisted into your hair, knees raised in the hair and thighs spread on either side of your head, as you laid on your stomach before him, nose pressed into his dark blonde pubic hair and lips wrapped tightly around his dick.

His eyes were blown wide, lips parted as grunts forced their way out his mouth.

It was just bordering on too much; the sensation of your mouth, and he'd suddenly realised how seriously you'd taken his analogy.

-"Consider it a bottle of smoothie or something, and there's that chunk that can't pass through the bottle mouth properly, so you're trying to suck it out." He'd said, holding his already hard dick against your cheek.

"That sounds stupid, Katsuki." You retorted, as you scowled up at him.

"That's the best I got, I ain't some sex therapist, okay!"-

"Oh shit- you're good," he groaned out, head thrown back and thighs quivering. "Fuck- fuck! Fuck, you're fucking good, baby. Just like that, yeah..!"

His grip on your hair tightened, pushing you down on his dick so he could feel the sliding of your tongue on his shaft as he dipped into your throat.

It didn't help that you were drooling all over him- and yourself-, your hand cupping his balls and squeezing softly.

He was going into overdrive, thrusting up unto your mouth, his eyes rolling back as he slipped down your throat over and over again, and he moaned as he felt you gag, your throat constricting against his tip.

He brought his head forward to peek over at you.

"Slut," he groaned out, eyeing your positioning; one hand infront of you, playing with his balls, and the other stretched underneath your body, fingers dipping into your sleepshorts. "You fucking slut- you like this shit, don't you?"

You moaned around his dick, vibrations coursing round his veins and your eyes looking up to meet his; lids hanging heavy and pupils blown out as you sucked on his cock.

He came heavy- hard. With spasming thighs and choked out groans as he spurted his seed down your throat.

It was a lot... too much. He kept spurting out his cum and his sight was blurry as he looked at you.

Now he couldn't look at you without remembering your stupid, fucked expression when you were between his legs. And it's weird, because all you're doing is grinning an Sato as you hover around him whilst he bakes.

It's stupid. He knows it is.

You don't even like him that way.

Part 2 has been posted here!

#bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bakugo smut

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luminiamore · 7 months ago

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SHH.

older brother choso x babysitter reader

a/n: this was for someone who requested a reader with waist beads. had such writers block with this omg

warnings: sub choso, he says mommy like once

masterlist

Homeless. The word never came to mind when you juggled around the possibilities of moving out of your parents’ home. You worked a decent job; it wasn’t much, but it was enough to pay the rent and small utilities. You never thought about what you would do if you happened to not have a job anymore. It never seemed plausible.

But unless this was some elaborate prank from your forbearing boss, you’re staring at a termination letter in the darkness of your room. You’re fired. There’s the proof right there, written in a fine, bold red print. They needed to cut budgets- they had to let a few people go. There’s also the fake sympathies of ‘We’re sorry to let you go’ and ‘You were a great employee’— all bullshit, really. A poor attempt at making you feel better.

You should’ve prepared for this, should’ve saved for more than a month’s rent. But you didn’t, and unless you find something in the next two weeks, you will run out of food. You had little experience, you had only been working at that café shop for three months. You try to find the same position at a different place, a little bit further from your place.

“Why do you want to work here?” A sharp feminine voice blinks you of your thoughts. Your eyes swiftly turn to the lady recruiter, but you frown when you realize hers were shifted downwards— on her notepad.

Because ya’ll are hiring?

You decide to take the honest route. You need to pay rent; you don’t have the capacity to come up with a lie. Maybe she’ll take pity on you.

“.. I- Uh. I just got fired from my previous job and only saved one month’s rent- I like the peacefulness of working at a local café since that was what I used to do. Your company also promotes natural and healing ingredients; that’s admirable.” You choose your words carefully.

You hear a hum, “Do you like these things?”

“I do. I like taking care of myself in and out, even energetically. It’s why I have these waist beads. They’re stones each have different healing properties.” Should you have rambled like that?

Your waist is a target of her attention, and as you mentioned, a collection of colorful, small, spherical stones adorn your waist. At least seven of them sat snugly under your slender stomach.

You piqued her interest because the next twenty minutes of your interview were a deep conversation about the different meanings held by the stones you wore. Maybe you’re reading too much into it, but her tone made it seem like she was impressed.

She dismisses you with a, ‘Expect a call in two weeks.’ and a smile. The only one she’s given you since you got here.

The wind in New York was quite strong, so when your shoes clattered on the cement beneath you, you were surprised when a paper hit you right in the face. Your lipgloss held the paper in place. You pull yourself to the side after moving the paper, and you see something just as you’re about to crumble it up.

babysitter wanted asap, will pay $50 an hour!

And just under that, his Instagram and a small description.

my name is choso, and i need some help looking after my little brother. he’s 5 years old, very cheerful, and generally well-behaved. i’m only 20, and if i continue taking care of him alone, i’ll probably fail my classes. it’s just the two of us, so if you’re interested my ig is @c.kamo

In all honesty, you were already hooked when you read $50 per hour. Is he rich or something? When you type in his Instagram, you’re taken aback.

The man you see now is dangerously attractive, making you wonder if this is a prank. You click on his story and- how lucky are you? The piercings on his eyebrow, nose, and lip were a striking contrast to his pale white face. His jaw is exceptionally sharp, his lips are pink and full, and his hair is styled into two adorable pigtails.

When you press your finger to show the following picture, you audibly gasp. His abs were pushing through a tight black compression shirt. His arms are veiny, firm- big. Your Uber almost left without you because of how struck you were.

You fold the paper stu, put it in your purse, and follow him, deciding to text him when you’re home. You just hope he’s still looking for a babysitter, you don’t know how long this paper has been rolling around the streets.

As usual, the doorman greeted you happily when you arrived after a short ride to your apartment. The constant buzzing on your phone since you got here has reminded you of the potential job offer that came to your attention a few moments ago.

You’re pushing your pants down when you go to his profile again, and you stop abruptly when you realize the man who followed nobody followed you back, and he sent you a message. A smile slowly creeps onto your lips, making you feel giddy.

That was easy, you think. If you had known how easy it was to earn money elsewhere, you would have quit ages ago. It makes you overthink, worrying that this was another one of those sex trafficking schemes you haven’t heard of yet.

Choso sends you his number afterwards and instructions for tomorrow. You feel at ease knowing that the address he sends you is in one of the skyscrapers in Long Island City. He even sent you the apartment number and told you to use his full name so the doorman could ring you up.

That morning, he informed you of a few things about Yuji. He may be reserved because his previous babysitters didn’t appreciate his energetic personality. Though, Choso assures you that once he feels comfortable, it won’t be long until he opens up. You’re a bit sad to hear that those who looked after him before weren’t very kind and that Yuji would often complain that he would have to play alone.

You figured they only mentioned babysitting to get Choso. When you told him this, his only response was,

‘get with me? i don’t see why, is there something in particular they want?’

Yeah, what’s in your pants. Is what you wanted to say.

Yuji leaves you feeling surprised when you meet him. This boy wasn’t anything like a reserved one. You don’t believe he could manifest such a thing. When he came to greet you, he jumped on you, and you had to quickly pull your hands from your pockets and catch him so he wouldn’t fall. You’re chuckling, and your voice is comforting the little boy when you speak,

“Oh! Hi, sweetheart. Nice to meet you, Yuji.”

His smile is blinding when he looks up at you, “You’re pretty! What are those beads for? Are you my new babysitter? Will you play with me?”

Choso observes your interactions with his brother and how you answer his questions as if it’s second nature. The beads that his brother mentioned caught his attention the moment you stepped through his door. He’s ashamed. He feels utterly ashamed to admit that he’s been gazing at them.

Out of curiosity at first, but then he noticed the way they moved whenever you did.

Choso was not the type to indulge in lustful thoughts. He didn’t have trouble keeping his eyes away from the previous babysitters who arrived at his house in the shortest skirts ever made.

So, why is it so hard to look away from you? From your waist?

There’s nothing revealing about what you’re wearing. Your outfit consists of a flowing white skirt that touches the ground, and he noticed that a black tank top keeps bouncing up no matter how many times you try to pull it down. Despite this, he is still unable to look away. You look soft, the beads are loosely adorning your hips, and suddenly, he can’t help but think of how his hands would look there.

Choso blinks. Where did that come from?

He shakes his head, attempting to shake himself away from these fantasies. He has to leave. He will miss his class if he doesn’t leave his seat on the kitchen counter.

He clears his throat, “He seems to like you already. I have to leave now.. for class. I’ll be home in 3 hours, and there is money on the counter if either of you gets hungry.”

When he speaks, you notice the uncomfortable look on his face. Does he not want to go? Is he worried? Although you hope not, you are questioning yourself when he walks towards you on the floor and gives his brother a kiss, but then passes you without even giving you a glance.

Well... That was uncalled for. Yuji takes hold of your hand and leads you to his LEGO collection, preventing you from pondering it.

Choso doesn’t come home in three hours like he said. Rather, two hours later. He did let you know, though. He really wasn’t the type to do this, so it wouldn’t be fair to you if he didn’t. He tried his best to delay as much as possible because he wasn’t ready to see you yet. He was afraid of those thoughts from earlier and wasn’t prepared to come face-to-face with them again.

Alas, he had to. He closes the door to his apartment with a smooth click and is greeted with the sound of TV. He doesn’t hear much, but what he thinks is.. light snoring?

He makes a slow walk to the living room, and there you both are. You’re lying on your back, your mouth slightly open in a light snore, and your left arm is dangling off the corner of the cushion. Yuji is on top of you, also on his back, and is practically in the same position as you.

Choso’s instincts drive him to walk towards you both, and what he does next is entirely natural. He lightly ruffles Yuji’s hair to avoid waking him and kisses his forehead. He thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even with the few hairs on your laid black lace that covers your right eye when he looks up at you.

He brushes it to the side, immediately flinching back when you move your head in your sleep. What the fuck is he doing?

He rushes to get a glass of water, taking care not to make any abrupt sounds. He wants to let you sleep a little, he reasons with himself that he’s just being a good person. In reality, he doesn’t want you to leave yet. He refuses to believe he does not want to wake you because of his selfish motives.

“Choso?”

He jumps, almost dropping the glass in his hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Yuji-” When he fully faces you, he stops short. The pictures on your Instagram had nothing on you, honestly. Both your skirt and tank top are now lower than when you came here, and he can clearly see your voluptuous tits. The cute pudge of your stomach wrapped by those fucking waist beads is also visible to him.

You’re still half asleep when you notice he’s not talking, so you don’t care much to interrogate him. Your tone of voice is one of concern when you say, “I put Yuji in his room, don’t worry. You okay?”

No. Far from it, actually. That is what he desperately wants to say. But how could he explain what it is that’s really wrong with him? He’s having unnatural thoughts about you, including your body and face. You might think that he’s a creep. Yuji seems to have a good relationship with you. What is the probability that he will find someone like you again?

He doesn’t want to risk it; he doesn’t want to take that chance. So, he answers you, “I’m great. Nothing is wrong at all. Did you, uh, have fun with Yuji?”

“Oh, yeah! He was great, he always had something new for us to…”

Whatever you’re talking about gets tuned out by Choso. He hates himself for it. He’s sure what you’re saying is important, he doesn’t doubt it for a second. But did you ever notice that your lips twitch whenever you speak? That you start playing with the ends of your hair when you suddenly become hyper-aware that his eye contact is unwaveringly on you.

He’s not looking directly into your eyes but rather at your entire body. His eyes would shift from your lips, then to your chest, but they would always find their way back to your hips. You had a hunch that he wasn’t really listening to what you were saying. And you catch on quickly, so you decide to tease him.

“I think if I keep stretching, I’ll be able to do the splits in a week. Don’t you think so, Cho?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Cho? You already gave him a nickname?

Even though you stifle a giggle, it eventually becomes a full-blown laugh. The mere sound brings Choso to a smile before he covers his face sheepishly.

“I didn’t mean to zone you out, I just had a long day.”

“I can see that.” You finish your fit of giggles and move over to his fridge and check to see if you have any leftovers from earlier, “You should eat. There’s some leftover Chinese in the fridge, I can heat it up for you?”

He hurriedly takes his bag off and drops it on the ground before sitting on the countertop. “I’d have to pay you more for your services.”

“You don’t have to pay me, I can’t in my good conscience leave you alone like that. You can barely stand up.” As you microwave some leftover fried rice, you can hear him hum. All the while, his eyes never leave your frame- waist.

“This is actually the first time I didn’t have to rush home early.” He murmurs, his hand holding his face up while he admires you.

As you wait for the timer to end, you turn your attention towards him, “Really? Is that why you took your sweet time coming home?”

He likes how you say ‘coming home’, as if he’s coming home to you. As though you were living together. When he detects the annoyance in your tone, he frowns, “I apologized.”

You notice his pout as you hand him the hot plastic food container. “It won’t happen again if that’s what you’re worried about. Please don’t quit, I really-”

“Woah, I’m not quitting.”

You cut him off, and he can reply with nothing but an “Oh.”

When you gather your purse and keys, Choso watches- You’re leaving already?

“Yeah, you pay really well, anddd I like Yuji.” You were sincere. A salary like this shouldn’t be wasted because of a delayed arrival. At least he informed you that he would be late; that’s better than nothing. And it’s true, you really liked Yuji. It was natural for you to get along with him as if he was already a family member.

It’s endearing how Choso abandons his food to follow after you as you walk towards his door. “It was fun babysitting, Cho! Text me when you need me-”

“Tomorrow? Could you come again tomorrow at the same time?”

You’re momentarily speechless, but remember he’s waiting for a response, “Tomorrow?”

“I might need you for the rest of the week actually, I have a few finals coming up.” Choso is smart. He doesn’t really need to study for these finals, but he figures he can use that as an excuse to have you here, with him.

You stutter out, “Well- Well, I still have to go job hunting..”

“I can triple your pay. Quadruple it if you want.” He said without delay as if he hadn’t offered to pay you more than $500 daily just to spend some time with his brother.

“Is money just not that big of an issue for you?” You laugh, perplexed as to why this man is just throwing money at you like you’re a common whore.

Not when it comes to you, no. “No. Will you come back for the week?” His answer is blunt, honest, stoic even, like he doesn’t catch on to why you’re in such disbelief.

“I- I guess.” At that moment, he offers you a lazy smile and wishes you goodnight. He complemented his words with a sweet ‘You looked very pretty today, by the way.’ Allowing you to drive away in the Uber flustered and thinking about the entire interaction on your way home.

The next four days were the same: Choso left for class, you spent an afternoon with Yuji, and a small conversation and meal between you and Choso happened right before you left for that night in the kitchen. You assumed it would be the same when he asked you to take care of Yuji while he was studying at home.

As you neared the end of the week, those conversations grew longer…and more secluded. Choso is usually found in his room with his face stuffed in a big textbook and his notes. When you sat on his bed, he would move them to the side and give you his full attention.

“So, you’ve never had a girlfriend?” You repeat his statement back at him with a look of apprehension. How is that even possible? He’s hot, rich, and really smart, too. How come he’s not taken?

When he answers you, he doesn’t seem embarrassed, “No. I haven’t met anyone.. interesting, yet.”

You stare at the ceiling as you take in his words, “Are you saving yourself for marriage?”

“I’ve had sex once. It wasn’t memorable enough for me to do it again.” Choso’s face becomes warm when he responds to you. Is it even right for him to share these things with you? He is curious about your thoughts when you don’t speak for an entire minute. His body is shaking in anxiety while he is in his gaming chair.

You huff, sprawled out on his bed, “I don’t think anyone’s first time is the best.”

He raises a brow, making a sound that urges you to finish, “You need experience to figure out what you like and don’t like.”

“Do-Do you have experience?”

You smile and finally turn to look at the pale man, “Why, yes, I do.”

“…Could you teach me some things?”

Silence. Choso doesn’t know why he said that. He’s not sure why you guys are even talking about this. Maybe it was too soon? Maybe you didn’t see him that way? What if you decide to leave?

“M-Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t have to-”

“Sure, I’ll teach you.” Lifting yourself off his bed, you stop in front of the space between his legs. The physical struggle he’s facing to not grab you can be seen as he repositions his eyes on your waist again.

Leaning close to his lap, you place your hands on his shoulders, “If that’s what you really want.”

Your movements are slow, particularly when you put your ass right on his bulge, which has been there since you entered his room. Choso is at a loss with his hands, so you help by positioning them on both sides of your hips. He instantly squeezes and you can’t help but notice that small mewl coming from his lips.

“Is that what you want, Cho?”

His nod is swift and desperate even as his mind starts to get hazy. You smell really good, and the feeling of you on his lap is quickly becoming something he wants more of. His head is already in the crook of your neck, and his soft lips touch you before he tentatively sucks.

You gently pull his head back by his hair, and the sound that comes from his lips is raw and deafening. “Don’t go mute now. Use your words.”

“Yes.. please.” He’s panting, his eyes hooded and low as he gazes into yours. His words prompt you to gently press your lips against his, proving his resolve. He didn’t have much, or any at all, because he snatched your lips harshly. You’re gasping because of the sensation of his hands gripping your waist and pulling at your waist beads. He’s grumbling about how you taste and how you feel so much softer than he could ever imagine.

Choso’s breath becomes choppy when you start grinding against his bulge, and he can even detect your swollen lips through your shorts. His hands begin to creep up your body, and his fingers immediately pull down the top of your tank, exposing your tits. You weren’t even wearing a bra.

You swallow loudly when he releases your lips and lowers his head to wrap them around your dark areola, squeezing the other hand to ensure it’s not neglected. Choso gets lost in your taste and hypnotized by how you twitch and buck whenever he bites gently. He withdraws with a pop and swiftly leans down to fill his mouth with the one his hand was holding.

You gasp out, “Since this is a lesson, I should teach you how to-”

“Eat you out?” Although his words are muffled, you can still hear them clearly. You make an effort to chuckle, but he bites your nipples again, making you release a small moan. There’s no chance to react because he suddenly lifts you up, takes two steps from his chair, and sets you down on his bed.

Choso is prompt and hurries you out of your shorts and panties. The lace pair is flimsy and rips easily due to his strength- his eagerness. His face is flush against your cunt as he forces your legs apart. Even if you tried, you couldn’t move because of his firm clasp.

Your lips are gleaming and dripping on his lips, you are so wet. When he finally drags his tongue between your folds, he can feel your throbbing, “You taste amazing.”

His lips wrap around your clit and suck harshly, causing slight twitching and cross eyes. It’s impossible to think he only did this once. He’s sucking so obscenely and poking at your quivering hole incessantly. Choso is moaning against you like he’s been dying to do this. There’s no way he only did this once. You’re overwhelmed by the way he’s making you feel,

“Right there! Shit- Oh! You’re doing so- so good.”

At the praise, his eyes roll back, and his cock throbs against his boxers. The way he slowly pushes his middle finger into you is riveting, stretching you better than your fingers could ever. Your breath staggers as you let out a sinful moan.

Your hips begin buckling, your beads thrash as you move, and Choso has to put a heavy hand on your stomach to prevent you from running away when he accelerates his ministrations. He’s keeping you steady while curling his finger upwards and punching your G-spot over and over again. He adds another one and twists them, hoping to receive your praise again.

You wail out a beautiful symphony, “Yes- fuck! M’gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum, baby.”

He loves the way you make dirty words sound angelic. He’s the one who’s going to make you cum, he’s the one making you tremble and cry out at the mercy of his tongue and two fingers. The pressure in your stomach is so intense that you feel like you’re on fire, like a dam is about to burst.

“Cum. Please, please. I want it so bad, want you to make a m-mess.”

Your head is turning as he continues to make love with your hole, kissing the hood of your clit with his rough passion. An earth-shattering orgasm rips through you, and your chest rises up and down as your back arches without much help. With your head thrown back, your hands scramble to grab his hair to keep him where he is. He was too determined to savor every last bit of your sweet essence, so he wouldn’t even dare move anyway.

As you stumble out, your body shakes violently, “Ah! You’re such a good boy, Cho.”

Low whimpers vibrate against your core, and you don’t delay in pulling him up your body and kissing him, moaning when you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s becoming needy once more and doesn’t hesitate to start grinding his fat cock against your thigh- his boxers being long gone.

He doesn’t pull away from your lips when he speaks, “Can I put it in now? Please?”

The way he begs is so sweet, and it makes you coo as your soft hand grabs his length to lead it to your sopping cunt. Jesus, he’s big. Abnormally big, how did he hide this?

You’re teasing him by slowly sliding his flushed tip between your lips, never going in. His moans are whiny, and his hips twitch every time he goes over your tight hole. Choso’s balls are churning, he might just cum like this.

“Please- wanna fuck you. Just put it in, p-put it- Fuck.”

His lips swell with a deep moan as you finally push his tip in. You’re so wet, so warm. He has to push the rest of his thick cock inside to feel you clench on him entirely, and he does. He bucks instantly, forcing almost half of him inside your dripping mound, and the stretch he’s giving you is painful but euphoric.

You have to silence Choso with your lips against his lips after he releases another pornographic moan, “Shh, baby. Don’t- Don’t wanna wake your brother up.”

You move your hips, causing him to slip the remaining inches inside you. He’s speedy in pulling back, bringing his tip to your entrance, and then slamming his hips against yours. You’re groaning against his lips, gasping every time you hear a slick noise coming from between your legs.

The sensation of your cunt being so warm and suffocating him back inside with a tight grip is making his mind go into a coma. As Choso gives you deep, sweet strokes, his hold on your waist is harsh, and you anticipate feeling sore tomorrow. He’s not going to last long, you feel too good.

“You’re fucking me so good, Cho! Harder, baby. Just like that, fuck me harder.” He follows your instructions swiftly as if he’s afraid of disappointing you. Your words are motivating him to work harder, to make this experience perfect for you.

He’s whimpering pathetically above you, his thrusts getting harsher and deeper when he fucks into you. “M’gonna cum. You feel so- Shit. Please- Please let me fill you up.”

“Yeah? Wanna fill me up? Beg a little more.” As you whisper in a daze, you’re spent and almost at your peak.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease- Ah shit! Please, mommy!” Choso moans into your neck while his hips bump into yours in uncoordinated movements. Your cunt is a perfect fit against him, he can’t get enough of it.

You were surprised by the impact a single word had on you. You’re wrapping your legs around the man above you, arching your back off the bed as your fat pussy squeezes his cock, releasing your juices all over his body. That’s all Choso needs to dump his seed inside of you, having to bite your shoulder to not release a loud moan that would surely wake Yuji up.

Choso falls onto you, both of your movements still, as your breaths are heavy and your bodies are dripping with sweat. You don’t speak but rather sink into his embrace and the aftertaste. He finally ends the silence,

“I think I know what I like now.”

You make a confused sound, “What’s that?”

“..You. I like you.”

As you prepare to respond, a faint snoring noise interrupts you. He fell asleep. You chuckle and stroke his hair in a comforting motion before kissing the side of his head. Your mind is brimming with unspoken thoughts of,

I like you too.

#jjk x black reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #lumiwrites #choso kamo x black reader smut #choso kamo x black reader #choso kamo x reader #choso is trying to prove his point please don’t interrupt him it is very important #choso smut #kamo choso #choso kamo #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x reader #choso kamo x female reader #jjk smau

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 7 months ago

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HEAR ME OUT

“Don’t you think I’m scary?”

“Scary? My god you’re divine”

AHHHHH

FuskqosnisisbssbjHWISNSKSOAOAKWAJ 😭😭🤭🤭😋😋

I love two lovestruck idiots who don’t know they’re in love w each other and it’s grumpy German shepherd x golden retriever 😻😻

PLEAAASEE german shepherd x golden retriever is one of my faaavvv tropes OAT !! it’s so so adorable and especially with katsuki cus i know he just thinks he’s so scary ! i got a lil idea after the recent manga chap that just came out, so this might be a liiiiiittle super small spoiler but i think its so cute ! hope you enjoy anon tysm for the ask ! much luv xxx

fem reader, super duper minooor spoiler but katsuki has stitches !, mutual pining, idiots in love, soft katsu (cus he has to be but also cus he’s whipped) (but hes still a little piece of shit) reader is a lil sweetie, short lil fluffy fic, touchy katsuki bc i cannot help myself, lmk if i missed anything else !

before the war, bakugou had made a lot of new little habits.

he’s made it a habit of waiting for you to head out of class so you could walk together. he’s made it a habit of sharing just a portion of his lunch with you, because apparently he’s constantly been making too much, ignore the fact that he only let’s you have those ‘extra’s’ that doesn’t mean anything.

he’s made it a habit of carrying around an extra water bottle with him because you always forget to keep yourself hydrated after training, he’s also made it a habit to scold you for it endlessly. he’s ruthless even as you whine about how mean he is, saying that “he wouldn’t need to be on your ass so much if you just remembered to grab your damn bottle.” he ignores the fluffy feeling in his heart and tells you to shut up when you tell him that he always has your back anyway, swiftly looking away from you and cheeks turning red.

and since you're on the way to his house, he's made it a habit of walking you home. you call it hanging out after school, he calls it 'just making sure you don't get lost somehow..hah ?! don't ask me how ! your dumbass would probably find a way to !'

anyway, he's made it his mission to grace you with his presence every day after school. you always bid him a cheery goodbye, "see you tommorow !" you say, and he always looks forward to it, even when he turns away, nonchalantly throwing you a quick wave over his shoulder.

usually you wake up at completely different hours, so he doesn't pick you up the morning. you always wished you could see him first thing in the morning, but seeing him waiting by the school gate's was more than enough to make your heart soar, you were more than happy with that.

but today you can finally go back to school. after dealing with non stop fighting for what felt, and probably was, hours and hours on end during the events of the war. and being stuck in the hospital for a few weeks, it feels nice to wear your school uniform and feel somewhat normal again. you'd get to see all your friends again and you'd official be a second year. you smile softly to yourself in the mirror.

katsuki had sent you a text a few minutes ago. he'd asked if you were almost ready, and you'd responded that you were only for him to leave you on read. you didn't mind much and shrugged it off.

but today, when you walk out the door, you see katsuki waiting for you on the sidewalk.

you blink twice, eyes widening. katsuki turns and looks up from his phone screen at the sound of the door he also blinks, although he's more unbothered then you as he simply stands up, pushing himself off his knees with a groan "took you long enough." he drawls. his eyes are warm and his lip twitch just the slightest bit at your expression "thought you'd keep me waiting forever."

"katsuki !" you exclaim, eyes still wide "what're you doing here ?!" you quickly walk to him, standing close enough to see the marks on his face, and the unmistakable stitches on his cheek.

he raises a brow like you're crazy, tilting his head "m'walking you to school."

"bwuh-are you even allowed to go to school ?" you sputter, realising he had his school uniform on, you liked it when he started making it a habit of wearing his tie more often. katsuki grumbles at your worries "shouldn't you be in the hospital ?" he scoffs at your fretting, but his eyes soften as he leans in closer to you. you see his battle scars better that way. you gulp at the sudden proximity, he's never been shy about getting in people's faces, although it was never meant to be intimidating when he did it with you, if the pink tint of his cheeks meant anything.

"doc said it's fine as long as i keep quiet.." he scoffs after finishing the sentence, rolling his eyes and causing you to giggle. hearing the sound he hadn't heard in what felt like ages made him sniff in amusement. you reach for his hand then, and he doesn't take his eyes off you while intertwining his fingers with yours. both your eyes shining with longing and affection for the other. you smile brightly at him and even though the doctors had told him to be careful with his heart, it seemed you were gonna make that hard for him. it didn't matter though, he was always up for a challenge.

pulling him along, you decide to tease him "guess that means you're gonna have to be on your best behaviour today, huh ? so you can't go gettin' mad at kaminari for no reason !" you playfully scold.

he rolls his eyes at the mention of your friend, though he doesn't hold back his smirk, he's definitely more open then he was compared to when you'd first started school. thinking about how far you've come together makes you happy, but it also feels bittersweet. "dunce face s'the who keeps pissin' me off, not my fault he can't handle it." you snicker and he snorts in amusement, squeezing your hand and making butterflies squirm around in your stomach. you don't mention the tight grip he has on your hand, probably because you're gripping his just as tight with no intention of letting go anytime soon. you probably look like a couple to the people walking by, you realise. and the thought does not displease you at all, far from it. it makes you a little too happy.

"behave." you squeeze his hand.

"i do." he growls, squeezing back, "he keeps trying me." you respond with a snort. your eyes occasionally fly towards his face, to the stitches on it more specifically. he's caught you looking multiple times on the way to the bus stop, not like you were exactly being subtle. your stare makes him nervous and he decides to finally confront you about it when you get to the bus stop.

"spit it out." he says, hands clammy in your grip, he hopes and prays you don't notice because it's so unbearably embarrassing to have to admit he was worried about what you'd think about his new look. he'd been anxious on your doorstep but you didn't give him much of a reaction, too shocked to even see him at the time, but your constant shifty glances made all the anxiety crawl back up again. so he speaks, keeping these distracting and frankly irritating thoughts to himself just irritated him.

you blink, humming curiously. katsuki grumbles to himself, keeping his eyes from yours. "ya keep staring at me, so what's up ?"

"it's strange seeing you with stitches." you answer bluntly. usually, he likes how honest you are, but right now it does nothing but stress him out. "i heard you messed your face up pretty bad, but i'm glad it didn't leave too much of a nasty scar." you muse. katsuki hums but his eyebrows furrow as he catches your last words, he's a little pissed off that you'd heard about what happened during the war. he'd wanted you to know as little as possible to keep from worrying you, or at the very least he'd wanted to tell you himself. he'll make sure to thoroughly question his fuckass friends later. of course, it also could've been her.

"..how'd you-"

"your mom told me."

he grunts. of course, it was his mom.

that damn hag..

"of course." he mutters bitterly. you don't respond, and to him that's all the answer he needs. a pit settles in his stomach.

"yeah, it's weird, isn't it ?" he agrees bitterly, unconsciously tightnening his grip on your hand. "it looks kinda creepy, right ?"

"what do you mean ?" his jaw tightens " i mean..like, on my face..." he sputter and mutters to himself, unable to properly say what he wants. you understand him though and immediately you turn till your face to face with him. your expression determined as you grab his other hand, both of his scarred hands now in your grip. his eyes widen in shock, embarrassment creeping up on him.

"there's nothing wrong with your face, katsu." you reassure, you'd made it a habit of calling him all those stupidly endearing nicknames, and it doesn't help taming the blush on his face slowly bleeding onto his cheeks. he pouts, fixing his gaze onto you and towards the floor.

"but doesn't it look..i dunno," he mutters, suddenly feeling self conscious "scary ?"

"scary ?" you tilt your head, he squints and looks away.

"i guess." he grunts with a nod, trying to save face. obviously it doesn't work by the look on yours. you're always so bubbly and sweet, he hates seeing such a pained expression on your face. you tug at his arms to get him to look at you "scary ? there's nothing scary about you.." you say sweetly, shaking your head. "i personally think you look really cool.." you mutter. katsuki feels his face heat, but his heart soars nonetheless. his eyes have been stuck wide for a second.

cool.

you think he looks cool.

"i was just wondering if they hurt ?" he tilts his head back in thought at that. instictively running his tongue on the inside of his cheek.

"nah, just felt weird when they were numbing it. but i didn't feel a thing." he shrugs, he suddenly smirks, the stitches being pulled up by the movement "wanna touch em ?" he teases, pulling you closer by the grip he still has on your hands. your eyebrows shoot to your hairline and he barks out a laugh.

"i-i can't do that ! what if i touch them and they come loose or something !" katsuki rolls his eyes at your jittering, using the hand still in his grip to bring it near his cheek, you desperately pull back and his evil smirk widens.

"katsuki, no !" you protest. he cackles meanly.

"it's fine." he insists, your pointer finger grazes his cheek and you turn your head away.

"i don't wanna !" you shake your head, your shoulders shaking as you hold back a giggle.

"yn. you're fine." he insists. he'd made it a habit of calling you by your first name after you'd started hanging out more. you called most of your friends by their first names pretty quickly into the year, your cheeriness making it easy for you to get along with everyone but you always were a little on guard with katsuki at first. he'll never admit it, but he was a little jealous that you'd call everyone in your shared friend group by their first name except for him. the sweet bubbly tone in your voice when you called for sero or kirishima made a nasty feeling bubble up in the pits of his stomach he'd desperately tried to push away. until one day he'd snapped during your group outing at the mall (outing he was coerced into going to by kirishima after finding out you where going too)

he'd regretted how whiney and bitter he sounded at the time, but he thinks it was worth it every time you'd look at him and say his name so sweetly, definitely worth it, as embarrassing as it was. and he'd started calling you by your first name too shortly after. all your friends do, but it felt so, so different with him.

finally your fingers make contact with the staples on his cheek. you peek up to look at him then. you run your fingers across them ever so softly, making sure not to hurt him. katsuki slowly let's go of your hand. unmoving and unnervingly still as you take your time scanning his face.

"so ?" he raises a brow, smirk slowly melting into a softer smile as he sees you smile to yourself.

"it's..not bad.." you tentatively start, still too worried to move too suddenly. he hums playfully. "and you don't feel it at all ?" you ask

"at all." he softly shakes his head. you don't realise you've gotten closer to his face but he sure has, and you end up realizing a little too late, but neither of you move away. you try to, but katsuki pulls you back in before you can get far. "do i still look cool up close ?" he jests, but there's some seriousness and vulnerability in his gaze. you smile warmly.

"yup," you say softly, you hear katsuki inhale sharpy, eyes never leaving yours "definitely still the coolest. not scary at all" you giggle, he rolls his eyes but chuckles. before you can question your positition or move away (or closer) to him you see the bus arriving in the distance. he notices it too and you share a look before you take a step back, smiling shyly at the floor while he keeps his gaze on the bus on the way.

until—

"OW, fuck !!"

your eyes snap up to see katsuki holding his cheek in his hand, your heart hammers and your eyes widen. you're next to him in two steps. "what, what—why-what happened ??!" you stammer, your hands reaching up to grab ahold of his face though you stutter, maybe it was your fault ?!

until—katsuki bursts out laughing. mean, but undeniably cute watery cackles that have you furrowing your brows in confusion until your jaw drops in realization.

the. asshole.

"you're not funny !" you whine, pushing at his arm although pushing might be the overstatement of the century. it could be more comparable to a nudge because even though he is an asshole, you wouldn't want to hurt him. even if he deserves it, you're better than that. you'll just think about hurting him.

katsuk chuckles breathelessly, grabbing your arm while you walk closer and stretch your arm out to signal the bus to stop. "it was funny, admit it !"

"you suck. you're the worst." scanning your bus ticket and walking ahead ignoring him, katsuki quickly scans his ticket and follows diligently behind you.

"you thought it was hilarious." he smirks.

"the absolute worst, the lowest of the low." you huff, ignoring the persistant heat of his eyes on you. he only snickers.

"i see you laughing."

today, you arrive to school with katsuki not at the school gates waiting for you, but walking together with you to start your new school year as second years. and you both hope you can make a habit out of this.

#thanks for the ask anon!#it was super fun to write and a fun way to come back from break !#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #bakugou drabble #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n

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cheyisagirlkisser · 2 months ago

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.・College Ellie Headcannons゜・

Note: This is more loser Ellie-centric, I wanna maybe do a part two with just reader and her. Some sexual content and mentions of getting zooted below so 18+ warning!

•Art major, but she’s not the typical hot artsy lesbian you dream of her to be. More like rolls a fat blunt and sketches in her journal, it’ll either turn out to be a masterpiece or look like a crackhead had a go with her paper.

•Speaking of art major, when she’s horny and frustrated because she refuses to hook-up…she draws the lewdest art known to woman-kind. Those are her real masterpieces, but she can’t exactly turn them in for credit in her art class, can she? Fuck, the things that woman can make, though. Lowkey uses her exes naked bodies as inspiration though, maybe kind of weird but who’s gonna stop her?

•Doesn’t eat the food on campus half the time. She is embarrassingly addicted to Tai Pei containers and the occasional microwavable egg-roll. “That shit’s nasty, Ellie! Goddamn, just eat the Tacos 4 Life we have on campus.” Her friends will all tell her, but no. It’s like a guilty pleasure. Maybe it’s cause she grew up lower class and is used to TV dinners, has a special trauma bond to food that should be banned and probably is outside of America.

•Wardrobe consists of band tees, honorable mentions to Gorillaz and Falling in Reverse.

•Is actually an insanely talented writer. After reading her journals I feel like nobody talks about how emotional her entries are and she keeps a journal of her own in college for sure, not only for sketching and organizing art but also to write all her feelings out.

“Fuck me, this is my last year being gay.” -After her and Cat’s break-up, probably.

•Hates coffee. Definitely game-cannon, but this is important to the college setting. It’s the classic Monster or nothing, and she will absolutely judge you for drinking coffee. She calls it “the devil’s dirt.” So dramatic.

•Used to watch bad Hallmark movies because of Dina, now watches them alone because she misses Dina. There’s nothing like crying your eyes out to Christmas Under Wraps!

•Has a collection of rubber ducks on her shelf. Doesn’t use her very small space for normal things like her wallet or books, no. It’s rubber fucking ducks.

•Also has a slipper collection in her tiny closet, from Pikachu all the way to dinosaur feet.

•Has the “two-seater” t-shirt (iykyk) but refuses to wear it in public because she’s a pussy

•Favorite fruit is grapes. I just know my girl loves grapes when she can get her hands on them steer clear bc she will NOT share. Favorite candy is gummy worms!

•Actually wears rain boots when it’s wet outside or snowing

•Likes wired earbuds over airpods, listens to Pearl Jam when she misses living with Joel

•Is oddly good at making those little paper stars and has a huge grocery bag of then in all different patterns and colors

•When she starts dating you she shows you her dinosaur cookie-cutter collection because you're really good at baking. (Also bc she wants to see you in a frilly cute apron!)

•Is a slut for hugs. Kisses are cool, sex is great but agghhh Ellie just loves wrapping her arms around you and sometimes when you two are in her dorm she'll just hug you for what feels like hours on end, she calls it her 'weekly therapy.'

•Loves high sex because when she's sober she hates feeling like she's awkward or all up in her head. She also has a tendency to invite you over for sex after smoking.

•Has a septum piercing. Maybe this one is self-indulgent because I would go ballistic over seeing actual Ellie with one, but I say that college Ellie got hers pierced at 16 and didn't cry over the pain but wanted to literally jump off of a bridge the entire healing process it was so bad.

•Sometimes when you kiss her, her septum will slide over and look uneven and she feels fucking NIGERIA FALLS in her boxers when you fix it for her. Also for those of you who are sluts for glasses, you can fix her glasses too and it'll make her just as weak.

#tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #the last of us part 2 #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams au #ellie headcanons

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sabertoothwalrus · 1 year ago

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so I’ve been gaining a lot of insight into the animation industry recently, especially in regards to pitching & the creation of new shows. There’s a few ways to go about it.

First, there’s pitching to a studio. When you pitch, it has to be SHORT and CONCISE. You may write a lovingly detailed pitch bible that perfectly breaks down episodes and characterizations, and it might barely even get read. First impressions, first impressions, first impressions!

Most peoples’ first projects don’t get picked up. I’ve heard a few stories from directors that said they tried pitching a story they’d had for years, which got rejected, to then spend a week or even several hours in their car coming up with a new idea, only for that to get greenlit.

But that’s not the end of it. Just because a show gets greenlit, doesn’t mean it will ever get finished. There’s lots of things that can happen. Sometimes, unexpected major world events (like… a global pandemic) can cause projects to get chopped. Sometimes, a CEO change or studio merge means a single person can decide a project “no longer fits with the company’s brand.” Sometimes, the one producer that was rooting for your project gets laid off, and no one else cares enough, so it gets shelved. Sometimes, a streaming service decides to create an animation department, and then they decide they don’t want it anymore. Sometimes, the studio will be simultaneously be developing another project that was too similar to yours and they just didn’t think to tell you until they decide yours is the one with less potential.

On top of that, almost everyone in the industry is saying that “studios just don’t pick up original content anymore.” Studios want something they can franchise, something that will bring in money. New content is risky. Established fanbases are safer.

However! Studios can still be a very good thing. They can be unionized. They can provide better benefits and resources. They can have connections and infrastructure and a larger volume of workers. At a studio, you can divide the labor and produce more in less time. Longer episodes, longer seasons, more consistency in quality.

But this comes with all of the disadvantages of having more in the kitchen.

The alternative is indie animation.

With indie animation, you have total freedom. Full artistic control. It doesn’t even matter if your idea sucks ass, because there’s no one to tell you you can’t make it. You could make it anyway, and you can make it whatever you wanted.

The thing is, making animation is hard. In my production class last semester, the average maximum animation one person could make in that timeframe was 30-60 seconds, and that’s not even counting background design, sound design, or cleanup/color. To make a 5 minute animated short, you should probably have at least 5 people.

And it is CRUCIAL you have a production manager. Ideally someone who’s not already doing art for the project. Most projects without a production manager will fall apart pretty quickly. Once the adrenaline and impulse-fueled motivation wears off, you need someone to hold you accountable and enforce deadlines and proper time management.

Speaking of time, that’s also hard to get. The more people you have, the more likely schedules won’t line up. Most people will have school, or other jobs.

And it costs MONEY!!!!!! You either have everyone work for free and volunteer their time & energy, or you establish a business as a proper indie studio, with people who may or may not have experience on how to handle paying someone else’s salary. And the money has to come from somewhere, so you have to rely on crowdfunding like patreon or kickstarter. (This, by the way, is why I could never fault an indie animation for releasing merch with their pilot.)

And like, maybe you wanna do a series, and all your friends agree to volunteer their labor and time to make the first episode, but it was unanimously not sustainable. Deciding not to produce a second episode until you can raise enough money is not being suddenly greedy, it’s attempting to compensate people rather than expecting them to be continuously taken advantage of.

You have to consider your output as well. There are some outliers like Worthikids, who afaik does all his animation himself, and afaik can work on it full-time thanks to his patreon subscribers. And he still has only produced a total of 30 minutes of animation (for Big Top Burger specifically) in the past 4 years. This is an IMPRESSIVE feat and this is with using a lot of 3D as part of his pipeline!!

Indie animation also has the complication of being more accessible for fandoms. When you’re posting your Official Canon Content on youtube, it doesn’t look a lot different than the fandom-created video essay in the sidebar next to it. What’s canon vs what’s fanon becomes less distinguishable. The boundaries are blurrier. When the creator is just some guy you follow on twitter, it’s easier to prod them for info regarding ships and theories and word-of-god confirmation. They don’t have a PR team or entire international tv networks to appeal to. And this is when creators get frustrated that their fans snowball and turn their creation into something they don’t recognize (and no longer enjoy) anymore.

So it’s tricky.

Thankfully, the threshold to learn animation is fairly low nowadays!! There are TONS of resources online to learn it on your own without forking over a couple hundred thousand to a private art college. There are conventions and discord servers and events where you can network, if you know where to look.

I know it can seem discouraging in the face of capitalism, but I think that’s all the more reason why it’s so important to BE DETERMINED about animation!! We’re already starting to see the beginning of an indie animation boom, and I think it’s a testament to humanity’s desire to tell stories and create art. Even if there’s no financial gain, we do whatever it takes to tell our stories anyway.

#animation #2d animation #indie animation #long post #not 100% sure why I made this post #all this to say: I’m still not sure what direction I want to go towards for my own show #ngl!! i think im confident i could get people to like my show. i think I could find an audience #i have some experience at this point getting people to like my ocs #its just a matter of MAKING the damn thing

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tinytennisskirt · 4 months ago

Note

ifffff ur into this… stoned sex with art 😼🙏🏻❤️‍🔥

No Consquences

summary: you and art have been close friends for some time now, there’s definitely something lying underneath that friendship, and it cracks wide open when he comes over to smoke with you.

warnings: smut! unprotected sex, smoking weed, tension, fluff, lots of laughter mwah

and ofc i’m into this. so into this. never stop.

your phone buzzed. you were already having a hard time putting down the book you’d spent all day reading- you’d only taken a break to shower about an hour ago and you were still laying in the towel in your bed because you’d picked up the book again.

it was raunchy. and it was really well written for a raunchy, steamy novel! you’d never read one this good before, the men are always overbearing and written to be sexy so they just come off as try-hands, but the man in this book was perfect. kind. sweet. you put your bookmark in and grabbed your phone from by your feet.

art: patrick stopped by earlier he says hi n he brought me some pre rolled stuff.

art: can i come over?

you loved how the pieces fit together. any time patrick came to visit, art’s room somehow became a mess. he hated to impose, but your room was the best option. you smiled, writing back.

you: bring iced tea

art: already bought it

you: you know me so well

art: on my way over :)

it took art about five minutes to come and knock on your door. in that time you’d managed to throw on a tank top and shorts, the window open and the summer air pouring in and circulating the room. you ran a brush through your hair and answered the door.

you and art had been friends since college started, both at stanford for tennis. and against your realization, the friendship might have been a little more. it was a steady thing, becoming friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. he was a good friend, knew you well, knew your secrets and kept them. he was your closest friend here at stanford and you saw him almost every day, just out of habit.

he showed up in a black t-shirt. and sweatpants. not just a regular black shirt, but one that was just a little tight. he had the pre-rolls in his left hand and a giant thing of iced tea in the other. by the frosted look of the plastic, it was cold. you grabbed onto the door at the sight of him, an unconscious thing. he looked really nice.

“you like the raspberry one right?” he asked, referencing the iced tea in his arm. his forearm rested right against the label you were staring at. you blinked.

“yeah! hi.”

“hi,” he smiled, tilting his head a little. “you okay?”

“i’m okay,” you smiled, moving out of the way, letting him come into your room. he didn’t often wear black. the shirt must have been new or… “how are you?”

“i’m alright,” he smiled, sitting on your bed. “patrick visited for three hours and my room is a mess. looks like someone set off a bomb in my dresser.”

“of course,” you nodded. you’d met patrick about a year ago and he was also a fast friend. but he was a messy guy. “he couldn’t even stop by to say hi, i can’t believe him.”

“i said the same thing, i said you’d be heartbroken, but he’s got some date with this girl lana.” he shrugged. “he’ll be back tomorrow probably.”

“don’t clean your room just yet,” you said, grabbing the air freshener and your lighter from on top of your coffee maker. “you get the glitter lighter today.”

“pink?”

you tossed it to him, “pink.”

“my favourite.”

“as it should be,” you hopped onto the bed and sat on your knees, pushing your hair behind your ears. “anything else happen today?”

“mm- not really,” art said, opening the box of joints. “i was sleeping in until patrick came around so it was that and then this. i checked the tennis schedules, co-op doubles this monday-“

“partners?”

“yeah,” he chuckled. he was about to ask. “that and class schedules tennis history? since when do we have to do tennis history.”

you grabbed his arm gently, “oh my god i saw that when i was with abbey the other day.” you shook your head, “i think it makes us more worldly,” you nodded. “i forgot about it.”

art moved closer to you, near the window above the bed. with a click of the lighter he lit the end and inhaled, blowing the smoke out the window the best he could before handing it to you. your eyes lingered on his bicep- for fucks sake. it was a good shirt. that was all. you sat up and did the same, inhale, hold, exhale. “oh my-“ you coughed, “-god.”

art laughed and his hand rested on your bare knee. “you’re okay.” his thumb moved just gently, once. it wasn’t unlike him to be touchy, just was who he was, but for some reason today you were hyper focused on it. his hand was cold, but soothing. you passed him the joint and cracked open the iced tea. “so what do you think of-“ he exhaled out the window. “this shirt.” you blinked like you’d heard him wrong. “new.”

“i like it,” you said, looking the other way. your eyes wanted to fall on the shirt again but you were afraid of what would happen and how you’d react if you looked right now. you took a swig of the iced tea.

“patrick said i look like a personal trainer.”

you laughed, wiping your lower lip with your thumb. his eyes were trained on you and the lack of bra. you looked back at him, eyes falling over him in the black t-shirt again and just as you feared, your mouth fell just a little open. “you do- okay- i see it. he’s not wrong.”

“i’m getting rid of this shirt later,”

“no!” you protested a little too loudly. “don’t let us change your mind about it.” you tried to save yourself. “i think it’s the sweats.” why did he look so good today? was it really so different? you shook your head and hit the joint twice that time. “i like the shirt though.”

he smiled that almost-shy crooked little grin when he took the joint back. you could not stop coughing, which made him chuckle as he took his hit. the conversation continued, those slight little bantery jokes filling the room with laughter that only increased as you felt the weed take its effect like a wave washing up and over you.

the radio behind you playing some cd you both liked and the iced tea shared between the two of you while you felt things settle in. it was like a buzz, like constantly lapping of water against a shore. it was dizzying and made your head spin just a little. you kept laughing about things and nothings. you leaned into his shoulder when you laughed and his hand stayed on your knee, occasionally flattening out against the lower parts of your outer thigh, almost fidgeting the way his hand grazed back and forth. maybe you were too high, but he was all you could think about.

usually, it was that he was there and that was fun, but as the sun set and the night crept on and you continued feeling the high increase, you could only think about him. him and his t-shirt, his biceps, his forearms, his hand that was on your skin while you talked. he was smiling that perfect grin of his and you swore you were staring, but neither of you could tell.

you were giggling, one leg up and the other one still folded under you, leaning against the one that propped you up. “think you’d ever cut your hair?”

“i get my hair cut,” he replied, rubbing his left eye. “every three months.”

“i mean like- short.”

“mmm- no.” he answered, taking a bigger hit. “my mom had me cut it short when i was a kid, i had a bowl cut.” he laughed and you laughed with him, a little uncontrollably at the imagery. you wondered to yourself if he had a picture. “a short-“ he couldn’t breathe he was laughing so hard, “short bowl cut. so bad.”

“oh my god.” you laughed, leaning into him again. he leaned the same, you met in the middle, hands intertwining, a desperate grab at anything sturdy. you couldn’t stop. he smelled good, you noted, he always did. cologne and spice and did he smell better than he did before? the other times you though he smelled good, did he smell this good? it was strange. he smelled so good. too good. you hummed as you stopped laughing, trying to dull it down. “but you wouldn’t cut your hair short?”

“feels wrong.” he said, trying to compose himself again. you went back to your regular statures, his hand went right back on your leg, his thumb doing the very same thing. it was hot- he needed to stop being hot, it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t right. he was your best friend. he had to stop. you looked at his hair, his curls. the warm, dim lights of your room made them seem like they were glowing gold. “it wouldn’t be bad- just wouldn’t be me. could be bad though.”

“no, not bad. i like your curls.” you said, trying to keep down another giggle. you couldn’t risk spiralling into laughter again. you extended your hand and gently moved his hair. he scrunched his nose and closed his eyes as you did, letting you. his hair was soft. “don’t ever cut your hair short.”

he chuckled, “not even a bowl cut?”

you giggled just slightly, tousling his hair just a little more, scooting yourself a little closer to play with his hair. it was mindless, just nice to feel while your body felt as if it were floating and hovering over itself. you felt even more spinny as the new hits of the second joint kicked in. you felt oddly like you were made of air. your felt your eyes struggle to be properly open, you could see art’s eyes pink in the dim light. his eyelashes. you were sat up on your knees hitting the joint again, your other hand still in his hair and you passed it back to him. he hit it and set it down on the makeshift cardboard ashtray that had become a thing while you were talking before. his movements seemed slow, but fast at the same time.

you moved just a little closer without thinking of it, on your knees, sort of above him but not really. both hands of yours touched his hair, pushing the curls around his ears behind them. low-lidded, he just watched you. his head tilted up just a little to look at you. to see you. “i’m so high.” he said, quietly, like you weren’t alone.

“me too.” you giggled just a little more and he joined in. his laughter was sweet in the air and your hands stayed pushing curls away from his face just gently. you weren’t thinking about it, just him. just how he was really pretty. you felt his hand move from where it was, meeting with just above your hip, where your hip met your waist. his hand felt like it was going through you, just a little. it didn’t even phase you that he was touching you, just that his hands felt strange on your skin and the reminder that you were high circulated your mind again.

your body hummed and seemed to buzz. like all of your skin was soft static. his other hand met that other side of your waist, resting just above the hip bone. his left thumb was underneath the hem of your tank top. you were smiling at him the way you usually would, no teeth, nothing wider than that- but he wasn’t smiling back. at least not in the same way- his face rested soft and a little open-mouthed in a gaze that felt similar to that of a deer. looking at you through long eyelashes.

your hands in his hair didn’t feel real. his hair was spun gold and your hands were like clouds. limbs felt alien. but your body felt complete. your eyes felt tired though you knew you weren’t and he was looking at you for what seemed like forever and maybe you were looking at him forever too. reality was, it was only a moment, not too long at all.

he’d been your friend for almost a full year. he’d held your hand at certain points, you’d hugged probably a hundred times, but this felt different. the music playing seemed to fade out. your hands still pushed through his hair, gently. the waves of your high were only continuing to bring you upward, higher. his hands didn’t move, yours began to slide down just slightly.

inching further, curls tucked behind his ears and moving your hands down, almost subconsciously. you felt like you were floating and falling at the same time and it was dizzying. his eyes did not leave you. not even as your hands moved down behind his ears. everything was serious until then.

“you have that thing in your eyes with different colours,” you noted. your voice felt echoey, like a toy microphone. “it’s pretty.”

“you’re pretty.” he replied, lips barely moving. and you giggled, your response was to giggle. it was uncontrollable, you couldn’t help it. neither could he. he said you were pretty. art donaldson, your best friend here at school, said you were pretty. he thought you were pretty. you giggled just a little madly and you leaned, of course, into him, but your hands on his jaw now, leaning turned into slightly losing balance, his you leaned forward and you almost kissed him.

you pulled back at the last second so that your face didn’t crash into his, though you didn’t go far. your noses touched as your giggling died just a little, “oh my god, i almost kissed you-“ you said a little breathily. your nose grazed his. his eyelashes fluttered as his eyes fell from yours to your lips, then back again.

he grinned, laughing just a little. the world seemed so quiet aside from the buzzing in your ears and his light chuckle. you both swayed just a little, challenged to be steady, failing. laughing, swaying so much, heads tilted just perfectly enough to have his lips graze yours. or yours graze his. it feels unreal, like you’re watching it from across the room instead of feeling it, but your hands are on his jaw and his are still on your waist, trying to keep balance harder than you thought. “i’m sorry.” he mumbled. and you felt his words against your lips, apologizing for the way they grazed against yours despite not moving away. not changing what he was doing, in fact it happened again.

you giggled at that. so did he. but it died quickly. as your hands slid under his jaw. as his hands slid just slightly more under the back of your tank top. your lips grazed his once more, “i’m sorry.” you smiled, it was against his lips. the tension was thick, there was no other way to go.

a beat passed. your lower lip dragging across his slightly open mouth, your head tilted just a little. one more beat. lips brushing, hands on each other, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. high, so high, so fuzzy, so airy.

being this close, kissing him felt like a need. not a want. in this state of being, in this place, him in your hands, there was nothing that felt more right. kissing him. having him. and it seemed he was thinking the same thing.

your lips grazed his once more and mutually, that graze turned into a kiss. your lips pressed properly against each other’s. your hands holding his face, his hands pulling you closer. lips meeting lips fully, entirely, slowly. god, it felt so slow. a comfortable slow, not a painful slow. with your eyes closed it felt like the world was spinning around you. it was the mix of him and the weed that was so dizzying.

his lips were soft. oddly. soft, pillowy, warm, and sweet. he kissed so gently, so easily, no tongue, just lips. lips against yours. when he pulled your waist you gladly moved forward, onto his lap. it wasn’t far. moving onto his lap felt like falling through him. his hands on your waist felt like air and if you focused on his lips you couldn’t feel his hands at all. it was strange, but it was so good.

you weren’t thinking about how he was supposed to only be your friend- you weren’t thinking about how easy it was to kiss him, how neither of you had to say a single thing for it to be known, to be mutual, to kiss like this. slow and deep and god, more intoxicating than the weed.

you only felt his hands again when they moved, one of them up the back of your tank top, flat against your skin. soft. and his movements felt like the waves of your high but you knew they weren’t actually. you felt your body flush warm in reaction. like a delayed response, god, he was kissing you. you were kissing him- god, you were on his lap. your knees were on either side of his legs and your chest was pressed against his when you moved even closer. was closer possible?

you needed him like nothing you’d ever needed before. feelings underlying now surfacing. it was slow, the way he began to lean backward. tilting until his head hit your pillow and you were now on top of him. it felt like falling, despite the speed. falling into him, god you wanted to. his hand sliding down your hip. he was hard. you felt it underneath you, you felt everything, you felt his eyelashes against your face, you felt everything how could you not feel how painfully hard he was in his track pants? it came naturally to press against him now that you were on top of him.

was it wrong that him being hard from kissing set a fire that spread through your body? you had a hard time keeping balance, your hands moving down his jaw and to the back of his neck. his hand slid further up your shirt.

you giggled, just a little. you couldn’t help it. between kisses, between heavy kisses. your head spun. “what?” he asked, obviously just as out of it as you were. he spoke against your lips, sporting a dazed smile.

“we’re kissing,” you grinned.

“yeah,” he replied, his own smile widening to match your grin. “is that okay?”

you nodded and he kissed you again. and you were kissing him again. you moved forward, his head happily tilting back when you kissed him just a little harder than before. not much faster, only harder. the same way you felt him underneath you. with your eyes closed the imagery in your head was sparks. fire. you pressed against him, hips rolling instinctively. you felt his other hand grip just slightly harder, some sound slipping between your lips from him. that hand under your shirt was now on your hips, bracingly, guiding you. and friction was good. god, it was so good.

you couldn’t find any spare time to think about consequences. it didn’t feel like there could be any when he kissed like this. he was a good kisser and the hands that were guiding your hips as you ground against him were smart and calculated. paced.

the tilt of your head, the feeling of his hands on your body. feeling that pulsing need along with the heat of a dizzy high. it felt like flying to have your eyes closed, you were afraid you’d sink through him. the kiss deepened, the pace increasing. you let out a small sigh between kisses, feeling the rocking all too well. his left hand left your hip and was back on the bare skin of your back.

he was so hard it must have hurt. and your bodies pressed together so perfectly. and his hand was under your shirt. you sighed, moving back down just slightly. and moving down meant your shirt moved up just slightly- and art didn’t mean to, but he continued his accidental movement and slowly, your shirt was raised over your head. it fell somewhere you didn’t care to look. the air from the window hit your bare skin and his hands came back to holding you, sliding over your now entirely bare back. you nearly shivered.

shirtless, braless on top of him, it was only fair he do the same. you grinned between kisses, your hands swapping place with his, slowly trailing along to trade. hands up your waist, coming to rest on your jaw while yours trailed down his side, coming up underneath the hem of the t-shirt you were so fond of on him. he stopped kissing you only to pull it off. you weren’t sure of what was going on, but you liked it. moving back to kissing him felt like a constant loop but it was just the weed. every time your lips connected it felt like the best thing in the world. so deep, so slow.

your chest pressed to his now, but that didn’t stop you from running your hand down his chest. he was soft, like silk, all of his skin aside from the light happy trail from his belly button down. half-lidded, your lips grazed against each other’s, both catching your breath for a moment. shirtless. you beamed, your cheeks hurt from smiling you wondered how that happened when all you were doing was kissing. it was a pause, just a slight pause and you looked at him, meeting his eyes.

his mouth hung just slightly open, he looked dazed, gone, but it turned into a reciprocated smile with ease. his eyes didn’t even glance down. but it was easy to know that you both wanted the same thing. he was out of it, so were you, feeling spinny and high and with those unspoken words you kissed again. this time harder, faster, and it was only a moment before you tugged the drawstrings of his pants.

you rose up just slightly and kissed over him again. he was bracing all he could, trying to pull you back against him desperately, but it took a second for him to figure out what to do. you moved to the side of him while he took them off, still kissing you, hands in your hair when they could be. the moment he kicked them somewhere, your hand rested against his bare chest.

he kissed you like he needed you the same way, yet he was so gentle. everything about him, all movements gentle, his hand in your hair, your roots. he was warm like the breeze in from the window. he felt like air and god, so good. his lips against yours, still soft, but the kiss heavy with intention, both of you dizzy with a lust that filled the room. it was with that hand on his chest that you dragged a gentle finger down his stomach, over the waistband of his boxers and gently let your hand slide over his dick, which stood properly, tenting the fabric.

he made a noise close to a whine when you touched him. it sent another little fire dancing through your veins. you’d never thought about what he’d sound like. or what he’d taste like- but you’d been in the know for about ten minutes. and you wanted him. he wanted you. your hand pressed over him, back and forth just once before your hand slid the other way and rimmed the edge of his boxers. he took them off. it was easy to.

you lost your balance just a little and rolled the wrong way but he brought you back, hand on your waist again. you looked down- he was impressive, pretty. gorgeous. smooth. your lips crashed against his again. every pause felt like minutes and seconds at the same time. and your hand found it’s way to him and he moaned into your mouth. it wasn’t just the marijuana, god, his moan was possibly the most sobering thing. all your thoughts cleared from being clouded. you needed him more, more, more.

you worked him up and down, sitting up on your knees to get that leverage you need. his hum against your lips felt like the best thing in the world. you could kiss him until you died. all of it felt unreal. like you weren’t truly there. like you’d wake up, maybe. you’d kissed him in a few misplaced dreams but you’d never thought it would ever happen though if you asked any bystander, especially patrick, he would have said it was a long time coming. it just so happened today it all crashed in. today you felt everything and god, you’d feel more.

you weren’t sure how long you’d been doing it but your hand wasn’t cramping. or maybe you couldn’t feel it. you were immune. it was probably ages. he moaned into your mouth and it was everything. fuck. “stop- stop, stop, stop-“ he mumbled. “i’m- close.” he said it like he was shy about it. you stopped the first time he said it. he still kissed you, leaking over your fingers. your body was hot, aflame, burning, feeling like the bed was rocking like a boat on the water, worsening when he said he was close. worsening when he looked up at you, eyes soft, tugging at the bottom of your shorts.

he kissed you as you took them off. eager, excited. so excited, but he wouldn’t let you touch him again. or he would, he just wanted to touch you more. he would have done anything. your hips knew more than you did, directed toward him and he took it seriously, pulling you back over him by your waist. his upward dick pressed to your bare stomach, his hand on your left boob, gently squeezing as he kissed you. your hands cupped his face once more and you raised yourself just a little. enough. felt like a freefall. every little detail, every little feeling was felt tenfold. bared to him, there was no room for insecurity, you knew he wouldn’t judge.

and you moved a certain way, sitting back up on your knees, him sitting up to chase your lips and it was dangerous, how close you were. lips on lips, touching, feeling, sitting up and the overwhelmingly all-consuming. his hands slid over your chest, your waist, your bare hip, your ass.

“art-“ you said between kisses. bodies

moving in sync.

he didn’t stop, your hands on his jaw, the back of his neck. “mhm?”

“art, are we-“

“if you want.”

“i want.” you said breathlessly. you could feel that crooked grin against you. “do you?”

“so bad,” he sighed. his hands were tight on you. holding. really holding. his words were the right words. “i’m sorry.”

“shhh-“ you kissed him again. and this time when you lifted yourself to kiss him, to get that leverage over him again, he fixed things below. so that when you moved back, which you did, you sank down onto him. slowly. easily. dizzily. you were surprised it was such a smooth movement. he felt like… “god-“ you breathed.

his noise was muffled. or he tried to muffle it. you pushed down onto him and felt as he slowly, so slowly, filled you. you fit like a puzzle piece against him. feeling everything already, of course you felt every inch as it pushed up. neither of you cared about anything except each other and this, here, now, as you slowly began to ride.

it had been ages since you’d last had sex with anyone and already, this was better than you’d remembered. food tastes better high, best believe sex feels amazing. not only that, but art’s hands on your body, his mouth on your own were delicious and ten times better than you could have ever imagined on their own. sharing air, breathing hard as you slowly rocked on him, moving up and down at the same time.

his hands rested on the crook of your hip that bent around his body and it was the best feeling, being pulled and pushed. neither of you cared about the open window. “fuck…” he groaned. “i-“ his words succumbed to a moan. it felt like power. you pushed against him, grinding with him fully inside you, causing your own moan to mix with his. low, quiet, breathy. “oh my god-“

you were a little proud of yourself. the sounds he was making- he way he grabbed onto you for dear life. his fingers dug into your skin but it didn’t hurt. all you felt was good. your entire body hummed with pleasure. you could feel him and his hands and that was enough. you rocked on him, bouncing just slightly, trying to feel more. chasing a different high. he was above average not by much, but more than you’d ever had, and you could feel every inch. your head spun. it felt so good, you could see colours when you closed your eyes.

“fuck,” he breathed. he sounded like he couldn’t breathe. neither could you- i mean you could but you’d much rather kiss him. or it was less of a kiss, more sharing air while you rode him. it didn’t matter, it was perfect. his body pushing against yours, having him buried deep inside you hitting everything just right, his fingers dipping into the flesh of your hips and ass. he moaned like a whine and it drove you crazy, helping you pick up the pace. he must have liked it, fingers digging deeper, “oh my- fuck- you’re-“ he couldn’t speak. he couldn’t say anything. he couldn’t think. neither could you.

you just grinned, but it was cut short by a fervent kiss. one of his hands held the back of your neck keeping you pressed close as you continued against him. skin on skin, warm, sweaty, sticky in the best way. you moaned, feeling everything a hundred times over, those waves of high crashing against waves of pleasure. how long you’d been at it was a mystery again, but you felt like you could go forever. his hips raised to crash against yours, filling you entirely every time with a grinding force in between. deep.

his moans were deep, from his stomach. both of you not thinking much about volume or sounding pretty as you fucked. it sounded like sex, it smelled like weed, music playing gently in the background sounded unreal and echoey. it felt like heaven though after this you were sure you would never truly see it. it didn’t matter. not now. you were fucking your best friend and it was possibly the best thing you’d ever felt in your life when mixed with the marijuana.

moving in sync, with a pattern, with a repetitive motion- “i’m s-so-“ he couldn’t speak still. he groaned as you used your common sense to figure out what he was trying to say, picking up the pace, fucking him harder. god, you needed it harder, needed it now. you’d forgotten protection but this was worth it. he grabbed you harder, kissed your harder, you felt his teeth just once as he did. “god-“ you could feel he was close and honestly, you felt it too. a knot in your stomach, begging to be undone.

like he was psychic, you felt his hand slip down between you. down your thigh, over your stomach, down to where you met him. his hand made things worse. or better. but worse. he knew exactly where to touch, finding it immediately and intensely, more pleasure pulsed in your veins. he would get you off like this. fuck impairment, he would. you moaned louder than before and you felt him smile. his smile was so pretty. sometimes you just thought about his smile and who wouldn’t, when he smiled at you more often than anyone? you breathed his air now. he breathed yours.

“i’m-“ you tried. he got you back. you couldn’t speak. you smiled too. “i’m so-“

“mmm-“ he replied, hand working. hips still raising desperately to crash against yours. fuck. you were close. so was he. you were unravelling. you felt your muscles contract and so did he, your moans were in sync and he didn’t give a fuck who heard. the people in the dorms above, below, beside, all probably hated you now. the people in the common room probably hated you now. hell, anyone walking outside should hate you.

he spoke quickly, with no air in his lungs, “i’m going to-“ he was waiting. high, waiting, ready. hand still going, he knew what he was doing. you could feel it all. “oh my god-“

you were saying the same things, his hand working fucking magic, god you were so close. you put a little extra force into it, feeling how he touched you making you come undone, you just needed for it to peak. he had no restraint. he didn’t want it. you were high, you needed higher, god, you were so close.

“i’m- fuck- pl-“ between a moan and whine from him. he was trying so hard. “please.”

you smiled, biting your lip just slightly as you felt yourself closer, closest. “art-“ you sighed. you thanked the weed for giving you endless stamina. you couldn’t feel anything but him and how you were coming undone right now, everything coming to peak, crashing waves against a wall. your body flashed hot, flushed pink, god- his hand was so good. you felt yourself tighten around him, the tightest you’d been the entire process and with a muffled moan, you felt him follow you over that edge. he held his breath, you could tell. his hand on your hip gripped tightly, bracing as he finished hard into you.

you felt, warmer within you. deep. it was a good thing you had plan b in the pill cabinet. you were a mess, he was a mess. it was the greatest orgasm you think you’d ever had. it wasn’t just the weed. it was him. it was this. he was thinking the same thing. it was you.

breathing hard, harsh against each other, you rode it out until your hips just had to stop. his hand retracted and came to rest on your other hip. and you kissed him. you didn’t know what else to do, you didn’t want to do anything else, just kiss him. those waves pulled back from the shore with no impending tsunami and just calm. just calm. high, calm. this kiss was gentle, soft, not hungry, not anything else but peaceful. your hands cupped his face, your lips were warm with that dulled passion. only a moment.

you disconnected, his cum seeping out just a little but you passed him a folded towel from your desk chair. it was wordless. you didn’t want to move, but you had to, so it was quick when you cleaned yourself up the best you could, going to the bathroom and opening the cabinet, doing what you had to and coming back within four minutes. it was a good thing that minutes felt like seconds when you were high.

you came back to where he was laying on your bed on his back, also cleaned up with the tilt of a nearby water bottle onto the towel you gave him. you just flopped down onto the bed next to him, still without clothes. “wow.” you sighed, resting a hand on your stomach, staring at the ceiling.

“wow,” he replied. when you closed your eyes the room still spun like a record. the room was silent a beat, just another moment, before you felt that giggle bubble up and escape your lips. but he chuckled too. it was hearty and strong and you both couldn’t stop it. laughing too hard, too much. you were both still catching your breath. you couldn’t stop laughing.

it made sense. laughing fits weren’t out of the ordinary after smoking weed, but sex sure was. and feelings, admitting to any wouldn’t seem too real right now so all you could do was laugh. the unspoken words were just about as loud as the action and that was funny. you turned onto your side just a second to face him and he cut your laugh short by kissing you again. just because he wanted to. actions just as loud as words. kissing you after sex, meaning he wanted you. all around. and you kissed him back and it meant the same thing. only breaking to breathe and laugh. it was peaceful.

it only went on for so long before you both calmed to tired high. his hand, pretty, soft, pushing your hair behind your ear and sliding down your neck, your shoulder, squeezing your upper arm just gently. not a word was spoken until you smiled to break the kiss. “is this weird?”

“no,” he replied. “just don’t tell patrick.”

“why?” you smiled.

he grinned his winning smile back at you, “because i want to.”

“uh huh.” you laughed and shoved him just a little, it was more like a touch. you didn’t mind if art told patrick. it didn’t feel like this was just a whim sort of thing. you liked art. really liked him. you shook your head, “ugh, i’m still high.”

“hungry.” he replied. “pizza?”

“dining hall.”

“not open.”

“ugh.”

“we have iced tea?”

“pizza.” you nodded. and like nothing was different at all, you both got dressed again and headed out. he held the door for you. it didn’t feel like much had changed at all. you were tired, that was one thing, but with art it just felt right, what you’d done. there truly was no downside. no consequences. not with him.

“you really shouldn’t wear that shirt in public.”

“why not?”

“shhhh.”

taglist: @ellzbellz18 @colorful-teaparty @ke4s @lalalandofive @ladystardust-thinks @iluvsmut36 @swetearss @xoxog0ssipg1rl @reallycreativeusername @kaaaiiaaa @bayleequits

#challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #art donaldson one shot #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fic #art donaldson imagine #tinytennisskirt #challengers fic #challengers smut #challengers x reader #art x reader #challengers fluff

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hopelesshaidys · 6 months ago

Note

imagine iida x reader (crushing stage) where someone makes the reader laugh so hard they snort and tenya doesn’t say anything but it’s like the cutest thing in the world to him

love love love love love love love love love love love love love lo-

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

‧₊˚♡pairing: Iida Tenya x gn! reader

‧₊˚♡tags: just so much fluff yall tenya is so cutie but unfortunately no beta i probably need someone to look over my work before i post oh well :D

‧₊˚♡a/n: i got a little carried away oopsies, but also i wanted iida to say smth abt it bc i am a tenya blabbermouth BELIEVER ✊

‧₊˚♡masterlist

inbox is open! hit me up with ur ideas ;)

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

It was a beautiful day out at UA.

Class 1A had all gathered outside for a mass picnic, teenagers buzzing with excitement with how much food and deserts were being passed around the outdoor area. They had been planning this picnic for some time now, and after three occasions causing them to cancel, they could finally have their day in the sun.

The weather was just warm enough to sit and sunbathe in for hours without getting uncomfortable as there was a slight breeze constantly blowing through to keep things cool. The skies were a gorgeous blue, littered with big white fluffy clouds and birds flying overhead. There were various flowers blooming all around the class, along with different shades of greens. It was truly a sight to take in, but Tenya couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you.

Ever since he had met you, Tenya truly felt as if you were a one in a million. Everything about you was so enticing to the teen, making him feel things that he had never felt before. To Tenya, this feeling was more than a mere crush, but pure admiration. He loves how motivated and strong you are, how effortlessly beautiful you can be. You were incredibly smart and seemed to always have a solution to any problem thrown your way. You were kind, but had boundaries that everyone knew not to cross. The way you talked always captivated him, and your laugh? Iida Tenya was completely and utterly whipped, and he had no idea what to do about it.

It had gotten to the point where it was so painfully obvious that the whole class wanted to see him confess to you, but Tenya didn’t want to trouble you with his feelings. The logical side of him said that you didn’t like him romantically, and even if you did you needed to focus fully on your future. Tenya refused to cause you turmoil, and as long as he was able to watch you succeed in life he was happy.

Except on days like these.

When Tenya saw you, out of the corner of his eyes, glowing in the sunlight. You looked like you just ascended down from the heavens, blessing all who are around you with your presence. The way your hair framed your face, and your eyes glimmered making him want to look into them every second of the day. Kaminari started saying nonsense that Tenya didn’t even try to understand, but he watched you light up at his words giggling and continuing the string of nonsense. Somehow, he felt an overwhelming urge to learn about whatever niche pop culture reference the two of you were talking about just so he could make you smile like that, with a big carefree grin.

“You should go over to them,” Ochako’s voice whispered in the boy’s ear. He tore his focus away from you to his friend, who was smiling with a knowing look on her face. The two of them were collecting drinks and ice to put them into coolers, a task that Tenya thought was going to distract him but of course your aura was too strong of a distraction for him.

Stubbornly, he pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked down at the drinks shaking his head. “That would be rude of me to interrupt their conversation.”

Tenya didn’t even have to look up to see Ocakos pout, as he heard her audible “hmph” she says when she becomes frustrated.

“You wouldn’t be interrupting! They would be thrilled to hang out with you, like they always are.” Though the brunette continued to do her job, he felt her brown eyes glare into his face as if she had a mind controlling quirk. Tenya just sighed, wishing what his friend said was true. You always looked so much more happier with people other than him. As much as he loves to see you shine, he wishes he could be the one to make you like that.

Soon the two teens were done with the coolers and began to bring them over. The rest of the class noticed and started to cheer for the cool refreshments, many people calling out their names. Tenya and Ochako put the drinks down next to the tables full of food and suddenly the class lined up and filled their plates with food.

Soon enough everyone found their areas to settle in, and Tenya ever so stubborn, refused to make a plate until everyone was finished. He wanted to make sure everyone was satisfied with the system set up along with watching people (mainly the boys) to make sure they don’t take strenuous amounts of food.

“You didn’t have to do all of that you know,” a voice said causing Tenya to rip his attention away from Sero and Kaminari’s giggling. You were standing close to him, a plate in hand and ready to sit down and join the rest of the group. Tenya scanned your face, as you had your eyebrows raised and your hand on your hip.

Trying not to become flustered at such a quick interaction, Tenya crossed his arms.

“You’re absolutely right i don’t have to do this, but I want to.” He said as he looked back at the area now full of teens sitting on picnic blankets. Your laughter echoed, then your warm hand was placed on his shoulder making his heart flutter.

“Come on, let’s get a plate.”

As if he was put under a spell, Tenya followed behind you and complied to your request. You made small talk about the food, making jokes which he appreciated greatly. He always seemed to lose his ability to talk when around you. Eventually he found his words again and began to create a comfortable conversation with you. However, the moment ended soon and when you reached the end of the line of food Tenya found himself deflate knowing the two of you would separate soon.

That was until you spun around on your heels with a big grin on your face.

“Come sit with me.”

Tenya, caught off guard, felt his face warm up as he sputtered out a response. “Yes-yes of course!”

Somehow your grin widened and you grabbed his free hand dragging him over to an open spot on the picnic blanket. Immediately the two of you were welcomed to the area, but Tenya still felt frazzled by your recent actions. However he settled down quickly with your newfound closeness, always feeling a sort of peace around you. His shoulders and neck automatically relaxed and he’s even gotten comments about how “laid back” he seems to be whenever you’re next to him. Tenya was able to sit and not over analyze or worry as much when he was around you, and for that he is forever grateful. Especially on days like these.

The blue haired boy found himself chuckling along with his classmates and eating without concern, feeling like a true teenager. He liked to peer at you as well, especially with how close the two of you were sitting. There were times he caught you smiling at him, and instead of feeling embarrassed you just kept on looking at him with a gentle look in your eyes. Tenya on the other hand would immediately react, and never quite knew what to do with himself.

It wasn’t until everyone was finished and laid out on the ground that there was a sense of peace over the group of teens. Tenya was listening to Ochako tell a childhood story when he heard a squeal coming from his left.

Now alerted, Tenya whipped his head over and to his surprise he saw you, Kaminari, Sero, and Mina all looking at your phone. He watched as each one of the group started to break away to laugh and make unusual sounds and faces. Then, his eyes shifted to you (always shifting to you) and he watched as your head was thrown back due to laughter.

The sun was setting, the soft glow of sunshine lit your face perfectly. You’re eyes were more alive, and your skin seemed to shine. He watched as you let out an uncontrollable laugh, and when you put your head back you snorted.

Almost immediately, Tenya pipped up as he saw you throw your hand to your face in surprise as your friends laughed even harder at your accidental snort. But Tenya just watched, face as red as a tomato as he realized that everything you did was going to make him feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Oh my god!” You coughed out, eyes watery and cheeks red from laughing so hard. To his surprise, you faced Tenya with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” you were still giggling but he could tell there was a shade of embarrassment on your face. He felt confused as to why you turned to him specifically and apologized for such an adorable laugh you let out. He loved watching you laugh, anything that made you happy made him happy.

“Why? It was cute.”

Suddenly it was Tenya’s turn to be embarrassed, because he didn’t even realize he said that out loud until he watched your face blossom into a deeper blush. As soon as Tenya started to sputter out apologies you just smiled, watching the boy furiously try to cover up the compliment he blurted out.

“You think I’m cute?” As soon as you said that he paused, and everyone around watched in silence because surely Tenya was going to start steaming with how red his face was.

Instead, you just laughed at the embarrassed boy, and he was able to get lost in your beauty once again. Maybe one day he’ll be the reason you laugh so hard you snort, and maybe he’ll get to kiss your cute lips. But for now, he’ll just watch your beautiful laughter unfold underneath the sunlight.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

hi loves!! sorry bout the procrastination i am working on my inbox shit and my own ideas-especially for other fandoms hehe

557 notes · View notes

beesspacedotorg · 1 year ago

Text

Dibs

Summary: You get close with your new pack, especially the Luna. 5.5k words

Warnings: it's omegaverse. guys. it's omegaverse. there's gonna be omegaverse in it. reader is an omega, so is lino. there's mommy kink. towards lino. uh. there's s3x. what else. readers genitals and pronouns are not specified or elaborated on at all B). one (1) piss joke. poly ot8 and it's implied they all bone but there's no actual boning that happens. there's boning described once for two seconds.

Notes: I have almost all of the legendary fish in stardew. this was inspired by this ask that @hyunsvngs got like two days ago. it was also finished yesterday, but I was busy so I didn't post it. thanks to my friends who read it and gave me feedback. uhm. that's all.

Hyunjin is the one who finds you. You’re both in the same class at university, a filler class, something to do with philosophy, and you group up on a project to discuss the differences in the eastern and western versions of the practice.

“Do you think the whole ‘Alpha Mindset’ that’s going around these days could be a facet of modern philosophy, or is it just omegaphobia repackaged?” You’re dicking around on your laptop in class. After assigning the project, your teacher gave up on doing their job, which would be great, but attendance is still mandatory.

“Probably repackaged, hey I have a question for you.” Hyunjin sets his phone down when he asks, tilting in his seat to face you and your heart skips about seven beats in your chest.

He’s pretty, almost pretty enough that it’s annoying, that and he smells nice. It took you two weeks of classes to muster up the courage to ask him on a date only for him to say that he has seven boyfriends but he’d be more than happy to be friends. You would sell your soul to the nearest evil spirit to be lucky enough to have one boyfriend, much less seven, but you aren’t going to let a good opportunity slip out of your hands, so you took his offer of friendship even though you wanted- want- more.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You can feel that this conversation is bordering on serious, a topic that you and Hyunjin broach often. He’s the poetic type, and often you find yourself discussing the intricacies of human emotion with him. He seems nervous though, nervous enough that you temporarily pause Papa’s Pizzeria and boot up 2048 instead, giving him as much attention as you can offer.

“So. Okay wait. Give me a second, I have a list of questions to ask you. Seungmin made me a flowchart.” You smile at him, he’s cute. Seungmin is one of his boyfriends, Hyunjin spends more time than is strictly necessary talking your ear off about how smart and cute and talented Seungmin is. You’d be jealous if you hadn’t seen Seungmin pick Hyunjin up from school one time. Your pants filled with slick so fast you had to hide in the bathroom for half an hour pretending to be sick until you calmed down enough to head home.

“Okay. Uhm. Would you consider us to be good friends?” His voice sounds slightly robotic as he reads from his script and you laugh slightly before confirming.

“Oh, that’s great. Me too. Uh. Do you have a boyfriend?” He pauses. “Or a girlfriend, or a partner?” He adds those last two as an afterthought, rushing through them and you laugh again.

“You would know if I managed to pull that off, Hyunjinnie.”

“What about that pretty girl from your math class?”

“She only dates Alphas unfortunately.”

“Damn.” He doesn’t sound very sorry as he says it, but you can tell he’s trying to be nice. It irks you just a tad, but you think this conversation is leading up to something so you drop the irritation and motion for him to continue.

“Okay, if ‘no’, the next question was,” he’s mumbling to himself and you snort slightly. “Do you have a pack?” You blink. He’s never asked you this before and you shake your head. Where you’re from, people have moved away from forming packs, something about a post World War 2 culture shift and traditional values and homophobia and what not. Your generation is working to bring them back, but the only pack you have is your immediate family. You haven’t gotten close enough to anyone on campus to try and start one, and the one time you felt the need you were swiftly friendzoned.

“Ah. No. I don’t.” He hums sadly.

“Okay. Would you like one?”

“Hyunjin…” You’re starting to feel slightly defensive, and you’re not sure if you like where this is going.

“Wait. Wait. Let me finish.” He huffs. “I told Chan these questions would weird you out, but what do I know?” He sets his phone down and grabs the hand that was busy moving the 2048 tiles around on your computer screen.

“I have a crush on you.” You blink, rapid fire. “And I would like to date you. And also so would my seven boyfriends. But we can get to that later. I got here first, I call dibs.”

In the version of this you tell your friends and family, you accepted immediately and you and Hyunjin went on your first date that afternoon. In reality, you stood up so fast you almost passed out and hightailed it to the bathroom to have a mild panic attack. Hyunjin was kind enough to grab your things and wait for you. He was also kind enough to wait the months-long process of you being generally distrustful of him and his intentions until you decided he was actually serious and that you wanted to give it a try.

Which leads you to where you are now, in the passenger seat of Hyunjin’s car, hands outrageously sweaty as you prepare to meet the rest of the pack for the first time.

“Listen, we don’t have to.” He says. “I’ve talked it over with the rest of them, it can just be you and I. I like you, I want to date you.”

“No, no. Even if it does work that way, I’d have to meet them eventually.”

“Yeah, but meeting ‘my boyfriends that you have no commitment to’ would probably be easier than meeting ‘my boyfriends who might also become your boyfriends.’”

“I can guarantee you it wouldn’t.”

“Jeeze. You should talk to someone about that.”

“Insurance.”

“Channie has good insurance.”

“I’m not legally dependent on him.”

“Oh.”

He grabs your incredibly sweaty hand in his huge and not-so-sweaty one and holds it for the rest of the drive. When he pulls into the driveway he kisses said hand and bats the other one away from the door handle.

“Don’t worry. I got it.” Usually, he would just walk around the car to open it for you, today he bodily throws himself over the hood before doing a weird roll and a cartwheel. You laugh and he opens it and helps you out. He smiles.

You’re still laughing at him as he guides you to the front door and opens it, you’re laughing as he helps you take your shoes off, and you’re laughing through introductions.

“What’s so funny?” Jeongin asks, and you burst into more laughter as you remember the way Hyunjin chucked himself over the car. You’ve calmed down enough to tell him just as you hear yelling from a different room.

“Hwang Hyunjin! How the hell did you get dirt on your shirt? We told you to pick them up, not stop for mud wrestling!”

(You do, eventually, tell Jeongin what happened. He demands a live demonstration and almost cries at it.

“It’s just so dumb! He’s usually graceful and he just- How did he move his body like that?”

“That was the ugliest fucking cartwheel I’ve ever seen.”)

The pack is nice and touchy and, best of all, they want you around.

Heeelllloooooo

hi jisung

Jisung ??? Are you mad at me or smth?

hi jiji

Okay great

WHat are you doung today

And don’t say “your mom”

your mom

ah shit

uh. nothing. sleeping. eating. pissing.

In my mouth?

????????????

Ignore that.

Anyways.

Come over :D

You can do all of that here

In my bed >:)

I was over there yesterday

Idc. I’m sending over Changbinnie with the car <3

I’M NOT PREPARED TO LEAVE THE HOUSE

Good thing you’re just coming to hang out with me then

So, you like them. You’re comfortable with them, there’s only one problem.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“How do you even know that?” Seungmin levels you with a stare.

“It’s physically impossible to hate you-”

“Not true.” Seungmin stares again. You stare back. He rolls his eyes.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“He doesn’t talk to me.”

“He’s shy.”

“Well! So am I! Only one of us can be shy in this relationship and I call dibs!” Seungmin huffs and smashes his head into a pillow.

“Kim Seungmin, if you mess up my nest, I’m kicking you out.”

“This is my bed.”

“Not anymore.” He fixes the pillow and holds your face in his hands.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“What if he does? What if Luna doesn’t like me?” Seungmin plants a kiss to your nose and lets you cry.

haihai

Minho?????

I’m the only one without a cute nickname

rectify that immediately

what should I call you then

Idk. I’ve never had to give myself a nickname.

anyways

a little puppy told me that you think I don’t like you

kim seungmin is dead to me

say your goodbyes

kkkkk

no need for that

I could smell your tears on him after you went home

I thought he scared you away

it took a very long time to get him to fess up >:)

what did you do

nothing he doesn’t enjoy

anyway

Luna is sorry

for making you think he doesn’t like you

come over tomorrow

I’ll make it up to you >:)

???

I’m not really up to boning rn, sorry to say

>:( that’s not what I meant

Jisungie says you like this game

Stardew Valley

he says it has multiplayer mode

I downloaded it on our switch for us to play together

just us

everyone else can suffer

oh.

just us?

unless you’d rather have company

I think Channie is free

NO THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT WE CAN PLAY IT ALONE

chan is free you say >:)

Yah! I called dibs on you!

I’m kicking him out of the house tomorrow

teehee

Stardew with Minho is surprisingly fun. You put him in charge of fishing while you spend your days toiling in the mines. He starts beef with Harvey, the local doctor, after you tell him that Harvey is your go-to love interest when you play the game solo.

“He’s pixels! Code and pixels!”

“I don’t care! This stupid doctor wanders onto our farm and charges me money for passing out on my own land. And! He’s stealing my Omega. He needs to go. How do I replace him?” You let out a laugh and ignore the flutters in your stomach when he casually lays claim on you.

“Do you get this upset when Felix or Ji talk about their media crushes?”

“... I don’t see how that’s very relevant to the conversation.”

“You’re silly.” He huffs at you.

“Why is this fish ugly?”

“That’s a- You just caught a legendary fish. Do you know how hard that is?”

“It’s ugly. I’m selling it.”

“No, don’t! Let me buy a fish tank! We can display it on our farm!”

“Why would you want to display this?”

“You can only catch one per save file.” He rolls his eyes but dutifully places the fish in the tank when you return to the farm. You kiss his cheek and watch his ears turn red.

After that, spending time with Minho is easy. You can’t really imagine what it was like being in the pack without having his attention on you. Felix starts joking that he’s been replaced as Minho’s favorite. (He stops because it starts to make you mildly upset, but also because you’re pretty sure Minho sucked the soul out of his dick right after he first made that joke.)

It comes to a head around exam season, this time, you and Hyunjin don’t share any classes, and annoyingly, Chan is too busy to eat much less help you settle, so you end up floundering with anxiety and stress and lack of sleep.

“Jagi? What’s wrong?” It’s Minho, his scent lavender and undercut with something sugar coated.

“Everything.” Your head is in your hands and you’re shoving your palms into your eyes to push back tears. Minho hums, hand coming to the back of your neck to scruff you just slightly.

“What’s your schedule like right now?” You shove your calendar at him and he hums, considering for a second before he’s hauling you up by your armpits.

“Wait- I have to study. I can’t just-”

“You have to eat.” This is the harshest you’ve ever heard him speak to you, but strangely enough, you don’t feel scared. “You have to eat and sleep and maybe shower and cuddle with Luna because he misses you and then you can get back to studying. Yeah?”

His suggestion makes you whine and struggle in his hold a bit. His hand returns to your neck to re-scruff you.

“Settle. I’m not asking, jagi, I’m telling.” You huff and pout at him, but he’s the pack’s head Omega for a reason, and who are you to question his authority? So you listen, going limp in his hold and forcing him to bear your weight.

“I see why you and Seungminnie get along so well. You’re listening, but not without struggle, hmm? Brats. The both of you.”

“‘M not.”

“You are. But that’s okay, Luna will train it out of you some other time. You’ll learn to behave.”

You can ignore how his words sent a spike of heat to your belly, but you can’t ignore the way he smirks at the change in your scent.

“Oh? Do you like that?”

“... I thought I was supposed to be eating.”

“Nice subject change. But yes, you are. Sit there and let me handle it.”

He feeds you and helps you shower, despite your many protests that you’re gross and can handle it yourself he refuses to back down.

“Let me do this for you, hmm?” His eyes are soft. “I don’t have to if you really don’t want me to, but I want to take care of you. Let me take care of my baby.” So you do, melting under his soft gaze and softer words, and he must be doing something with his scent, because you feel mildly scent drunk as he drags you into his nest.

“I’m allowed in?” You’re surprised. You’ve never been in his room before, most of your hangouts happening in the living room or Chan’s room when he’s not home because Minho thinks it’s funny to bother the Alpha. So you’re slightly out of it and a lot surprised and Minho looks a little upset that you asked but he takes your arm and shoves you onto his bed, rearranging his nest around you before climbing in himself.

“Of course you’re allowed in. You think Kim Seungmin is allowed in here and you’re not? You think I let a sweaty, post-gym Changbin in here but won’t let you? You’re silly. Hush.”

“But-”

“Hush.”

“Okay.” He hums, satisfied at your submission and wraps himself around you.

“Luna will give you a reward when you finish exams.”

“What if I don’t pass?”

“You still deserve a reward for trying.” He kisses your head and you fall asleep like that, curled around each other, comfortable in his bed and warm in his arms.

“I’m finished!” You wander into the house the next week, fully prepared to spend your break doing absolutely nothing.

“Yay! With what, exactly?” Changbin asks. You hang your self off of him, forcing him to drag you along as he putters around the kitchen.

“With exams! Didn’t Yongbokkie and Minho ban you from the kitchen?”

“Well, yes. But what they don’t know won’t kill them.”

“What who doesn’t know?” It’s Minho, and you giggle as you push your face in between Changbin’s shoulder blades. He’s so big and warm. You want to bite him and also want him to hold you against a wall for unholy acts. Your hands wander around while he’s stuttering out a lame excuse to grope his chest.

“Wh- Hey! I’m busy getting threatened here!”

“Yes. I’m busy celebrating being a genius. It seems we both have full schedules.”

“Celebrating,” Minho steps next to you and taps you until you look at him, cheek still smushed against Changbin’s back. “Are you finished with exams then?”

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closing. Changbin really is comfortable, he smells slightly like chocolate and raspberries, and you could do with a celebratory nap.

“That’s great!” You’re being tugged away from your napping spot. “Come, Luna promised you a reward.”

“My nap.”

“You can’t sleep standing, you’re not a horse.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

He crosses his arms after closing the door to his bedroom.

“Do you want to nap before or after your reward?”

“What’s my reward?” The sentence hasn’t been out of your mouth for very long before he’s cupping the back of your head and kissing you.

“Oh. Oh. This is a good reward.” He smiles against your mouth, gently pushing you back towards his bed.

“Yeah? I thought you’d like it. I can smell you, you know.” Your back is hitting the mattress and there’s a shirt by your head that you think Hunjin was looking for a little while ago. “When you stare at me for too long, I can smell how needy you get. We all can, but I called dibs.”

“Dibs?” Your hands are under his shirt squishing his pecs.

“Mhm. Dibs. Hyunjinnie got to date you first. Kiss and hug and hold your hand. But do you know what I get to do first?” You shake your head and he gives you a wicked smile before he leans down next to your ear. “I get to fuck you first. Not Channie, not our Alpha, not Hyunjinnie who found you first. Me, your Luna. I get you first.” You inhale, shaky, and your legs shake slightly with the way blood rushes away from your brain. You can smell how your scent spikes and you can smell how Minho’s spikes in return. He smells so good, you want to get your mouth on him, so you do. You pull him down until his neck is in reach and seal your lips around the scent gland there, licking the sweat from his skin and letting your lungs fill with nothing but him.

“Jagi,” his voice is breathy, he pulls your head away from his neck and you whine. “You’re gonna get yourself scent drunk and I want you to be present for the things I’m going to do to you. Be good for me.” You pout slightly at him but nod, you’ll be good for him, you’ll do anything he wants. But you want to kiss him again, you want to kiss him so badly that you think you’ll die without it. You throw yourself up, arms circling around his neck as you press your mouth on his and you knock him off balance a bit. You’re upset when he tilts, separating your mouths and you push and push until suddenly he’s on his back under you, but you’re finally kissing so you don’t care all that much.

“Eager.” He’s too busy trying to talk to kiss you and you nip at his lip lightly until he gets the message.

“You’re only getting away with this because this is the first time,” he warns. “Next time, I won’t be so lenient.” You think he might be lying, that he’d let you do whatever you want regardless of how many times you fall into bed together, but you aren’t in the habit of letting other people know you have an advantage so you let it go.

You’re grinding down onto him, chasing friction as your pants fill with enough slick that you worry you might be in heat, whimpering with every movement when he grabs your hips, stopping you.

“Minho, why?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Don’t you wanna get your pants off? Hmm? Feel me bare?” And suddenly, you do. He’s so smart for knowing that, you think. You let him slide your bottoms off and tug at his until they’re gone and there’s nothing separating the two of you save for the fact that you can’t fuse into one person.

You settle yourself back over him and oh. Omegas are supposed to be small, in the dick department, and you suppose compared to an Alpha, he might be. But he feels so good against you, he’ll feel so good inside of you, that you don’t much care, pawing at him desperately. He chuckles and grabs your hand, flipping you back over so he’s on top again.

“Baby, don’t tell me you’re already gone?” You are. You’re so gone. If you’re being honest, you were gone the second he kissed you. He does it again and you whine into his mouth.

“Noisy little thing. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Make sure my pretty Omega is all satisfied before you leave my bed.” He smiles and then he’s kissing his way down your neck and grumbling about the shirt you’re still wearing before his mouth is on the place where you’re leaking slick and suddenly your brain is falling out of your ears.

Your hands grab onto his hair and pull, hips arching up into his mouth. You think the sound that you let out could be heard from outer space, but in your defense, he’s good with his tongue.

“I knew you’d taste good.” You have no idea how he’s still talking, but the vibrations feel nice enough that you don’t want to stop him, that and you don’t think you could stop Minho from doing much of anything at this rate.

“We talked about it, you know.” You didn’t know. The pack talked about you? You quickly lose your train of thought as he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Small, he always says. They don’t feel small.

“It was all Jeonginnie could talk about during his last rut.” Minho huffs and you can see him roll his eyes despite the fact that yours are closed. You weren’t there for his last rut, too nervous and too busy with school to stay. It had caused quite the fuss and you had to spend extra time with Jeongin before and after to soothe him.

“Knuckle deep in Yongbokkie and all he could talk about was you. How good you’d taste, how warm you’d be. He’s lucky that Yongbokkie has the hots for you too, otherwise he’d be down one appendage.” The implication of the youngest Alpha getting his dick chopped off by Felix makes you laugh, but the knowledge that the pack desires you knocks the wind from your lungs. Either that, or the thing Minho is currently doing with his fingers.

He licks you again, and then places his mouth around your hole and sucks, like he’s trying to drink the slick straight from your body. The sound it makes is absolutely obscene, and your face heats at it, hands coming up to hide.

“No, no. Move your hands, jagiya. Let me see you.” He’s moving, mouth no longer on you and you hate it, but your embarrassment outweighs everything else so you don’t move your hands and instead shake your head at him. He pauses, hand stilling inside of you.

“No? Did you just tell me no, sweet thing?” You shake your head again.

“You didn’t? It seems like you did. Seems like you still are.” He’s laughing, or, he was.

“I thought you were going to be good for me. Do I have to turn this reward into a punishment?” That’s the one that does it, your eyes go wide and your hands fall from your face to grab at him, head shaking violently.

“No! No! Mommy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I was just nervous, please. I’ll be good. I’m good.” It takes you a second to register what you’ve said, and when you do your hands move up to cover your face again. Minho catches your wrists.

“Mommy? Yeah? Am I your mommy, sweetheart?” He drops your wrist to cup your face and you’ve lost all coordination. He taps your cheek, just a hint of a slap, but it’s enough to have you looking at him with wet eyes.

“I asked you a question, jagiya. Answer mommy when he talks to you, okay?” You nod, still in a daze and he huffs and takes a hold of your hair.

“What did I just tell you, doll?”

“To answer you.”

“Mhm, and what are you not doing?”

“Answering.”

“So what do you say to me?”

“I’m sorry, mommy. I’m sorry, please let go, it hurts.” He lets go of your hair and gently massages your scalp.

“Hmm. That’s better. And, it’s supposed to hurt, baby. That’s how you learn to listen to your mommy. That’s what a brat like you needs to learn their place.” You choke slightly on your own spit, hands coming up to rest in his hair, playing with it. He smiles at you.

“Good. Now, be good for your mommy, yeah? Be good for your Luna and I’ll make sure you get everything you need. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Yes. I can.” He hums and suddenly his fingers are in you again and he manages to take one of your nipples into his mouth, and you’re already so keyed up that you feel slightly embarrassed when you’re cumming on his hand a moment later.

“Oh, sweet thing. Did I take too long? Hmm? Did mommy tease you too much?” You shake your head.

“No, ‘m sorry, mommy.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Don’t worry so much. You used your brain so well this past week, let mommy do the thinking for you. I’ll tell you when to apologize, how about that?”

“Sounds good.” You’re hot, overwarm, and you're shoving your shirt off the rest of the way and chucking it somewhere. The shirt’s only over your eyes for a second, but somehow Minho has managed to coat his fingers in his own slick and shove them into your mouth. Your eyes roll so far back into your head you’re worried they might stick but he tastes so good that you would suffer blindness for eternity just to have this.

“Mommy, mommy, you taste so good-”

“Shh, I know.” He shoves his fingers far enough back that you gag a little and your eyes water and he coos and wipes at your tears with the hand that was in you, smearing slick across your cheekbones.

His fingers are out of your mouth and he’s between your legs, shoving them apart to get at your hole and then he's sliding in.

“Oh God.”

“Just Minho is fine. Or mommy,” he giggles at you, “since you seem so fond of it.”

Your glare slightly at him, less than pleased with the corny joke, but he shifts his hips and hits a spot that has you keening, arching up into him for more.

“There? Yeah? Jesus. You're leaking so much that I'd think you're in heat if you didn't know any better.” He's right, but it's unfair of him to single you out.

“You are too.” It comes out a lot more whiny than you wanted but he’s nice enough to look offended anyway.

“I thought I took care of your attitude. It seems I have my work cut out for me.” His pace picks up at that, and suddenly you don't have enough brain cells to think, let alone talk back.

You're not wrong though, there's slick everywhere. From you and him, it's soaking through the sheets, it's sticking your thighs together every time he thrusts forward, it's coating his hands and everywhere he touches you. It's loud, the slapping of your bodies accompanied by a wet squish every time either of you moves. It's messy and sticky and slightly gross and you want more. You want to be covered in him and he in you until you smell so similar not even the best drug dog would be able to tell you apart.

Your hands wander searching and searching until you’ve found the place where he’s leaking too and you're coating your fingers in it and smearing a hand over your chest before sticking them in your mouth. You hear Minho gasp and his hips stutter before picking back up.

“Dirty, that’s dirty, Omega. You want me to make a mess of you?” You nod. Of course you do. You want your mommy to do whatever he wants to you. He coos and guides your hand back to his hole, guiding you into fingering him while he’s rearranging your guts.

“Mommy, it’s- you’re so warm.” He hums at you, breath finally turning ragged.

“Yeah? You wanna fuck mommy sometime? I bet you’d be good at it. Such a good little Omega for me, for us.” You do. You would like to fuck him sometime. Anytime really, you bet he’d be so warm. Tight and hot and wet. You have him on your fingers now, but you’re too overwhelmed to really enjoy it the way it should be enjoyed, the way he should be enjoyed. You want to eat him out, drink his slick straight from the source for the rest of time. You wouldn’t need water or food anymore if you could just have him.

“Yeah, I would. Mommy, please. I’ll be good. I’ll do so good.” You’re babbling at him, out of it and barely able to speak. He has to strain to understand you properly.

“You would. Mommy knows you would. Such a sweetheart, you’d make your Luna feel so good, hmm?” And you tighten around him with a loud moan and there’s a bang on the wall connecting Minho’s room to Chan’s and Minho bangs back.

“Yah! Just because you’re too busy to get your dick wet doesn’t mean I am! Leave us alone and go jack off or something!” He huffs and looks back down at you, kissing your nose softly in a stark juxtaposition to the way his hips are probably bruising your own.

“Why don’t you go ahead and cum, baby? Hmm? Mommy’s right behind you.” He shoves his fingers in your mouth again and this time, this time, his fingers are coated in a heady mixture of yours and his slick and that’s what does you in. That’s what makes you cum so hard your legs shake and makes Minho take his fingers out of your mouth lest you choke. He follows not too soon after, and when he pulls out you can see the mixture of cum and slick slide out of you.

“Next time,” Minho’s looking down at it too, “I’ll make sure that stays in. Can’t have it go to waste, can we?”

Despite his earlier promise, he doesn’t let you nap yet.

“But you said-”

“I know what I said. And now I’m saying that you can’t sleep like this.”

He bodily drags you to the shower, again, and changes the sheets before he lets you lie down.

“My hair is gonna be so dry.”

“Where’s the stuff you put in it?”

“At my house.”

“This is your house.”

“I still rent an apartment close to campus.” Minho pauses, shifting so you’re face-to-face.

“Don’t. Come live with us.”

“There aren’t enough rooms.”

“If privacy is what you’re worried about, Luna will build you a room right next to his with his bare hands.” You giggle at him.

“Yeah. But I have to pay a fee for breaking my lease.”

“Luna will take care of it.”

haihai

hi minho what’s up

>:( still no cute nickname?

I feel like it’s inappropriate to call you mommy in a casual setting

oh >:)? that’s my nickname now?

if that’s okay

whatever you want

as long as I have a cute nickname before kim seungmin I don’t care

then why did you harass me about it??????!??!?!

kkkk I had to get you in my bed somehow

“Can you guys stop texting when you’re right next to each other? All of your weird flirting is really interrupting movie time.” Jisung is complaining from where his head is rammed into your stomach.

“Dude. You’re literally not even watching it.” It’s Jeongin now, reaching over to smack Ji’s head.

“And? You’re the one who’s always complaining about how loud they are.” This is news to you.

“Is it really that bad?” Your voice is small and immediately Minho’s hands are touching you.

“No. They don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re just mad that they haven’t figured out how to get you to make such pretty noises yet.”

The room erupts into shouts as people defend themselves from Minho’s claim, you smile at him and tuck yourself further into his side, kicking Jisung out from his spot in your lap.

“Hey! I called dibs on your lap! You can’t take that away!” He’s shoving at your knees, trying to shove them back off the couch so he can lay comfortably again.

“When did you guys even call dibs on all this stuff?”

“It used to be while you were on the drive here,” Felix says, “now we do it while you’re getting a blanket from your room.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“Sure. Just call dibs first.”

#bee blurbs #ft.lino #ft.ot8 #🌵anon #a-bee-o #skz smut #skz x you #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee know smut #lee know x you #lee minho x reader

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