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gyuuberryy · 3 days ago

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extra credit!

pairing: tutor!jungwon x downbad!reader

synopsis: getting tutored by the smartest guy in school should’ve helped your grades—not tanked your dignity. jungwon thinks you’re flirting to distract him from actual studying, and the more you try to act normal, the more he seems to think you’re in love with him. which, okay, maybe you are. but that’s not the point. unfortunately, there’s no syllabus for surviving weekly sessions with your crush when every word you say sounds like a love confession.

genre: highschool au, crack, slowburn, fluff, slight angst

warnings: reader is embarrassingly down bad, some kissing

note: this is like my second tutor!jungwon fic🙏🏻 why don't tutors like this exist irl. anyway enjoy reading!!

word count: 8.2k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

2k event | previous | next

you didn’t ask to be tutored by jungwon.

in fact, you were actively hoping the school would forget about your tragic math grades entirely—like, maybe the universe would take pity on you and spontaneously erase the concept of vectors from existence. but when your teacher announced you’d be getting help from the yang jungwon, top student in your year, you knew you were doomed.

walking to the library now, your stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with the questionable cafeteria lunch. jungwon was everything you weren’t—composed where you were a mess, effortlessly intelligent where your brain short-circuited at basic equations, terrifyingly observant when you could barely remember your own schedule. and, because the universe hated you, he was also stupidly attractive.

you’d noticed it the first time you saw him in your class, head tilted as he scribbled something in a notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration. his uniform always looked annoyingly perfect, like he’d stepped out of some academic themed photoshoot, while yours was perpetually wrinkled and half tucked. and his voice—god, his voice was unfairly soft, which made your stupid heart stutter when he answered questions in class.

of course, you’d never admit any of this out loud. you weren’t even sure when the crush had started—maybe when he’d stayed after school to help a lost freshman find their classroom, or when he’d laughed at some dumb joke in the cafeteria and his nose scrunched up in a way that made your chest ache. it didn’t matter. what mattered was that now, you were about to sit across from him for an hour every week, trying not to combust while he explained polynomials or whatever.

you paused outside the library doors, taking a deep breath. act normal. don’t say anything weird. don’t stare at his hands. don’t—

the door swung open before you could finish your mental pep talk, and there he was, blinking at you like he’d been waiting.

“you’re late,” jungwon said, but there was no real annoyance in his tone, just that quiet amusement that always made you feel like he knew something you didn’t.

“traffic,” you deadpanned, then immediately wanted to kick yourself. traffic? you walked here.

jungwon’s lips twitched. “right.”

he stepped aside to let you in and as you brushed past him, you caught the faint scent of his laundry detergent—something clean and warm, like sunlight. great. now you were sniffing him.

this was going to be a disaster.

you had promised yourself you’d act normal. no weird jokes, no nervous rambling, definitely no accidental slips of the tongue that would make him think you were even more of a mess than he already did. you’d rehearsed it in your head all morning.

but then, barely ten minutes into your first study session, your traitorous mouth betrayed you in the worst possible way.

“so if you move the x over here—” jungwon was saying, his voice calm and measured like he wasn’t currently explaining something that might as well have been ancient Sumerian to you. you were nodding along like you understood, gripping your pen so tight your knuckles were turning white, when he paused and glanced at you. “got it?”

“yes, sir—i mean, jungwon,” you blurted out, the words tumbling out before your brain could catch up.

the second it left your mouth, your entire body went rigid. no. no no no. you didn’t just say that. you didn’t.

jungwon didn’t laugh. he didn’t even smirk. he just—stopped. his pencil hovered mid air, and for one horrifying second, you swore his eyes flickered with something unreadable before he slowly, painfully deliberately, raised an eyebrow at you. like he was mentally adding this to a list titled reasons my tutoring student might be insane.

then, without a single comment, he went right back to explaining the equation, as if you hadn’t just shattered your own dignity into a million tiny pieces.

you wanted to die. you wanted to melt into a puddle and seep through the library floorboards. you wanted to invent time travel just so you could go back and slap your past self before those cursed words could escape. but instead, you just sat there, your face burning so hot you were surprised your skin wasn’t peeling off, and pretended to focus on the worksheet like your life depended on it.

which—ha. focus? impossible. the numbers on the page blurred together, your brain too busy short circuiting over the fact that yang jungwon was sitting right there, close enough that you could see the way his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks when he looked down at the paper, the faint crease between his brows as he worked through the problem. his fingers were long and slender, his nails neatly trimmed—of course even his hands were perfect—and every time he tapped his pencil against the page, you swore your heartbeat synced up with the rhythm.

then it got worse.

he leaned over to point out a mistake in your work, his arm brushing against yours, and—oh.

his sleeve was soft against your skin, the warmth of him seeping into you like sunlight, and suddenly, breathing felt like an advanced skill you hadn’t mastered yet. your lungs forgot how to function. your throat went dry. you could smell his shampoo, something clean and subtly sweet, and it was distracting in a way that should’ve been illegal.

you fake coughed into your elbow, desperate to disguise the way your breath hitched, but the damage was already done. your brain had officially abandoned all rational thought, leaving behind only static and the frantic, looping mantra of don’t freak out don’t freak out don’t freak out—

but you were freaking out. and your hands, apparently operating on pure panic autopilot, decided the best course of action was to start doodling in the margins of your notebook like a middle schooler with a crush.

you weren’t even paying attention to what you were drawing—just desperate to do something with the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. your pencil moved on its own, sketching lazy shapes, swirls, half formed equations you’d already given up on understanding. and then, because you seemed to be your biggest enemy, your subconscious took over.

you didn’t even realise what you’d written until jungwon’s voice cut through the silence, slow and deliberate.

“god of math… and my heart?”

your entire body locked up.

your pen slipped from your fingers, clattering against the table before rolling off the edge, but you didn’t even move to catch it. you just stared, numb with horror at the evidence of your own humiliation: right there, in messy, ink-smudged letters, surrounded by half hearted calculations and a poorly drawn heart, were the words god of math… and my heart?

your eyes snapped up to meet his.

jungwon was staring at you. not just glancing, not just mildly curious—full-on staring, his dark eyes flickering between your face and the notebook like he was trying to decide if you were joking or if he needed to call for a mental health intervention. his lips were slightly parted, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and way too much amusement for your sanity to handle.

your soul left your body.

“that’s—it’s not—” you stammered, your voice coming out strangled as you slapped your hand over the doodle like that could somehow erase it from existence. but it was too late. he’d seen it. he’d read it. there was no coming back from this.

jungwon tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “so,” he said, dragging the word out like he was savouring your suffering, “are we here to study math… or feelings?”

your face was on fire. you were pretty sure you’d stopped breathing altogether. somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint sound of a librarian shushing a group of freshmen, the rustle of pages turning, the hum of the overhead lights—normal, everyday sounds that felt completely detached from the reality where you had just accidentally confessed to jungwon via notebook doodle.

“i—that’s not—oh my god,” you choked out, burying your face in your hands. “can we pretend i never picked up a pen?”

jungwon let out a quiet huff of laughter—actual laughter, warm and low and devastating to your already fragile composure, before sliding the worksheet back toward you.

“focus,” he said, his voice light but firm, like he wasn’t the entire reason you couldn’t. “we’re on question three.”

you swallowed hard, staring down at the paper like it held the answers to all your problems. but the numbers might as well have been dancing. your heart was pounding so loud you were surprised he couldn’t hear it.

this was going to be the longest tutoring session of your life.

the next session started with an immediate, glaring difference that made your stomach drop the moment you slid into your usual seat: jungwon had positioned himself a full twelve inches further away than normal. not enough to be obvious to anyone else, but enough that you noticed immediately—enough that the space between you suddenly felt calculated, deliberate, like he'd used a ruler to measure out the exact distance required to maintain proper tutor-student boundaries while still being able to pass you worksheets. his posture was still picture perfect, his notes still organised with military precision, but there was a new tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before, a carefulness to his movements that made your palms sweat.

he was polite—painfully so—with that same quiet professionalism he always had, but his voice carried a new kind of measured calmness. you couldn't even blame him. not after last time. not after the doodle. not after you'd basically turned into a malfunctioning robot every time he so much as breathed in your direction.

you tried desperately not to stare at the way the library's fluorescent lights caught the subtle highlights in his hair, or how his long fingers tapped rhythmically against the edge of the textbook—one two three, pause, one two three—a nervous habit you'd never noticed before. you tried to focus on the equations swimming across your notebook page, but the numbers might as well have been written in hieroglyphics for all the sense they made to your currently short-circuiting brain.

was he uncomfortable? had you made him uncomfortable? the thought made your stomach twist violently. you hadn't meant for any of this to happen. that stupid doodle had just... appeared, like some kind of subconscious betrayal, and now you were paying the price for it in the form of this excruciatingly careful distance jungwon was maintaining between you.

then, just as he was midway through explaining some godforsaken exponent rule—his voice smooth and steady like he wasn't currently dismantling your entire nervous system—he paused. his pencil hovered over the page, and for one heart stopping moment you thought he'd caught another glaring error in your work, but then he glanced up at you through his unfairly long lashes, his dark eyes utterly unreadable and dropped the verbal equivalent of a grenade into your lap with terrifying casualness: "you don't have to flirt to get out of studying, you know."

the world stopped spinning.

your brain short circuited so violently you could practically hear the fizzle of your neurons giving up. your mouth fell open, then snapped shut, then opened again like a malfunctioning marionette as every single thought in your head evaporated at once.

"i wasn't flirting!" you blurted out, far too loudly, earning an immediate and aggressive "shhhh!" from the librarian three tables over.

your face burned so hot you were surprised your skin didn't melt off, but the words kept tumbling out in a desperate, rambling avalanche.

"i just—you're very well-spoken! i mean—not that i notice that! i don't think about your voice at all, ever. like, not even a little. it's just a normal voice. a totally unremarkable, not-smooth, not-nice-to-listen-to voice—"

the moment the words left your mouth felt like deja vu,because you wanted to die again. wanted to spontaneously combust. wanted the library floor to open up and swallow you whole because oh god, you'd just insulted his voice while trying to compliment it, and now he was definitely going to think you were either insane or the world's worst liar—which, honestly, you might be at this point.

jungwon's expression didn't so much as flicker. he just looked at you with that same infuriatingly neutral face, though you could have sworn you saw the faintest glimmer of something in his eyes—amusement? disbelief? sheer existential despair at having to tutor someone this socially incompetent?—before he turned back to the textbook with the air of a man who had seen too much.

"right," he said, his voice drier than the sahara, "let's just... focus on the math."

you swallowed hard enough to hurt your throat, nodding like one of those bobblehead dolls as you attempted to glue your attention to the worksheet in front of you. but the numbers blurred together, your thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of oh god oh god oh god and why can't i be normal for five seconds and please let me disappear right now. the air between you felt thick enough to choke on, every rustle of paper, every shift in posture amplified to deafening levels in the silence.

what followed was nothing short of a masterclass in humiliation. every attempt you made to contribute to the lesson ended in disaster.

"so if x equals... uh... the thing that's... not y?" you stammered at one point, watching in real-time as jungwon's eyebrows crept higher up his forehead like they were trying to escape your nonsense.

when you reached for your pen, your butterfingers decided to send it clattering to the floor with a noise that echoed through the entire library. you lunged after it like your life depended on it, only to smash your knee against the table leg hard enough to make the textbooks jump.

"i'm fine!" you hissed through gritted teeth, rubbing your throbbing knee as jungwon stared at you with the expression of a man seriously reconsidering his volunteer work at as a tutor.

by the time the session limped to its merciful conclusion, you were a shell of a human being. your notes looked like they'd been taken by someone having a stroke, half legible equations interspersed with frantic scribbles and the occasional subconscious doodle that you immediately scratched out before it could betray you again. your dignity had long since packed its bags and left the country. and jungwon? he just gathered his things with that same infuriating calm, slinging his bag over his shoulder with effortless grace before pausing to look at you one last time.

"next time," he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear it, "just tell me if you don't understand something." a beat. "it's less... dramatic."

then he was gone, leaving you sitting there with your face burning, your heart pounding, and the sinking realisation that you now had approximately six days, fourteen hours, and twenty three minutes to figure out how to face him again without spontaneously combusting from sheer embarrassment.

the moment your head hit the pillow that night, your brain decided to stage the world’s most brutal highlight reel of every single embarrassing interaction you’d ever had with jungwon. you squeezed your eyes shut, but the memories played in vivid technicolour behind your eyelids, each one more excruciating than the last.

first, the meme incident. you’d meant to send him a screenshot of the math problem you were struggling with, but instead, you had somehow selected and sent an entirely different screenshot from your camera roll: a stupid meme that just said "i want you" in bold, gliterry letters.

you’d realised your mistake immediately, frantically typing "NO I MEANT TO SEND THE MATH PROBLEM I NEED HELP" in all caps, but the damage was done.

jungwon had left you on read for a full twenty minutes before responding with nothing but a dry "question 3.7 is on page 46." no mention of the meme. no acknowledgement of your mortified follow up messages. just math. always math.

then there was the handwriting debacle. last week, when he’d written out a particularly complex formula in his annoyingly perfect script with each number and symbol aligned with geometric precision, you’d blurted out, "your handwriting is so nice, i bet your love letters are pretty."

the second the words left your mouth, your soul had left your body. jungwon had just blinked at you, his expression completely blank, before slowly sliding the notebook back toward you and saying, "focus. we’re on question five."

and now today. today. the way he’d looked at you when you’d tripped over your own words, your own pen, your own damn feet—like he was watching some tragic comedy where you were the unwilling star. the worst part was he never called you out on any of it. never laughed, never teased, never even acknowledged the sheer magnitude of your awkwardness. he just stared at you with that unreadable expression, those dark eyes giving nothing away, and continued tutoring like you weren’t slowly combusting in your seat.

you groaned into your pillow, rolling onto your stomach and pressing your face into the mattress like you could suffocate the memories away. why couldn’t you just be normal around him? why did your brain short-circuit every time he so much as glanced in your direction? why did your mouth betray you with increasingly unhinged comments that you would never say to anyone else?

outside your window, a car passed by, its headlights casting fleeting shadows across your bedroom walls. you stared at the ceiling, your chest tight with something between frustration and longing.

part of you wished he would just call you out on it—laugh at you, tease you, anything to break this unbearable tension. at least then you’d know what he was thinking. at least then you could stop wondering if he pitied you, if he was uncomfortable, if he was counting down the minutes until these tutoring sessions were over.

but he didn’t. he just kept showing up, kept explaining equations with that same calm patience, kept sitting just a little too far away, close enough to teach, far enough to remind you that whatever this was, it was strictly academic.

the weird air conditioner of the library hummed softly overhead, as jungwon watched you fumble with your notebook for what felt like the hundredth time that session.

your pencil—the third one you'd dropped in the past twenty minutes, slipped from your grasp again, rolling across the table toward him with a quiet clatter that echoed unnaturally loud in the nearly empty library. he caught it effortlessly between his long fingers, the movement so smooth it was almost frustrating, and when his fingertips brushed against yours as he handed it back, you inhaled sharply like you'd been shocked, jerking your hand away way too fast and nearly knocking over your half empty water bottle in the process.

"thanks," you mumbled, staring down at your work like held the secrets of the universe rather than just being a series of meaningless numbers that refused to make sense no matter how long you stared at them. the numbers blurred together as you became hyper aware of every tiny detail, how close his arm was to yours on the table, the way his sleeve brushed against your wrist every time he reached to point something out, the faint scent of his laundry detergent that somehow made even the musty library air smell better.

jungwon cleared his throat in that careful way he always did when he was about to say something he'd clearly rehearsed in his head first, and you could practically see him mentally selecting each word before speaking. "you're getting better at these," he said, tapping the paper where you'd actually managed to solve one problem correctly against all odds.

his voice was still calm and measured like always, but there was something softer in his tone today, something almost encouraging that made your traitorous heart skip a beat. "just need to watch your signs when you—"

"i got a B!" you suddenly blurted out, slapping your quiz paper onto the table with way more force than necessary, the sound reverberating through the quiet library like a gunshot.

"on the last quiz! i mean, it's not an A or anything, and there's still like three red marks where i clearly didn't know what i was doing, but considering i was barely scraping D's before and mrs. kim said i might have to retake the class if i didn't improve and—"

and then, before your brain could catch up with your body's terrible decisions, you threw your arms around him in a burst of pure, unfiltered excitement that immediately turned into pure, unfiltered panic the second you made contact. you froze, suddenly hyperaware of every point where your bodies touched—how warm he was despite the library's aggressive air conditioning, how nice he smelled— like fresh cotton and something faintly minty with just a hint of citrus, how his breath hitched almost imperceptibly against your shoulder before his entire body went rigid with surprise.

you sprang back so fast your chair screeched against the floor, "oh my god, i'm so sorry, i don't know why i did that, that was completely inappropriate, i swear i wasn't trying to— i mean, i know we're not— i should've just—"

"it's fine," jungwon interrupted, his ears turning a shade of pink you'd never seen before and that you immediately committed to memory.

he adjusted his collar unnecessarily, like he needed something to do with his suddenly fidgety hands, and you noticed the way his fingers trembled slightly before he clasped them together on the table.

"you... you earned that B. good job." his voice sounded slightly strangled, like he was fighting to keep it steady while he was clearly flustered just as much as you were.

an awkward silence settled over you both that was so thick you could practically choke on it. you stared down at your hands, willing the burning in your cheeks to subside even as you could feel the heat spreading down your neck, while jungwon cleared his throat for what felt like the hundredth time and opened his planner with slightly too much force, scribbling something quickly before turning back to your work with forced professionalism.

"let's look at the ones you missed," he said, his voice steadier now but still not quite meeting your eyes, like he was forcing himself back into tutor mode through sheer willpower alone.

you nodded mutely, sneaking a glance at his planner when he wasn't looking (which was definitely an invasion of privacy but you were way past caring at this point). in the margin, in his annoyingly perfect handwriting that you'd secretly tried to imitate more than once, you could just make out: "focus: not how happy she looks right now" with the last three words crossed out messily but not completely, like he'd regretted writing them but couldn't bring himself to fully erase them either. the sight made something warm and fluttery settle in your chest despite your embarrassment.

the next week found you both in the library past closing time, the only ones left under the dimmed lights that cast long shadows across the tables. your head drooped dangerously close to your textbook as exhaustion weighed on you, your eyes struggling to stay open after hours of studying and what felt like gallons of terrible library coffee. the numbers on the page had started swimming together about thirty minutes ago, and you were pretty sure the last equation you'd written down was actually just nonsense at this point.

"maybe we should call it a night," jungwon suggested, packing his things with his usual quiet efficiency but moving slower than normal, like he was just as tired as you were.

there was a faint smudge of ink on his cheek from where he'd absentmindedly rubbed his face earlier, and you had to physically restrain yourself from reaching out to wipe it away.

you lifted your head blearily, taking in the way the soft golden light caught his sharp features, highlighting the tired shadows under his eyes that made him look oddly vulnerable. his usually perfect hair was slightly mussed from running his hands through it one too many times, and a few dark strands fell into his eyes in a way that made your fingers itch to push them back.

"mmm, but you're so cute when you're focused," you murmured without thinking, your sleep-deprived brain-to-mouth filter completely malfunctioning as the words slipped out in a drowsy mumble.

the second the words left your mouth, your eyes flew open wide as every ounce of drowsiness fled your body in a rush of sheer panic. jungwon's hands stilled on his notebook, his entire body going rigid like he'd been electrocuted. you watched in horrified fascination as a slow, creeping flush travelled up his neck, staining his cheeks a pink so vivid you could see it even in the dim lighting.

"i mean—! i mean you're very—! the way you explain things is—!" you buried your face in your hands with a groan, your voice muffled against your palms. "i'm going to walk into traffic. just push me into the street, it'll be kinder for everyone involved."

to your utter shock, jungwon let out a quiet huff of laughter, the sound so soft you almost missed it but so genuine it made your chest ache. "just go home and sleep," he said, his voice warmer than you'd ever heard it, with a fondness that made your traitorous heart skip several beats.

"we'll pick this up tomorrow." he hesitated for a second before adding, almost too quiet to hear, "and... thanks. i guess."

the following afternoon, you slid a bubble tea across the table toward him without meeting his eyes, the condensation from the cup leaving a wet trail on the wooden surface.

"here. for, uh. being smart. and stuff." you'd spent an embarrassing amount of time at the boba shop that morning agonising over which flavour to get him before remembering he'd mentioned liking taro once in passing months ago.

jungwon stared at the drink, then at you, his eyebrows inching upward toward his hairline in a way that would've been comical if you weren't currently dying inside.

"you're thanking me... for being smart?" he asked slowly, like he was trying to parse some complex equation from your words.

"shut up," you groaned, taking an aggressive sip of your own drink to avoid having to explain further, the too-sweet strawberry flavour bursting across your tongue.

jungwon's lips twitched in that barely-there smile you'd come to live for as he poked the straw through the seal, taking a slow, deliberate sip. the way his eyes lit up at the taste— like he was genuinely surprised you'd remembered his favourite flavour—made your stomach flip wildly, and you had to look away before you did something even more embarrassing than usual.

"it's good," he admitted after a moment, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

"thanks." he took another sip, and you didn't miss the way his shoulders relaxed slightly, like the simple act of drinking something you'd brought him had unwound some tightly coiled tension in him.

"no problem," you muttered, not being able to fight the smile tugging at your lips, the way your chest felt weirdly light at the small victory of making him happy, even just a little. you pretended to focus on your notebook to hide your expression, but from the corner of your eye, you could see jungwon sneak glances at you between sips, his expression unreadable but his ears still faintly pink.

the final straw came during a group study session in the cafeteria, where you'd somehow gotten roped into joining jungwon and a few of his classmates at their usual table. the noise and chaos of the crowded lunch period should've made it easier to blend in, but you felt hyper aware of every glance, every movement, especially with jungwon sitting so close his knee kept brushing against yours under the table.

one of the guys from your class—park jisung, who thought way too highly of himself and had never met a mirror he didn't like—leaned over and scoffed at jungwon's neatly pressed white button down, his nose wrinkling in exaggerated distaste.

"don't you ever wear anything that isn't so... boring?" jisung sneered, gesturing to his own aggressively trendy outfit like it was some kind of fashion revelation rather than looking like he'd fallen into a rack at hot topic. "i mean, come on, it's like you're trying to blend in with the walls."

before jungwon could even open his mouth to respond—not that he ever really bothered defending himself against stupid comments like this, you snapped, "at least he's hot," loud enough for the entire table to hear.

the moment the words left your mouth, your brain caught up with your traitorous tongue, and the table erupted into laughter and wolf whistles that made you want to crawl under the table and die. you buried your face in your hands with a strangled groan, your entire body burning with humiliation as jisung made exaggerated kissy faces at you both.

when you dared to peek through your fingers, jungwon was staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. his ears were bright red, his lips slightly parted in surprise, but there was something dangerously close to amusement in his eyes, something almost fond as he calmly turned back to his notes like you hadn't just publicly declared him attractive in front of half your classmates. but you didn't miss the way his fingers trembled slightly as he flipped a page, or how he kept biting his lower lip like he was fighting a smile.

you pressed your cold hands to your burning face, wondering how much longer you could keep this up before you actually died of embarrassment. but judging by the way jungwon kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren't looking, the way his lips quirked up whenever you said something particularly ridiculous, the way he'd started sitting just a little bit closer during study sessions— it felt like you weren't the only one feeling this way. and that thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

you'd been stuck on the same problem for what felt like hours, the pencil between your teeth nearly chewed to splinters when suddenly—

"you're doing it again."

jungwon's voice made you jump, your knee slamming against the underside of the table hard enough to make your eyes water. his hand appeared in your line of vision, gently prying the mangled pencil from your mouth and replacing it with a fresh one and —oh god—your favourite mint gum.

"you’ll get lead poisoning at this rate," he said, his voice dry but his eyes oddly soft.

you unwrapped the gum with trembling fingers, the mint bursting sharp and sudden on your tongue. "how do you always know when i'm about to chew through another pencil?" you stammered, immediately cursing yourself for how breathy your voice sounded.

he shrugged, but you didn't miss the way his lips twitched at the corners. "you get this... look." he mimicked your frustrated pout, his face scrunching up in a way that should not have been as adorable as it was. "like the numbers personally offended you."

his finger tapped your notebook, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet library. "now focus. midterms are next week."

"i know, i know," you groaned, slumping so low in your seat you were practically sliding under the table. "i just can't get this integration method to click in my stupid brain." you immediately regretted calling your brain stupid in front of him, your cheeks burning as you stared resolutely at your hands.

jungwon sighed, and then scooted his chair closer, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned over your paper. you could smell his delicious smelling shampoo once again and it took every ounce of willpower not to visibly sniff him like some kind of creep.

"okay, watch," he murmured, his neat handwriting filling the margins of your notebook as he walked you through the steps. when you still looked confused, he huffed a quiet laugh that sent shivers down your spine. "you're overcomplicating it. it's just—"

"like reverse differentiation!" you blurted out too loudly, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth when the librarian glared at you(you had made a new enemy at this point).

the concept had finally clicked, and in your excitement you'd momentarily forgotten where you were. "sorry, sorry," you whispered, shrinking into yourself. "i just... get it now."

the smile jungwon gave you then was devastating—all crinkled eyes, so different from his usual composed expression. "there you go."

he reached into his bag and your heart stopped when his fingers brushed against yours as he slid a package of your favourite peach gummies toward you. "reward for the breakthrough."

you stared at the candy like it was some kind of alien artifact. "how do you even remember these are my favourite?" your voice came out embarrassingly high-pitched. "i mentioned that like one time months ago when we first—"

"i have a good memory," he interrupted, suddenly very focused on organising his already perfect notes. you didn't miss the faint pink tint to his ears though, and it made something warm and fluttery settle in your chest.

the following week found you drowning in midterm stress, your forehead pressed against the cool library table as you groaned dramatically. you didn't even hear jungwon approach until a warm cup of coffee was set down right next to your face—caramel latte with extra whipped cream, exactly how you always ordered it.

you sat up so fast you nearly headbutted him. "jungwon! i didn't— when did you—"

"thought you might need this," he said casually, taking the seat across from you like he hadn't just materialised out of your wildest dreams holding your favourite drink. his own black coffee looked bitter and depressing in comparison.

you wrapped your hands around the warm cup, frowning. "but the coffee shop is all the way across campus. don't you have class in like..." you checked your phone, "ten minutes?"

jungwon glanced at his watch with exaggerated seriousness. "eight actually. plenty of time." he took a sip of his black coffee before pulling out his notes, and you tried very hard not to stare at his throat as he swallowed.

the session passed in its usual blur of numbers and formulas, but when you packed up to leave, jungwon didn't immediately bolt like he normally did. instead, he slowly, almost deliberately gathered his things, waiting until you'd zipped your backpack before asking, "how was your weekend?"

you froze, your fingers slipping on the zipper. jungwon didn't do small talk. jungwon especially didn't do small talk with you.

"uh, good?" you squeaked, mentally cursing yourself. "i finally tried that new bubble tea place near the dorms."

"the one with the peach oolong you've been talking about?" he asked, shouldering his bag with infuriating grace.

your mouth fell open. "you remember that?"

he shrugged, but his ears were definitely pinker than they'd been a minute ago. "you mentioned it a few times. was it good?"

"yeah! it was amazing. you should—" you cut yourself off before you could blurt out 'you should go with me sometime,' nearly biting your tongue in the process. that would be too much, right? way too forward? he was just being nice because he was your tutor, not because he actually wanted to—

"maybe i will," he said quietly, interrupting your mental spiral. then, after a beat too long where you both just stood there awkwardly, he added, "see you wednesday," before walking away, leaving you standing there with your half finished coffee and a heart that felt like it might beat out of your chest.

wednesday's session ended with an even bigger surprise. as you were shoving your notebooks into your bag, jungwon suddenly said, "i was near that tea place earlier." he reached into his bag and pulled out a familiar cup with the café's logo. "got you the peach one. you said it was good, right?"

you took the drink with hands that definitely weren't shaking (they were), the condensation cool against your suddenly burning fingers. "you went all the way there?" your voice came out embarrassingly breathless. "that's like twenty minutes from your apartment."

jungwon shrugged, suddenly very interested in zipping up his pencil case with unnecessary focus. "i had time."

the drink was perfect—just the right amount of sweetness, with real peach pieces at the bottom that you may or may not have saved to eat last like some kind of lovesick weirdo. you tried not to read too much into the gesture, but when you got home, you carefully washed the cup and placed it on your shelf like some kind of sacred artifact, tracing the logo with your finger as you tried (and failed) not to smile like an idiot.

the next day, when you stopped by jungwon's apartment to return a notebook you'd borrowed (and definitely not because you wanted to see him again so soon), you spotted a familiar cup in his recycling bin—the same café's logo, but the peach oolong flavour instead of his usual black coffee. your heart did something complicated and painful in your chest.

he followed your gaze and immediately flushed, quickly kicking the bin under his desk with his foot. "it's not— i was just—"

"curious about the peach?" you finished for him, immediately wanting to die because why did that sound so suggestive? your face burned as you stared at the floor like it held the secrets of the universe.

jungwon ran a hand through his hair, looking more flustered than you'd ever seen him. "yeah," he admitted quietly. "something like that."

in that moment, with his ears turning pink and his usually perfect hair mussed from nervous fingers, you realised something terrifying and wonderful all at once —maybe you weren't the only one falling here. and when jungwon shyly met your eyes, the soft, uncertain smile on his lips told you he knew exactly what you were thinking.

your friends, of course, noticed the whole ordeal before you did. one of them cornered you after class a few days later, grinning like the devil as they leaned against your locker.

“so… how’s your math husband?” she asked, their voice dripping with faux innocence.

you threatened violence, your face burning as you shoved her away, but the way your blush crept down your neck betrayed you completely. “we’re literally just studying,” you muttered, focusing very hard on stuffing your books into your bag so you wouldn’t have to meet their knowing gaze.

“you called him sir,” she reminded you, her grin widening. “in the first session. and don’t think i haven’t seen the way you look at him when he explains things—”

you were mid-way through plotting your revenge when your phone buzzed in your pocket. you yanked it out, ready to ignore whatever notification had popped up, but then you saw jungwon’s name on the screen and nearly dropped the damn thing.

“got snacks for our next session,” the message read. “hope your favourite gummy bears still apply as brain food :)”

you stared at your phone for five whole minutes, your friend’s cackling laughter fading into the background as you realised— he remembered once again. he remembered your favourite gummy bears, the ones you’d mentioned exactly once in passing months ago when you’d been complaining about the vending machine always being out of them.

your fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting at least seven different responses before you finally settled on a simple “they do,” followed by a heart that you immediately regretted but couldn’t bring yourself to unsend.

when he replied with just a thumbs up emoji, you buried your face in your hands and groaned, your friend’s laughter ringing in your ears as she patted your shoulder with far too much sympathy.

you were so, so screwed.

you slumped in the school’s auditorium’s chair, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. academic awards assemblies were always painfully dull, and you'd only shown up because attendance was mandatory.

when the principal started listing names for "most improved in mathematics," you zoned out entirely—until you heard your own name echo through the speakers.

your breath caught in your throat. that couldn't be right. you turned to your friend with wide eyes, only for her to shove you out of your seat with an excited squeal. "that's you, dumbass! go!"

your legs moved on autopilot as you shuffled toward the stage, nearly tripping on the steps in your haste. the principal's handshake was firm as he handed you the certificate, his booming voice saying something about "remarkable progress" that you barely registered over the blood rushing in your ears.

as you descended the stage, your eyes instinctively scanned the crowd—and there he was. jungwon sat halfway back, not whooping or whistling like some of your classmates, but smiling that small, private smile you'd come to recognise as his version of beaming. his hands came together in steady, measured applause, but the way his eyes crinkled at the corners made your stomach flip violently.

"i didn't even think they tracked that stuff," you mumbled to your friend when you returned to your seat, your face burning.

"oh please," she snorted, elbowing you. "we all know who's really responsible for this glow up."

later, when you opened your math binder at home, a yellow sticky note fluttered out. in jungwon's annoyingly perfect handwriting, it read:

proud of you! you did this. —j

your fingers trembled as you traced the letters. it shouldn't have meant so much —it was just a note, just a few words, but something about seeing his pride in writing, knowing he'd taken the time to leave this for you, made your chest ache.

before you could overthink it, you grabbed your phone and typed out a message: "hey so. i got this award today. maybe we should celebrate? my place after school tomorrow?"

the three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared, then appeared again. finally: "what did you have in mind?"

"idk. snacks. maybe a movie. unless you have better plans with your other students you've dramatically improved?" you added the teasing text before you could chicken out.

his reply came faster this time: "my schedule's miraculously clear. see you at 4."

when jungwon arrived the next day, he looked unfairly good in just a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his hair slightly messy from the wind. he held up a plastic bag with your favourite convenience store snacks. "brain food," he said, that small smile playing at his lips.

"you're such a nerd," you muttered, taking the bag and trying to ignore how your fingers brushed against his.

the first hour passed comfortably enough—junk food spread across your coffee table, some indie movie neither of you were really watching playing in the background. jungwon sat cross-legged on your floor, flipping through your math notes with that focused expression you knew so well.

"you missed a step here," he murmured, pointing to a problem. when you didn't respond, he glanced up to find you staring. "what?"

"nothing," you said quickly, looking away. then, before you could stop yourself: "do you actually think i was pretending to like you?"

jungwon's pencil froze mid-correction. he set it down carefully, his movements deliberately slow. "i wasn't sure what to think," he admitted after a beat. "you're kind of... a mess."

"thanks," you deadpanned, your voice cracking slightly.

"i didn't say it was a bad thing." his fingers tapped an absent rhythm against your notebook. "you're just... inconsistent. one minute you're calling me 'sir' and drawing hearts in your notes, the next you're pretending you don't know me in the hallway."

you swallowed hard. "that's because i panic! you're... you. and i'm..." you gestured vaguely at yourself.

jungwon's lips quirked. "my favourite mess?"

"shut up," you groaned, covering your face with your hands. when you peeked through your fingers, he was watching you with an expression you couldn't quite place—something warm and unbearably fond.

"for the record," he said quietly, "i bought that peach tea for you because i wanted to see you smile. i remembered your favourite gummies because i like the way your eyes light up when you eat them. i kept tutoring you long after you actually needed help because..." he trailed off, his ears turning pink.

your breath caught. "because?"

"because i'm an idiot," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

something bold and reckless surged in your chest. before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and kissed him. it was clumsy at first—you missed slightly, your nose bumping against his cheek before you corrected course. but then his hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently along your jawline, and everything clicked into place.

when you pulled back, breathless, jungwon didn't go far, his forehead resting against yours. "was that your way of saying you like me too?" you whispered.

he huffed a quiet laugh. "i left you a note in your binder. i bought you snacks. i—"

you cut him off with another kiss, this one softer, sweeter. "say it," you murmured against his lips.

jungwon pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. "i like you. a lot. even when you're a mess. especially when you're a mess."

"good," you said, your voice wobbling slightly. "because i'm probably not going to stop being a mess anytime soon."

"i'd be disappointed if you did," he said, and when he kissed you this time, you could feel him smiling against your lips.

the semester ended much like it began—with you and jungwon in the library, textbooks spread across your usual table by the window. but this time, instead of sitting stiffly across from each other, his arm was slung casually over the back of your chair, his fingers playing idly with the ends of your hair as you struggled through one last practise problem before finals.

"you're overthinking it," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple as he leaned closer to look at your work. his free hand came up to point at a line halfway down the page, his chest pressing lightly against your shoulder. "see here? you did the hard part right, then second guessed yourself."

you huffed, "maybe i just like when you correct me."

jungwon snorted, but you didn't miss the way his ears turned pink. "you're impossible."

"you love me," you shot back automatically, then froze, your pencil slipping from your fingers. you hadn't meant to say that—not yet, maybe not ever—but the words had tumbled out before you could stop them.

for a terrifying second, jungwon was completely still behind you. then his hand left your hair to gently turn your chin toward him, his expression unbearably soft. "yeah," he said simply, like it was the easiest truth in the world. "i do."

your breath caught in your throat. you'd imagined this moment a hundred times, but none of your daydreams had prepared you for the quiet certainty in his voice, the way his thumb brushed gently over your cheekbone like you were something precious.

"even though i still don't understand half this math stuff?" you whispered, because you had to ruin the moment, had to give him an out just in case.

jungwon's lips quirked. "especially because you don't understand it. gives me an excuse to keep you around." he leaned in, his nose bumping playfully against yours. "and because you're stubborn. and messy. and you still sometimes call me 'sir' when you're flustered."

you groaned, hiding your face in his shoulder. "i thought we agreed never to talk about that again."

"we agreed no such thing," he laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. his arms came around you properly then, pulling you back against him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "but if it makes you feel better, i've loved that about you since the beginning."

"you're such a sap," you muttered into his shirt, but you were smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

later, when you walked out of your last final with jungwon waiting by the doors, his hand found yours without hesitation, his fingers lacing through yours like they belonged there. the sun was shining, your friends were whooping obnoxiously from across the quad, and for once—for once—you didn't overthink it. you just squeezed his hand back, leaned into his side, and let yourself be happy.

"so," he said as you walked toward the parking lot, his voice light but his grip on your hand just a little too tight, like he was afraid you might disappear. "does this mean i'm officially retired as your tutor?"

you bumped your shoulder against his, grinning up at him. "not a chance. i hear calculus is even harder."

jungwon groaned, but he was smiling as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple as the late afternoon sun painted everything gold. "lucky me."

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

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#౨ৎ 𝓐dy writes🪄#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fics #enhypen x reader #jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon x reader #jungwon imagines #jungwon fics #jungwon oneshots #kpop fics #enhypen fluff #jungwon fluff

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okaylikeschaewon · 2 days ago

Text

We Are Aespo

~7k words, inspired by Karina's "Aespo" slip up

Concerts, jets, explosions, these are some of the first thoughts that probably come to mind when one thinks about the word ‘loud’. However, there is nothing in the world louder than the sound of a glass shattering during a party. At least, that’s how it felt right now, and the DJ deciding to pause the music at the very same moment didn’t help either.

“Oops,” Karina stares blankly at the shards of glass decorating the marble floor as if she wasn’t the reason they were there.

“Alright,” you grab her arm. “It’s time to go.”

“B-But… I… look…” Karina cranes her neck to look over her shoulder at the mess, fighting your pull.

“They’ll take care of it, let’s go,” you give her another tug, ignoring her distress.

“Where go?” Karina asks cheerily, already forgetting about the glass.

“Away from stuff you can break.”

Karina stops moving and frowns. “It was an accident.”

The sigh barely escapes your lips before Karina’s face lights up and she runs right past you.

“Winter!” Karina shouts, forgetting about you entirely, and rushes toward the girl. She grabs Winter by the face and plants a kiss directly on her lips.

“Karina…” you groan, internally laughing at Winter’s wide-eyed expression. You grab Karina’s hand and pull her away. “Come on.”

“Where are we going now?” she whines, fighting your grip again. “I want Winter.”

“And I want you to drink some water.”

“More champagne?” Karina asks with those round puppy dog eyes. Your weakness that you always struggled to deny; She’s cuter than ever in this moment, rushing to keep up with you, latching onto your arm tightly.

“Maybe after the water.”

“Oh! Alright, but what–” she begins before suddenly squealing and crumpling to the floor.

“Karina!” you gasp, quickly kneeling down next to her. “You alright?”

“It… it…” her lip quivers and she brings her knees up to her chest, slowly tears pool up in her pretty eyes. “It hurts.”

“Aww baby,” you pull her into a hug and rub her back. “What am I ever going to do with you?”

“Karina!” Winter catches up, joining the two of you on the floor. “What is wrong with you?”

“I think I rolled my ankle,” she sniffles as you let go of her.

“Does this hurt?” you start gently flexing her ankle before Karina inhales sharply.

“Owie…” she pouts, quietly, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry baby,” you reach forward and tenderly wipe her eyes, trying your best to avoid smudging her eyeliner.

Trying to be as careful as possible, you place her foot in your lap and begin massaging her ankle. Around you, the crowd pretends to ignore what’s happening, but envious glances occasionally catch your attention. You know very well they would do anything to trade positions with you, but all they can do is watch.

Meanwhile, Karina’s staring at you and her beauty has never hit harder. You feel your entire body burn warm under her gaze as she holds steady, letting your fingers work the joint. She’s in pain, a lot of it, but it’s quickly fading away. For just a moment, the hectic rambles of the event are wiped from your minds, leaving you in a comfort that you’d easily pick over everyone else in this room combined. The crowd no longer matters.

It probably helps that they’re all here to impress you, and not a single one of the millionaires attending would dare say anything but praise – at least not in public. They know better than that. Not that Karina cares what others think, in fact she couldn’t care less about the dull droning coming out of their mouths, the incessant forced-flattery whenever anyone would find the courage to talk to you. She knows they’re fake.

That’s probably why she decided to get so drunk tonight – an attempt to actually enjoy the evening. It doesn’t happen often, but you always have fun when it happens; Her silly, dorky behavior carries a charm that took barely more than one interaction for you to fall in love with. At this point, you’re far more entertained by her antics than the thought of listening to another wave of the gilded gibberish you’ve been enduring all evening. It was time for you to actually enjoy the six figures you spent on this party, and for you, that meant being with your girl.

“God, you look so beautiful right now,” you whisper while gently massaging your fingers into her ankle. “Can you walk, or should I carry you?”

“Or I could carry you,” Winter adds cheekily.

“That’s what I want, I want Winter to carry me,” Karina giggles as you help her to her feet. She frowns and looks down, testing her ankle. “I think I can walk, but I need…”

“I’m here,” you smile, slipping your arm around Karina’s waist and holding her up. “Winter, sweetheart, could you ask one of the staff to bring water and another bottle of champagne up to our room? And then please join us as well if you’d like a break from…” you gesture broadly at the swath of designer suits and dresses filling the room.

She nods.

“More champagne?” Karina’s voice jumps with excitement at the sound of more alcohol.

“Not for you,” Winter sings before scurrying off.

“You said that’s what you wanted, didn’t you?” you open the door and walk Karina to the grand staircase. “How can I say no to my princess?”

Karina leans over and kisses you on the cheek. “Do you love your princess?” her voice sweetens like syrup.

“More than anything,” you answer.

“More than your cars?

“More.”

“More than your house?”

“More than all of my houses.”

“More than your business?”

“Are you kidding me? I just ditched my business back there so that I could spend some time with the love of my life,” you point out. “Now, enough silly questions,” you add, leaning in and kissing her.

She giggles before squealing as you sweep her off her legs and into your arms.

“What?” you smile down at her and start climbing the stairs. “I’m not having you hop up these.”

Karina stares up warmly at you, her face brimming with emotion. She holds on tight as you walk her up the steps, smiling but also a bit on edge. She’s thinking about something, and she’s thinking hard.

“Yes?” you encourage her. “Think any harder and I’ll start seeing steam come out of your ears.”

“I think…” she begins softly, “the last time you carried me up these stairs was after our wedding.”

“Has it been that long?”

“Yeah,” she smiles up at you, the subtle, rosy alcohol-glow making her face shine more adorable than ever, as if that was even possible. “Do you remember that night?”

“Of course,” you open the door to your bedroom and gently lay Karina down. “Do you remember what happened after?”

“How could I forget?” she whispers with a smile, reaching her arms out towards you. “We had to cancel brunch the next morning because I literally couldn’t walk.”

“Whatever, we needed the sleep anyway,” you laugh before slowly climbing onto the bed with her, sliding your hand gently up her leg as you push her onto her back and carefully lay on top of her. You gently crash your lips against hers, bringing both hands up to her hips.

She kisses back, sliding her arms around your shoulders, running one hand through the hair on the back of your head. Her dress rides up her body as she wraps her legs around your hips, pulling you closer into her embrace, breathing heavily into your mouth.

The kiss turns aggressive. Like a fight, forceful and hostile. Her tongue intertwines with yours, she’s keeping you on your toes, figuratively speaking. Your heart races, trying to keep up with Karina’s passion – she’s unrelenting.

It’s primal instinct at this point. Karina’s warmth and love is all you crave in this world. You slip the straps of her dress off her shoulders before reaching lower and squeezing in her thighs, tightening the grip her legs have on your body. You want her close, as close as physically possible.

Her flowery scent engulfs your mind, numbing it briefly, alongside the subtle citrus taste of champagne on her lips. It would be addiction either way, anything Karina does is addiction for you. She doesn’t even know it, but she has full control of your every thought. She’s what you want, perfect in every way.

“Ahem,” a voice calls from behind.

Neither of you cares, still kissing as if your lives depended on it. Intoxicated and obsessed with the other’s taste, addicted and engrossed in the other’s body. She’s–

“Stop kissing!” Winter slams the door shut, glaring at the two of you with a bottle of water in one hand and champagne in the other.

“Don’t be jealous,” you ease away from Karina with a smile. “You had your turn earlier.”

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Winter walks over and places the bottles down. “What the fuck Karina.”

“What?” Karina giggles, sitting up in the bed, her dress a disheveled mess. “It’s not our first time kissing.”

“Yeah but in public?” Winter whines. “Everyone saw.”

“And they probably fucking loved it,” you laughed, giving the champagne bottle a shake. “Come on Winter, live a little.”

“Live a little? This was supposed to be a professional event. The entire company is present.”

“Oh please,” Karina scoffs, crossing her arms. “It was so boring.”

“Maybe for you it doesn’t matter, you’re already married to the damn king,” Winter retaliates. “No one cares what you do. I actually have to worry about my reputation. People talk, you know.”

“And you suck the king’s cock every morning,” Karina laughs. “I think your reputation is beyond saving here.”

“W-What are…” Winter stammers and her cheeks burn pink. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How else would I say it?” Karina teases. “Half of them already know your job is to empty his balls.”

“No they don’t!” Winter whines. She’s upset, but the problem is how cute she is even when she’s upset. “And that’s not my job!”

“Oh sorry I forgot,” a smirk flashes across Karina’s face. “Sometimes if you’re a good girl, he bends you over your desk.”

“Karina!” Winter complains.

“Relax Winter,” you uncork the champagne and give it a few shakes.

“Are you…” Winter begins backing away. “Don’t you dare.”

“Too late,” you smirk before moving your thumb aside and begin spraying Winter with champagne.

“My dress!” Winter cries out as she runs away, ducking her head into her arms.

The room erupts as you chase her down, fueled by Karina’s laughs and Winter’s cries. Winter runs around the bed, jumping on it and grabbing Karina for cover. Mouth wide open in shock, Karina shields her face, turning to the side and screaming as you spray her as well, laughing hysterically as you cover her in champagne.

“Babe!” Karina laugh-shouts in disbelief as she looks down at her soaked dress.

“Oh no,” you chuckle before walking over to the table and filling a glass. “Winter, do her a favor and help her out of that dress, it’s all soiled.”

“What about my dress?” Winter whines before unzipping Karina from behind.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of yours too,” you smile, holding the glass out for Karina to take.

Karina smiles up at you, her tits on full display, barely covered by the lacy bra she had hiding under her satin gown. She accepts the glass, downing it in one go before handing it back to you.

“Your turn,” you refill the glass and hold it out for Winter.

“I don’t need that, there’s plenty right here,” Winter waves away the glass before crawling in front of Karina. “You drink it, and then drink another one for me,” Winter adds over her shoulder before devoting all of her attention to Karina.

She yanks down Karina’s bra, freeing her tits in all their glory, and shoves her face deep between them, licking up the champagne directly from Karina’s body. You can’t help but smile as you sip, enjoying the view of Winter as she slides her tongue all over Karina’s tits, lapping up anything she can reach – you’re reminded of how fucking lucky you are as you pour another glass of champagne.

Winter squeezes Karina’s tits together, creating a little ravine for her tongue to play in. She makes little circles, pushing her tits in all directions. Meanwhile, Karina’s loving it, eyes closed breathing through an open mouth, soft moans escaping her from time to time, especially whenever Winter’s fingers give her nipples little pinches. It’s hard to say who’s having more fun.

“My God, Winter,” you put the glass down and flip up her dress.

You laugh as she doesn’t even react, not even when you slip your fingers down the back of her underwear. Slowly, you ease your fingers down to Winter’s pussy, playing with her wetness while enjoying the show. “You’re so fucking wet,” you tease, daring a couple of fingers into her entrance.

“Am I?” Winter finally looks back over her shoulder at you, arching her back. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you yank down Winter’s underwear and give her ass a smack. “Right, babe? Wanna see?”

Karina excitedly sits back up and steps off the bed, stands next to you and also slaps Winter’s cheeks.

“Wow,” Karina licks her lips as she frees herself from her champagne-covered dress. “You look so fucking scrumptious.”

Winter laughs, reaching back and giving her own ass a slap. “Are you two just going to keep staring, or is someone going to fucking eat me out?”

“Go on,” Karina whispers as she steps behind you and snakes her arms around your hips. She presses her tits into your back, pushing you forward as her fingers unbuckle your pants. “I know you want her.”

She presses your face into Winter’s cheeks before you can even come up with a response, and your brain immediately turns to mush. You suck on Winter’s folds as hard as you can, trapping her pussy between your lips and flicking your tongue back and forth.

“Oh fuck,” Winter moans out, her knees nearly giving out.

“Get that pussy ready,” Karina calls out to Winter as she yanks down your pants and grips your cock. “Your night is just starting.”

Winter can’t make sense of Karina’s words, or anything for that matter, as she flexes her back, overwhelmed by your mouth. You keep sucking her pussy, using both your hands to spread her soft cheeks as far as they can go, getting your mouth as deep as you can. With your mouth buried in Winter’s pussy, you feel Karina’s fingers gently jerk your cock to life. It doesn’t take long, you’re already rock-hard.

“Oh fuck that, I changed my mind,” Karina gasps before grabbing you by your hair and pulling you out of Winter’s pussy. She tosses you onto the bed and you land on your back right next to Winter who’s still on all fours. “I need this cock so fucking bad.”

“Baby it’s yours, it’s always yours,” you laugh, grabbing your base and holding it straight up, waiting for Karina.

“What the fuck!” Winter whines. “I guess I’ll just go fuck myself.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Karina rolls her eyes before giving Winter the hardest slap of the night on her ass. “And take this shit off,” she tugs at Winter’s dress. “You’re too fucking cute to be covering up.”

Winter obliges, tossing her dress to the side.

Karina shoves her hand between Winter’s legs. “You’re really so fucking wet,” Karina moans as she shoves two fingers up Winter’s pussy.

“Don’t… Don’t fucking tease,” Winter crumbles to the bed.

“Winter, come here,” you reach over and grab her hand. “I need Karina to ride my cock already, you’re distracting her.”

“Me?” Winter retaliates as you pull her over. She places one knee right next to your ear and lifts her other leg up, following your lead. “I didn’t do nothing.”

“I don’t really care anymore,” you lick your lips at the sight of Winter’s pussy right above you. “Fucking hell, look at you.”

“Oh you like this?” Winter lowers herself just slightly out of reach as you crane your neck up.

She giggles as you give her ass another slap.

“Winter,” Karina scolds, joining the two of you on the bed as she straddles your body. “Turn around first.”

“Oh,” Winter quickly drops her pussy onto your face for just a moment before lifting herself up and flipping around so that she’s facing Karina. “Like this?”

“You’re killing him you fucking tease,” Karina laughs as she takes your cock in her hand and pokes at the precum leaking from your tip.

“Seriously, I’m going to remember this,” you moan, reaching up with both hands to spank Winter’s cheeks.

She giggles again before lowering her pussy down onto your face. Her thighs squeeze against your sides, and her pussy begins painting your face with her wetness. Her playful giggles almost immediately turn into moans, and you can just imagine Karina’s smile as she watches Winter sitting on your face.

It’s exactly what you want, almost sweet, a bit of tang, and unbelievably soft. Her folds press against your mouth hard, twisting and contorting to the shape of your face. You’re suffocating in her pussy and you love it. Just when you start thinking about how this is as good as it gets, your world gets flipped upside down.

Karina moans out, loud enough for you to hear even with your ears squished against Winter’s thighs. She’s lowering herself onto your throbbing cock, and that first bounce nearly makes you erupt on the spot. Karina’s pussy consumes your cock and your entire world. You might be starting to feel the alcohol.

You’re almost scared by how quickly you felt yourself about to bust. You try to hold back, desperately – and of course now Winter decides to start grinding her hips back and forth. Breathing becomes difficult, your body is struggling to hold on, it’s too much. You’re definitely feeling the alcohol.

It’s a battle with your body that you know you’re going to lose, but you still fight on as hard as you can. You start thrusting your hips up, slamming into Karina’s pussy as hard as you can. She starts moaning – perfect. Her pussy tightens, squeezing your cock, it’s almost painful how good it feels now. Her cries muffle, as do Winter’s, and you just know the two of them are glued by the mouths.

The view of Karina and Winter kissing engulfs your thoughts. You’re drooling, still suffocating on Winter’s pussy, and your cock is burning up. The pressure is building, it’s becoming too intense, overwhelming. You hold on, fighting on, trying to make the moment last, gasping into Winter’s pussy as you try to push your hips up.

Then, Winter slips forward just a bit too much, sliding her pussy across your chin. Instinctually, your face follows, and before you know it your tongue is pressing against her tight asshole. You push forward, indifferent, trying to get as deep as possible, using the last remaining ounce of strength in your body as you feel your breaking point approach.

Her asshole feels just as nice against your tongue as her pussy, if not better. Not as wet, but you can feel the tightness. You can feel her reservation, a timidness that fades almost instantly as you press your tongue into her asshole. She eases up, letting your tongue prod and explore her asshole – but it only lasts for a brief, fleeting moment.

Your head drops back, slamming into the bed, and your hips fly up towards the roof. You nearly launch Karina off your cock with how hard you thrust – the final thrust before you blow. Warm and with purpose, your cock shoots deep into Karina’s pussy as you fight desperately for air.

Holding herself just a few inches above you, Winter’s fingering herself, letting her pussy spray across your face with no regard as you gasp it all up, choking through an attempt to catch your breath. She dips her body down every few seconds, bouncing her wet pussy against your face again and again.

But you’re spent. All you can do is lay there, accepting the barrage of attacks, while still internally melting at Karina’s touch. She’s still riding your cock, even as you stop pumping her full, she’s making these little circles with her hips, driving you fucking insane. It’s too much, she’s too good.

Moments pass and Winter collapses next to you, her hand held tightly between her legs, trembling and quivering just enough to notice. Your attention, however, never wavers from Karina. She’s staring down at you, cupping her tits as she grinds up and down your shaft.

She wears this smirk, so confident in her ability. She knows the power she holds over your body, and she fucking loves it, wears it proudly. While from time to time she seeks reassurance with a glance in your direction. The truth is she doesn’t need it, there’s no doubt in her mind that she’s your everything – she owns you.

Karina lifts herself up, your thick white cum threatens to spill from her pussy. She steps off the bed and you almost want to reach out and stop her, but you can’t show how desperate she knows you are. So you let her go, wherever she’s going, and turn your attention to the girl balled up facing away from you on the bed.

You pull your hand back before slamming across Winter’s ass, sending her cheeks recoiling.

“Ah!” she shrieks, instantly turning towards you and covering her behind with her hands. “What was that for?”

“Nothing, just felt like it,” you laugh.

“Idiot…” Winter mutters as she scoots to the edge of the bed. “Is there any champagne left?”

“Yeah,” you sit up next to her and grab your cock. “I think there’s some right here.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” she rolls her eyes before giving you a quick couple of playful tugs. “God, why are you such a mess?”

“Me?” you wrap your arm around Winter’s waist and shove your fingers between her legs. You force her thighs apart as she turns into a giggling mess trying to fight you off. “I’m the mess?”

“Stop!” she’s gasping as you finger-fuck her, pulling away and trying to escape. “Please! I… I can’t breathe!”

She’s laying flat on her back now, chest heaving up and down after you let go of her pussy.

Winter props herself up on her elbows and smirks at you. “I can’t believe you ate my ass.”

“I saw how hard you just came, don’t try pretending like you didn’t like it,” you turn away, leaning over the edge of the bed as the room sways side to side – the hangover is going to be brutal tomorrow,

She lifts herself up and sits on the edge of the bed right next to you again. Winter stares at you until you finally look back. She’s truly adorable, and her voice is just as cute when she speaks up. “I never said I didn’t like it,” she adds quietly, tilting her head and smiling at you.

“I’m glad,” you smile. “It was definitely unexpected.”

“Can we… do you think we could…”

“Already horny for more?” you tease when suddenly Winter frowns and her shoulders drop. “Winter–”

“Do people know?” she asks.

“What?”

She looks up at you, a small pout on her lips, eyes tender and delicate. “What Karina said earlier, do people from the company know about…” she adds quietly.

“No one outside of the three of us knows,” you reassure her as you wrap an arm around her shoulders. “She was just teasing you.”

“Promise?”

“Uh, I mean, I didn’t tell anyone,” you smile. “Did you?”

“No! I’d never–”

“Then I promise,” you interject.

Winter’s expression relaxes slightly and she starts to smile. She inches forward just a touch closer to you and her hand moves to your lap.

“Winter…” you breathe softly.

“Don’t think,” she whispers, leaning in for a kiss. “You’re the boss, just enjoy the moment.”

Her lips are soft and warm, and they wear the same subtle taste of champagne as Karina’s. It’s like she can read your mind, and she gives your cock a final stroke with her fingertips, sliding up your length before getting up and reaching for the bottle.

“I think I need to slow down,” you comment as she brings the bottle directly to her lips.

She holds the bottle out for you to take, using the back of her other hand to wipe her mouth. “Don’t be a bitch, drink.”

“Winter–”

“Shut up and drink,” she glares. “And then you owe me.”

“I owe you?” you accept the bottle with a laugh and take a sip.

“That’s right, you were supposed to fuck me earlier, remember? Before Karina stole you.”

“Oh yeah, where is she by the way?” you glance towards the door.

“Focus!” Winter whines as she grabs the champagne. She holds the bottle over your head and waits for you to open your mouth – even though you know it’s a bad idea to drink more – and she pours the liquid directly down your throat. “Good boy,” she smiles, emptying the rest of the bottle.

“You’re so fucking cute,” you mumble, trying to steady yourself on the bed, immediately feeling the alcohol from earlier hitting you. “But where’s–”

“She’s on the balcony,” Winter snaps before turning around, sticking her ass out and looking back at you. “Now can you fucking pay attention to me?”

“You’re just…” you pause to reach forward and slap Winter’s ass hard, “a stupid slut.”

“Alright dickface,” Winter rolls her eyes before stepping backwards until her ass is right in front of you. She has her legs just slightly bent, hands on her knees, and back arched just a bit. “Go on then, you know what to do.”

You lean forward, nearly falling forward off the bed, catching yourself against Winter’s ass. She buckles for a moment before steadying herself again, and you feel her hand reaching back to push your face into her. But it’s unnecessary, you don’t need any extra encouragement, the view of Winter’s tight little asshole staring at you was all you needed.

A gentle moan escapes your lips as you spread her cheeks wide. She gives her ass a little shake, right before you lunge forward, shoving your mouth into her ass. You push your tongue forward as hard as possible, entering inside her, licking and poking at her hole.

“Oh fuck,” Winter cries out, bringing her fingers between her legs. “That’s so fucking good.”

It’s addicting. You slide your tongue up and down between Winter’s cheeks before pressing forward again. You push into her asshole, moving your hands from her ass to her hips, holding her steady. Her ass is tight and your tongue struggles, but you try nonetheless, using as much strength as you can to spread her wide. The room is spinning, but you try your best to steady yourself, holding onto Winter’s ass for support.

She lets out a shriek and falls forward onto her knees, holding herself bent over in front of you, her fingers moving quickly between her legs. She’s trembling and writhing on the soft carpeted floor, moaning loudly as she fingers herself.

You let yourself slip off the bed as well and get right behind her. That tight little asshole, glistening with your saliva, is staring right at you. As badly as you want to shove your cock into her, it’s impossible – she’s squirming too much, and you know you’re too drunk to make this work right now.

Instead, you settle with a finger. You shove your middle finger down to the knuckle into Winter’s ass and she screams louder than ever. As you move back and forth, you can feel her fingers also moving in her pussy, so you try to alternate and match her. At the same time, you use your other hand to slap her ass hard, over and over.

She’s screaming and moaning, body twitching. It only takes a few more moments before she collapses to the floor, flat on her stomach, entire body quivering as her fingers slip out of her pussy. She lets out a long, drawn-out moan as you pull your finger out of her.

“Are you alive?” you chuckle, giving her ass a few squeezes.

“No,” she moans.

“Well, that’s an issue.”

“You… you need to fuck… me…”

“I think maybe you just need to rest up a bit.”

“No!” she replies forcefully despite still having no energy. “On bed, from behind.”

“Winter–”

“Now.”

You sigh before laughing and shaking your head. Then, you bend down and pick her limp body up from her armpits and place her stomach down against the edge of the bed. Her legs dangle off the edge lifelessly.

“Now fuck me,” she mutters.

“Winter,” you laugh again, tracing the red markings you left on her cheeks from earlier. “This isn’t happening.”

“Okay,” she sighs quietly, and within seconds she’s out, snoring softly.

You give her ass a little pat before putting on a robe and stumbling to the balcony. Outside, you find Karina leaning against the railing, holding an empty glass in her hand, her dress thrown on messily.

“Think you’ve had enough yet?” you take the glass from her hand and place it down before wrapping an arm around her waist, leaning against the railing with her.

“That’s why I’m out here,” she smiles at you for a second before turning to the view again. “Needed the fresh air.”

“You and me both.”

“How’s Winter? I heard her screaming.”

“Turns out she likes getting her ass eaten, who woulda known.”

Karina laughs. “Alcohol does things to that girl.”

“She also got kinda sensitive about people knowing.”

“What?” Karina cocks an eyebrow. “She knows I was joking, right?”

“Yeah, I told her that,” you gently rub Karina’s hip. “I guess it’s a soft spot for her.”

“She’s a really sweet girl, I hope she doesn’t downplay her success,” Karina frowns. “I really like that one, a lot more than your last assistant.”

“I know, I’d keep her around even if I wasn’t fucking her,” you reply. “She really makes my life a lot easier.”

“Yeah, and she sucks you off,” Karina nudges you in the ribs.

“That part matters less to me,” you turn Karina so that she’s facing you. “I’m more than satisfied with what I’m looking at right now.”

“Is that so?” Karina’s eyes glow in the moonlight.

“Absolutely,” you smile at her. “Although, you’d probably have to start showing up at the offices with me.”

“And have all your employees gawk at me all day?” Karina snorts. “No thanks. They fucking suck at hiding it. If I had a dollar for every time I caught one of them staring tonight, I’d be richer than you.”

“Can you really blame them, have you seen yourself?” you laughed. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

There’s a soft pause, Karina smiles at you, her cheeks still rose-tinted from the champagne.

“I really love you,” Karina whispers.

“And I love you.”

“No, really,” Karina frowns as if she’s being misunderstood. She wraps her hands around your lower back and steps closer. “I really, really love you, so much. So much…”

She stumbles, holding onto your body for support.

“Careful,” you grab her. “Should we sit?”

“No, just hold me,” she replies, squeezing you. “I love you.”

“You’re everything to me,” you kiss the top of her head and gently sway back and forth with her. It’s cold on the balcony, but your body is still warm – probably the alcohol.

Karina lets go of you and takes a step back, leaning against the railing.

“I know you just fucked Winter, but I’m still in the mood.”

“I didn’t fuck her.”

“Oh?” Karina raises an eyebrow. “You ate her ass and she didn’t even let you fuck?”

“The girl passed out,” you chuckle. “I wasn’t going to wake her.”

“What about you? Any juice left in there?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

She smirks and pulls her dress down again until her tits are out. “Who do you think is asking?” she pulls on the string of your robe.

“For you, always,” you step forward and press your lips to hers. “But I am a little drunk.”

“I can see that,” Karina giggles as she turns around and leans over the railing, lifting her dress up. “Hold onto something.”

“You know,” you step right behind Karina and place your hand on her waist, “if anyone was to step outside right now, they’d see your tits.”

“Who gives a fuck, let them watch,” she giggles, bending over deeper.

“Did you know I love you?” you grab your cock and slide it up against her pussy.

“So I’ve heard,” she lets out a sharp gasp as you enter her pussy. “Oh! Slowly, please.”

“Anything for you,” you whisper into her ear, leaning closer, holding her tightly as you start moving your hips back and forth.

Her breath catches each time you ease your cock into her. It’s not an act, it’s genuine. In the cool breeze of the evening, you were her warmth, and her pussy yours. There’s no need to rush it, you just have to move your hips slowly against her body, anything you did right now worked, driving her insane without being too much.

Soon, the cold air vanishes, and Karina is consumed by warmth. Her pussy burns up, squeezing your cock gently with each thrust. Her body is obsessed, riding the edge, begging for more without being demanding. Even her moans, louder now, are careful and full of love.

And you can feel it all. Every emotion and sensation, you can feel it through her body. She’s squirming, leaning over more, holding the railing harder. Just a bit more, and it takes all the self-control in your body to keep going like this, part of you wants to grab her, take her, use her.

Just not now, because right now is Karina’s moment. It’s her turn to feel good, to feel loved. You aren’t going to take that away from her.

Her pussy warms up some more and you feel her legs buckle. She cries out, and you grab her for support, making sure she knows you have her. A rush of wetness spills out of her, down her leg, past your cock. She’s struggling now, and you’re basically the only thing holding her up – you can’t even thrust anymore, you’re just holding her as her pussy squeezes down on your cock.

“I love you,” you whisper into her ear before kissing her on the cheek.

She moans a response, still high off her orgasm. It takes her a few moments, a few moments of warmth where you simply hold your cock deep inside her. Finally, she regains enough strength to hold herself up, and she looks back at you over her shoulder.

“C-Can we go inside?” her teeth chatter.

You take her hand and walk her back to your room, closing the balcony door behind you. On your bed, Winter is still laying there with her legs hanging off the edge and her ass up, exactly where you left her earlier. Her cheeks are crimson red, enticing you to walk over and bring your palm down on them yet again, but you hold back.

“Let her sleep,” Karina thinks the same and takes your hand, walking you across the room to one of your armchairs.

She sits you down before dropping to her knees in front of you, staring up at you, gaze as sensual as imaginable. She’s dripping sex appeal from every cell in her body, just by existing, and she knows it, she knows how special she is to you.

“Just relax,” she whispers, delicately stroking your shaft, slowly without pressing. “Let me take care of you.”

Karina leans over and kisses your inner thigh. Just a short peck at first, pausing to gaze up at you before pressing her mouth against your skin again. She kisses deep, sucking and twisting against your skin, leaving a mark before moving her lips back.

Then she presses her tongue to the mark and slides it up your thigh until her lips meet the base of your shaft. She wraps her mouth around the side of your cock and slides her head up and down, as if playing the harmonica.

She’s slow, calculated, deliberate. There’s no need to rush, she knows she has you for as long as she wants – and that’s still not enough. Her lips graze your tip, blessing it with a quick kiss before sliding back down your length and resting against your balls.

Her fingers start to make little circles around your tip and she prods at your entrance lightly with her thumb as her tongue explores your balls. She pushes them around like they’re her toys – which they basically are. Up down left right, wherever she wants, until she opens her lips wide and lets them fall into her mouth.

Karina hollows her cheeks, sucking hard on your balls, coating them in her saliva while sliding her tongue between them. She lets one slip out, squeezing harder against the other until it also escapes. Her thumb is moving a bit faster now, little circles around your tip.

A sharp inhale slides through her teeth before she opens her mouth wide and shoves her face into your taint.

It feels fucking divine, so much better than you were prepared for, you nearly jump out of the armchair. The moan you let out is stifled, your brain doesn’t understand how to react, it’s too much pleasure, an avalanche of dopamine.

At the same time, Karina wraps her fingers around your shaft and starts stroking. She’s no longer slow and delicate, she’s fast. Her lips press hard into your skin, kissing deep, and her fingers give your entire length quick strokes, pausing every few times to make a little circle around your tip with her palm before going right back to your shaft.

“That’s so fucking good,” you moan softly, gripping the armrests until your knuckles turn white. “I fucking love you so much, oh my fucking God.”

She answers with another sharp breath as she backs up just slightly. With her hand still stroking rapidly, she reaches her mouth up and gives your balls a quick peck before pressing her mouth down again, pushing at your taint hard.

Your cock is throbbing, Karina can sense it. She works your length for a few more strokes, giving your skin a few final licks before lifting herself up. Her lips part, she stares at you until you lock eye contact, and then she lowers her mouth onto your cock, replacing her fingers as she moves down.

Inch by inch she goes until her nose presses softly against your crotch before quickly pulling back. Only then does she close her eyes and place her hands on your thighs. She starts bobbing up and down, sucking your cock with everything she has.

It’s inevitable, you’re about to bust. You can’t remember the last time you had a blowjob this fucking phenomal, it’s absolutely perfect to each detail. You can feel her lips squeezing hard against your shaft, her tongue prodding at your tip, the little pressure every time her mouth comes up.

She’s moving steadily, and you’re on the edge. You can’t, no, it’s impossible, but you try desperately to hold on, to make the moment last, begging your body to hold onto the moment for just a bit longer.

You can’t.

The room starts spinning, this time without any credit going to the alcohol. Your cock explodes inside her mouth, gushing cum all over. Instantly, some of it spills from her lips – impossible to contain. But she tries, she tightens her mouth some more, cheeks hollowed once more.

Her eyes flutter open, searching for your gaze, meeting it with more emotion than you can fathom. She’s perfect. Seriously, perfection is all you can think about when you stare down at her, your white mess spilling from her lips despite how hard she sucks against your shaft.

She’s patient, coaxing you to keep going without rushing you. Her tongue pokes and prods gently at your tip, easing out more of your cum until you’re entirely emptied. Everything, she gave you everything, and in return she got everything back, there was nothing left.

Karina sits up, letting your cock leave her lips, ignoring the gush of cum that spills out of her lips and onto her chest. She stares at you, gaze deep and intimidating, focused only on you.

“I love you,” she whispers.

You take her face in your hands, holding her, emotions brimming through your body. Your body is beyond relaxed, blood flowing. You pull her close and press your lips to her forehead, holding for a moment, kissing her gently.

“What did I ever do to deserve someone as amazing as you are?” you whisper softly as you lean back and gaze back into her eyes.

She giggles, then smiles, tilting her head to the side. For a moment, she just stares at you, lovingly and full of emotion. Then, she climbs onto the armchair and wraps her arms around you, holding her warmth against yours, becoming one with you.

She says the line again, you say it right back, and the two of you refuse to let go of the other. Ultimately there’s only one option left – you stay in each other’s embrace until you both peacefully fall asleep, comforted by undying love you share.

---

A/N:

This is a super quick fic. I spent about two evenings on it, purely spontaneous, inspired by my headcannon of them being drunk at that award show. I just love these two girls honestly. I still tried to read through it a few times to make sure there aren't too many mistakes, but sorry if you find some, I also went with present tense instead of past tense with this one so give me some leeway!

I am honestly struggling so hard with some of my other fics (looking at you Dating Seraphs). I know what I want to write, I have it literally planned out, but it's just so tough. Regardless, I appreciate everyone's patience and support. This blog has grown so much more than I could have ever imagined, I just hope I can keep releasing stuff you guys enjoy!

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #fanfiction #aespa karina smut #aespa winter smut #aespa smut

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kxsagi · 2 days ago

Note

hi girlie im here with a request but it might be a little weird… its up to you if you want to do it obvi but just hear me out!!!

just a few seconds ago i leaned from a tiktoks comments that was asking what other brides wore under their wedding dress and some said they wore absolutely nothing not even panties and someone was saying that she needed to alert her husband so he doesn't freak out and flash her when doing the garter toss.

i think it would be so funny to see their reaction to the reader saying “just so yk theres NOTHING underneath there.” or something like that djdjfosnciISKFUSONCLSKS i feel a lil crazy.

if you do it it would be nice to see it with isagi, kaiser, sae, shidou and anyone you want thats up to you

“𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟”

a/n: i'd be too scared to do this at my wedding

title comes from dress by taylor swift and it's my favorite song from her EVER

suggestive content inside!

ft. isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, aiku oliver

isagi yoichi

you whisper it so gently, like you’re sharing a vow. “yoichi… just so you’re prepared… i’m not wearing anything under the dress.”

his smile falters. “you’re not wearing– like– nothing??? like zero???” he looks down at the skirt like it just betrayed him.

bro is sweating so hard he’s fogging up the camera lenses.

“you can’t just drop that bomb and expect me to keep it together. do you know who’s in the crowd?! my elementary school teacher is here.”

he’s pacing. “what if i flash someone? what if i knock your dad out with the garter? what if i look at you wrong and my mom disowns me???”

he goes under the dress like he’s defusing a bomb. hands trembling. breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

you giggle.

he freezes.

“… don’t do that. don’t make noises. you’re gonna get me excommunicated.”

pulls it off like it’s cursed, holds it with two fingers like it’s toxic, and flings it over his shoulder with the energy of a man trying to toss a live grenade.

immediately looks around and salutes to your dad in pure panic.

later he whispers, “i love you but you almost got me on a watchlist.”

kaiser michael

you whisper it and he bites his knuckle. “you’re joking.”

“nope.”

“so you’re telling me,” he leans in, eyes sparkling with sin, “that this dress? the one that’s got three layers of expensive lace and sparkly shit on it? has nothing underneath it? not even those ugly little bridal spanx?”

“yep.”

“god is real.”

he stands there like a villain being handed a secret weapon. “i could cancel the garter toss. we could skip straight to dessert. if you know what i mean–”

you slap his arm.

“okay okay. i’ll behave. until the second i get under that skirt.”

when it’s time, he slow-mo struts to you. adjusts his tie. winks at your grandma. drops to one knee like he’s proposing again.

and then vanishes. like, completely.

your bridesmaids start asking if he got lost under there.

you feel a kiss on your thigh. then another one.

“michael.”

“can’t hear you, schatz, i’m in heaven.”

he emerges with the garter in his teeth, hair ruffled, smirking like the devil just blessed your wedding.

“i caught feelings and something else under there.”

he sits down beside you with his arm around your waist and whispers, “there better be a lock on that hotel door tonight.”

itoshi sae

“hey, amor. just wanted you to know there’s… nothing under the dress.”

he blinks. once. twice.

“what do you mean ‘nothing’? like nothing-nothing? like air and prayers??”

he’s not yelling, but the volume in his eyes is deafening.

“yes.”

“why. why would you do this. why would you ruin me like this.”

he looks so stressed it’s like someone gave him your tax returns to solve. “you realize i have to go under there in front of children, right? and the press. my image. my contract.”

he takes a shot of champagne. another. one more. muttering: “should’ve eloped. should’ve married you in secret like i wanted.”

he crouches down like he’s walking into a haunted house. “don’t laugh. if you laugh i’m going to combust.”

your knee twitches. he chokes.

you: “are you okay?”

him, emerging red-faced: “i saw god. and her name is you.”

shidou ryusei

you whisper it and he literally SCREAMS. “NO PANTIES?!”

you slap your hand over his mouth. he’s vibrating like a microwave.

“babe. i was gonna behave. i really was. but this? this is a gift from the horny gods.”

grabs the mic from the DJ again. “EVERYONE CLAP FOR THE BRAVEST WOMAN ALIVE.”

“ryu, please–”

“NOT A SINGLE PIECE OF FABRIC. RAW DOGGING THE RECEPTION.”

goes under the dress and doesn’t come back for two full minutes.

when he emerges, his tie is undone, his eyes are dilated, and his hair looks like he stuck his head in a wind tunnel.

“if i get a nosebleed, it’s your fault.”

throws the garter straight into someone’s drink. drinks it anyway.

afterparty? he disappears with you in under 30 seconds.

“hotel suite. now. no stops. no detours. i’m breaking that dress and the sound barrier.”

itoshi rin

you whisper it and his jaw clicks. “you what.”

“no underwear.”

“why.”

“felt like it.”

“you felt like giving me a heart attack on my wedding day?”

he’s glitching. breathing weird. muttering equations.

“okay. okay. you know what? fine. it’s fine. i’m calm.”

he is not calm.

he’s staring at his shoes like they hold the answers.

“i swear to the heavens, if my brother even makes eye contact with me while i’m under there–”

he kneels, but it’s less sexy and more medic entering a battlefield. “breathe. focus. don’t touch anything you shouldn’t. god is watching.”

he pulls out the garter like it’s radioactive. tosses it blindly into the void and walks away in a straight line like an NPC.

ten minutes later, he grabs your hand and says, “you’re never wearing that dress again. not even for fun. not even for me. it’s going in a vault. with guards.”

nagi seishiro

you whisper it as he's mid-bite into a piece of cake. “sei. just so you know, i’m not wearing anything under the dress.”

he freezes. slowly lowers the fork. “… huh?”

his eyes narrow like he’s trying to decide if you’re joking or if he’s suddenly dreaming with his eyes open.

“like... not even a little thing? not even a safety thong?”

you shake your head. his soul leaves his body for a moment.

“that’s... kinda crazy, babe.”

stares into the distance. murmurs: “you’re really out here… air-conditioned and everything.”

he spirals in the laziest way possible. starts muttering hypotheticals like, “what if i trip on the way down there and my face just – bonk – straight into your–”

“sei.”

“what if my hand slips and the whole skirt comes off? what if i pass out and the priest sees everything?” (the priest is no longer even in the room. no one knows why he brought him up.)

when it’s time, he sighs like he’s about to do a math test. “alright. send thoughts and prayers.”

crawls under like he’s getting cozy under a blanket.

you hear: “yo it’s kinda warm in here. soft too. hmm.”

you squirm. he BONKS his head on your thigh.

“ow. don’t move. you’re dangerous.”

comes out, face pink, garter in hand. “yeah i got it. i’m never going under there again. too powerful. 10/10 experience. terrifying.”

karasu tabito

“hey,” you whisper. “just so you know… i’m not wearing any underwear.”

he STOPS in place like he just got hit with a laser beam. “are you serious? like bare-bottom bridal behavior?”

you nod. he grabs the mic.

“yo, DJ? play something sinful. matter in fact, play the weeknd. my wife’s out here breaking decency laws.”

he starts clapping. alone. no one joins. doesn’t care.

when it’s time for the garter toss, he kneels like a comedian doing stand-up.

“don’t worry, folks. i’m a trained professional. i’ve been under this dress before. i know the terrain.”

goes in with sunglasses on. starts narrating like it’s a documentary: “ah yes. here we see the rare and majestic bridal thigh. unguarded. powerful. unstoppable.”

you elbow him and he emerges howling. “WORTH IT.”

throws the garter and the shoe. no one’s safe.

oliver aiku

you whisper it while he’s mid-sentence talking to his teammates. “hey babe. just so you know. there’s nothing under this dress.”

he chokes. literally just makes a broken “hrrhhgg?” noise.

“you mean like… naked?”

you nod. his soul physically leaves the building.

he places one hand over his heart. “do you want me to die. is this a murder attempt. should i write my will now.”

he keeps tugging at his tie like it’s choking him. pacing like a man on trial.

“you know i was gonna go under there like a gentleman. but now? now it’s a war zone. now i gotta fight for my life.”

when the DJ calls him up, he wipes his palms on his pants and dramatically kisses your hand. “i loved you in life. if i don’t make it out, remember me fondly.”

enters the dress like it’s the backrooms.

he stays silent for a second. then a muffled “holy sh–”

“don’t touch anything, oliver.”

“you’re telling that to the wrong guy.”

comes out looking dazed. his suit is wrinkled. tie’s missing.

holds the garter up like it’s a dragon egg. “she wasn’t wearing anything. i was right. this was the best day of my life.”

later in private: “so like... can you wear that dress again sometime? for me? maybe on tuesdays?”

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requiemforthepoets · 22 hours ago

Text

you say good morning when its midnight ⟢ OP81 (part 5)

main masterlist | fic playlist | series masterlist

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and oscar grew up together, and despite being neighbors and best friends with her sister, hattie, you never really talked or had a conversation with him. until one day, where he randomly texted you out of nowhere.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, (a little) slow burn, humor, fluff, inaccurate information, no consistent face claims, all photos are from pinterest, weird, awkward, unhinge, reader is a little bit ball of a mess, long distance relationships, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 555

AUTHOR'S NOTE: part 5! sorry if the update took a little long, i was away for a vacation. but i'm now back, and i'll try to update this series as much as i can. also, this series will be my primary focus for the meantime. i would like to apologize if this is a bit rushed, indecided not to some parts since i wanna focus on the plot, but i hope you'll enjoy this one!

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

It was four days later when the front desk called up to your apartment at Kent Ridge Hill Residences, letting you know that there’s an express package that had arrived for you. Couriers weren't allowed to go up to the units, so you had to head down to the lobby to collect the package yourself.

You linked in confusion, slipping on your slippers as you mumbled a soft, “I didn't order anything.”

You certainly haven't ordered anything. Not even a midnight retail therapy binge your forgot about. Still, you took the lift down and approached the reception desk, signing of the delivery. The box was not heavy, but it was neat, its brown cardboard edges sealed perfectly with a transparent tape that has the “fragile” word printed on the tape, and your name printed clearly on the shipping label. It wasn't large, nust enough to cradle in both arms comfortably.

You carried the box back to up to your apartment, the elevator ride feeling longer than usual. Once you reach your apartment, you quickly went in and locked the door. You sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of your living room, scissors in hand. You stared at the package for a good minute like it might explain itself if you waited long enough, and then you began carefully slicing through the tape until the flaps peeled back.

As always, your curiosity won out.

You opened the box with care, like it might contain something so fragile. Inside, nestled in a bed of brown paper, were four things: a fridge magnet in the shape of Mt. Fuji that has the word "JAPAN” lettering under it, a tiny sakura petals swaying in a snow globe dome, a frog mug that is oddly shaped like a tiny pitcher, curved and handmade-looking—like it was plucked off the shelf of a sleepy Kyoto ceramics shop, and finally, a delicate matcha tea set—complete with a bamboo whisk, ceramic bowl, and a tin of fragrant powder so green that it could’ve only have come from somewhere special.

You felt your hear skipped a little in your chest. You definitely knew who it was from before you can even see the the note that was tucked neatly beneath the matcha set. But still, your fingers trembled slightly as you opened the small card, written in careful handwriting:

< I didn't buy you a postcard. I figured that’s somethinf you should do yourself, someday, when you’re finally there. I didn't want to take that moment away from you, but I thought I’d help you get started on the fridge magnet collection. Oh, the frog thing was just a spur of the moment thing, it reminded me of you and it looked like it should belong with you. - podium boi >

You read the note not only once, not twice, but three times. You couldn't help it and bit you lip, cheeks burning. The smile that grew on your face didn't stop for a long while. You tucked the note safely on your journaling notebook, then grabbed the fridge magnet and stood in front of your fridge, and with a soft click on the surface, you pressed the magnet into place. There was a quiet warmth blooming in your chest that you didn't quite know what to name just yet.

Postcard-less, for now. But not empty, not anymore.

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

yn.jpg posted to their story!

liked by hattiepiastri, yourmom, your brother, and 13 others

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

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fic-girlie · 2 days ago

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hello! can i request !joel x reader having sex trying not to make noises cuz they heard something but joel goes faster and puts his hand on your mouth and fucks her even harder ?? thank u xxxxx

Silent fire

Pairing: pre-jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: In an abandoned building, you and Joel share a desperate, silent moment of passion—danger close, love closer. Warnings: established relationship, explicit sexual content (+18), dirty talk, softdom!Joel, semi-public sex (abandoned diner), unprotected sex, p in v sex, creampie

The building is silent except for the wind groaning through the cracks in its frame, the long-forgotten bones of some convenience store or diner sagging under the weight of disrepair. You’d scouted it earlier with Joel, quiet and methodical, weapons drawn, his hand sweeping low behind your back like he could shield you from anything with just the curve of his palm. Nothing moved but dust. No infected, no people, just overturned tables and splintered tile and the leftover ghosts of the world that used to be.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You both know it.

There’s a tension in the air — not between you, never between you, not anymore — but outside. In the streets. In the faint noise you both heard earlier. Something distant, something maybe-human, maybe-not. A click or a cough or a bootstep. It had Joel freezing beside the window, jaw tight, body coiled like he could spring at any moment. And now you're tucked away in the dark behind the broken counter of the store, down on the dusty floor, half-surrounded by fallen shelving and dry paper cups, nothing but adrenaline and the thick, raw ache of need pulsing between your legs.

Joel’s mouth had been on yours a minute ago — desperate, fast, tasting like sweat and silence — before he turned you around, pushed you down, tugged your pants off with a quiet urgency that felt like it might kill you. Like he couldn’t stop even if he tried.

“Don’t make a sound,” he murmurs now, his voice low and wrecked behind you, thick with heat and warning. His body is already lined up with yours, one strong hand gripping your hip, the other braced on your lower back, grounding you. “You hear me, baby?”

You nod — more like a shiver than a movement — your cheek pressed to the cold, dusty floor, arms bent beneath you for leverage. You can feel the weight of him behind you, the press of his cock between your thighs, already leaking and hard, sliding between your slick folds.

And he’s not even inside you yet.

It’s always like this when the world feels close to ending. When it’s not safe, when it’s wrong. That’s when Joel wants you most — or maybe it’s just when he lets go of the leash he keeps wrapped around his throat every other hour of the day. He never says it. He doesn't need to. It’s in the way he touches you, the way he ruts into you like he’s starving, like you’re the only thing left in this godforsaken world that still feels good, still feels real.

He slides into you in one long, careful thrust — or as careful as he can be when your pussy clenches around him like that, so tight and warm and wet it knocks a groan loose from his throat that he catches too late.

You glance back at him, your face hot and mouth already parted to moan, but his hand is there before you can make a sound — big and rough and callused as it clamps over your mouth from behind. He leans down close over your back, chest against your spine, breath hot against your ear.

“Told you, baby. Gotta be quiet,” he growls, and this time it isn’t just a warning. It’s a command.

He pulls almost all the way out and then slams back in, his hips snapping against your ass with a force that jolts through your entire body. You scream — or you would, if his hand wasn’t pressed so tight over your mouth. The sound dies against his palm, muffled and wet, your eyes rolling back as your knees dig into the dusty floor for leverage.

He starts to move faster then, like he can’t stop himself, like whatever they heard outside doesn’t matter anymore — or maybe it does, maybe that’s why he’s fucking you like this. Because if something’s coming, he wants this first. Wants to feel you wrapped around him, clutching at him, writhing beneath him while he breaks you apart.

Your hands scrabble at the cracked linoleum for purchase as Joel pounds into you, the sound of skin against skin swallowed mostly by the walls but loud enough to send your blood surging in fear. The thought of being found, caught like this — it’s terrifying. It’s also hot. Too hot. Blindingly so.

You clench around him again, tighter, your body trembling with the effort to stay quiet, and Joel groans deep against your shoulder. He bites it — just a flash of teeth through fabric, a half-snarl of pleasure — then straightens up, hand still clamped over your mouth, the other dragging you back into every thrust with bruising force.

He’s so deep. Too deep. You’re soaked, dripping down your thighs, and he’s bottoming out every time now, fucking you harder than he should, faster than he promised, losing himself in the slick heat of you like there’s nothing else that matters. Nothing but your cunt squeezing him, milking him, begging for more.

You want to speak. You want to tell him you’re close, that you can’t take much more, that it’s too much — but all that comes out is a muffled whimper, your breath wet against the seal of his palm, his fingers digging into your cheek.

“Shh,” he breathes again, gritting it out as his hips stutter. “I know, baby. I know. Just take it. You’re doin’ so good for me.”

You don’t know if he means taking his cock or taking the silence, but either way, you feel like you’re going to shatter. The pressure is unbearable — a tidal wave just behind your ribs, right at your spine, winding and winding and tightening with every ruthless thrust of his hips.

And then, from somewhere outside, there’s a noise.

A real one.

A bootstep on gravel. Close.

Joel freezes — just for a second. His hand tightens over your mouth. You’re both perfectly still, the only sound your ragged breathing, the wet throb between your legs, the quiet, obscene drip of where your bodies are still joined.

Then — nothing. The step fades. A pause.

And Joel, who should stop, who should pull out, who should be focused on survival — does the opposite.

He fucks you harder.

Rough, brutal thrusts now, his hand never moving from your mouth as he pistons into you, using your body like it belongs to him — which, here and now, it does. His jaw is clenched. His eyes are wild. You can’t see them, but you feel it in the way he grips you, the way he pushes even deeper, chasing his release with a feral, reckless drive that almost makes you come just from the sheer force of it.

You’re shaking. Your arms barely hold you up. You’re grinding back on him now, desperate and unthinking, your body so close to the edge it’s terrifying.

And he knows it.

Joel leans back down, his chest slick with sweat as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and growls low against your ear.

“Come for me. Now. Be fuckin’ quiet and come for me, baby.”

Your body obeys him before your mind even catches up.

It crashes through you like a gunshot — fast, hard, splitting you apart as you clamp down around him, your legs buckling beneath you. Your vision goes white. Your scream is caught by his hand again, swallowed whole as you convulse under him, trembling violently while your orgasm pulses out in thick, molten waves that won’t stop. Your nails dig into the linoleum. Your face is wet with tears or sweat or both, and your whole body is shaking, locked down around the thick, throbbing weight of him inside you.

Joel curses under his breath — low and gravel-rough — and he doesn’t stop moving. Not through your orgasm. Not when your pussy spasms around him so hard it pulls another whimper from your chest. He fucks you through it, pace sloppy now, desperate, chasing his own edge with a kind of wild, breathless restraint.

“Fuck, baby,” he hisses, voice barely human. “Gonna come — shit — can’t stop—”

You try to nod, to tell him yes, to let go, but you’re so dazed and overstimulated you don’t even know if you move. He fucks you deeper, faster — his hand still silencing you, his chest rising in ragged heaves — until finally his hips slam forward one last time and he groans deep against your back, coming inside you with a violent tremor.

You feel it all.

The hot, wet pulse of him spilling deep inside you. The shudder in his arms. The way his grip on your mouth softens as he breathes through it, forehead dropped to your spine, trying not to collapse over you completely.

You both stay there for a moment — still joined, still panting, still trembling in the thick, oppressive quiet of the building.

The danger outside hasn’t gone. You know that.

But for now, in this space between breath and aftermath, you feel more alive than you have in weeks.

Joel eventually lifts his hand from your mouth, slow and careful, then shifts his weight back just enough to ease himself out of you. You wince at the slick slide — at the heat of him dripping down your thighs — but you don’t say a word. Your voice wouldn’t work anyway.

He tucks himself back into his jeans quickly, grim-faced now, the soldier in him returning to the surface as fast as the tension had snapped. He scans the room like he’s expecting a threat to jump out of the drywall, then turns back to you with something softer in his eyes.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, reaching down to help you up.

Your legs are weak, thighs soaked and shaking, and when you stand, your knees buckle enough that Joel catches you against him, one arm curling around your waist, the other tucking your pants back into place. He presses a kiss to the side of your head — nothing fancy, nothing lingering. Just contact. Just proof that he’s still here, and you’re still his.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your hair. “Didn’t mean to lose control like that. I just—”

You shake your head, fingers tightening on his shirt, your voice rough when it finally comes.

“Don’t apologize.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing away the streak of something wet at the corner of your mouth. His expression is unreadable — worry, guilt, hunger still not quite sated — and something else that makes your chest tighten.

Love, maybe.

He doesn’t say it. He never does. But it’s there, written in the way his fingers tremble against your skin, in the way his body shields yours even now.

Outside, the world waits.

The sound doesn’t come again — not the bootstep, not the breath of danger — but you both know better than to trust silence.

Joel leans in and presses one last kiss to your temple, then reaches down to grab your pack from the floor. He slides your weapon into your hands with a look that says stay close, keep quiet, I’ve got you, then moves toward the back exit like nothing ever happened.

But your legs still ache. Your lips are swollen from his hand. And between your thighs, the echo of him still lingers — thick, warm, and dripping — as you follow him into the darkness.

#pedro pascal #pedropascal #joel miller #joelmiller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #pre-jackson!joel #pedro pascal fandom

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artist-issues · 2 days ago

Text

This is the most warped-lens take I’ve ever seen.

The creators literally said that their whole pitch for the movie was “what if we start with the villain and redeem him?”

They opened with this scene:

The villain is Stitch, what are you on?

They opened with a criminal trial! They opened with the bad guy being captured.

Stitch is introduced as someone who’s engineered to have ONE instinct, and that’s destruction. Doesn’t get more cut-and-dry evil than that. Then the Captain, Gantu, responds harshly but justifiably, “it is an affront to nature. It must be destroyed!” And the Grand Councilwoman goes, “perhaps it can be reasoned with.”

AND SPECIFICALLY, for the BENEFIT OF THE BLEEDING-HEART AUDIENCE, asks the monster if there’s some sign that he understands any of this, if there’s anything good in him. And he specifically gets ready, clears his little throat like he has something important to say, and then says something so awful that it makes everyone in the chamber across multiple planets of cultures gasp in horror and recoil. And he laughs at their horror. That little prep-to-answer? His choice of answer? Premeditated nastiness. Just draws them in to upset them and then laughs.

Just like he laughs when he discovers he can trick the cannons, then immediately tries to trick them into murdering the officer guarding him. Just like he laughs in the children’s book the movie is built on, while Lilo is getting chased by an aggressive dog. Just like he laughs in the Untimely Death of Pudge the Fish deleted scene. Just like he laughs at footage of a giant ant eating people on a television show, just like he laughs when the luau catches fire. He shows no remorse.

This is a movie where the audience is very specifically told that the main character is rotten all the way down to his core. Very specifically. As early on as possible. Its a story set up carefully.

For the whole movie he is using Lilo, a child, as a human shield. That is his first instinct, to use a young and defenseless creature looking for a friend for his own benefit. And he doesn’t just do it when Jumba and Pleakley are after him, he hides behind her when Cobra Bubbles and the beach volleyball guy are giving him nasty looks.

They specifically have his creator, who knows him better than anyone, make THIS comment:

You have to be willfully blind to see that Stitch was not ‘set up by the system’ to have no-harm intentions. He was created to have nothing but harmful intentions. Jumba is not ‘the system’ that set this up. Jumba is going against the system when he creates Stitch. Unprovoked. Don’t give me that crap.

The new movie’s got him letting Lilo go so she can swim to the surface while he willingly drowns? In the original, he’s dragging her down in a blind panic. She needs him as a friend and he’s seen how much she wants him round—and he still leaves to “find where he belongs.” Jumba finds him alone in the woods and where does he go? Deeper into the jungle? Back to the wreckage of his ship? Does he fight Jumba on his own?

No. He immediately runs back to Lilo’s house and leads the danger right to her. Am I saying that in that moment he was trying to get her hurt? No, but what I am saying is that even when the turning point has started to come, he’s still not wired to have selfless intentions. That doesn’t come until almost the end of the movie.

Or, as Chris Sanders, creator of the character, says, “he’s not a better person, he just has understood the concept of ‘family.’”

It’s like you guys missed the point of the movie—it in no way matters WHY someone is evil. Not at all. That is NOT the point of the movie, that’s not the focus, it’s not the conversation the filmmakers were having, it’s not at all relevant to the story. It does not matter WHY someone is evil.

What the movie is saying is, “here’s how powerful family love is even if you’re evil.”

Stitch is so bad because the badder he is, the more incredible Lilo’s love for him looks.

He knocks her down and steals her stuff and wrecks her family home and ruins her sister’s job and nearly drowns her and gets their family torn apart and even gets her abducted. And at the end of the movie, she’s still choosing to love him.

And it’s her love that transforms him. So that he even can care about “where he belongs.” And in the end he chooses them too. And Jumba, who saw the irredeemable little monster he created suddenly start caring about a human girl and ask for help saving her?? That completely convinces him. Because a love that powerful shows him there could be somewhere he, a mad scientist, could belong. And guess where that powerful love was learned? Lilo learned it from Nani. “Why don’t you sell me and buy a rabbit instead?” She’s nothing but trouble for Nani but Nani chooses to give up everything for her. That’s love.

Stitch has to be the villain, and a lot of characters have to YES HAVE BAD INTENTIONS, in order to have the message be: “Unconditional Family Love Transforms You.” It’s a selfless, sacrificial love, the kind that doesn’t consider what the recipient of that love can DO FOR THEM. In fact, it loves IN SPITE of what the recipient of the love ruins for them. Like Lilo loves Stitch even if he ruins her life, and Nani loves Lilo even when she ruins Nani’s life. If there’s no bad, no evil, no naughty, then what’s love even there to be forgiving and gracious and transformative toward?

If there’s no villain in this movie, then what exactly is the message?? “Family love…endures even when the system is against it?” Is that what you’re saying?

Bull.

You mean the “system” that Cobra references when Lilo saves Stitch by pointing out she legally adopted him? You mean the “system” that considers “endangered species” important enough to protect instead of annihilating the planet? You mean the “system” that Pleakley is only there because he represents it, the system that kept Jumba from blowing up Lilo’s house sooner? You mean the “system” that Gantu ignores when he, taking up the mantle of “villain,” kidnaps a human child and tries to annihilate his quarry without caring about collateral damage? You mean the “system” that would have been well within it’s rights to remove Lilo from Nani’s custody as soon as it found her verbally threatening the child locked in a house with a hammer in her hand?

Rules freakin saved the day. The system allowed for the demonstration of the love that put the family back together at the end of the movie.

How old is this post? I feel like I’m having Deja vu. Did I already stomp over here once upon a time or is this bad take everywhere?

Quit projecting your postmodern worldview where you think you’re rebelling by tossing personal responsibility out the window and pointing fingers at a lazily-labeled “system” with no face.

This is not the movie for that. I know you want it to be. But it’s just not. You’re looking for Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse. 🙄 or V for Vendetta. Go somewhere else for your “I’m a rebel because it’s not my fault” fix.

Lilo & Stitch is a great example of a story that has no villains. It has antagonists, sure, but most of them are well-meaning. The worst person in the film is that little shit Myrtle, but she’s not in the film that much anyway.

#Lilo and stitch #Lilo & stitch #Disney #Meta #Bad take #Writing #Stitch #Experiment 626 #Chris Sanders #Pleakley #Jumba #Nani

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ceramini · 1 day ago

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YOU DONT KNOW ⋆˚࿔ WHAT YOU DO TO ME

pair dom!jungwon x afab!reader ͡ ͘◡ ꫶᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜৯ tags jealous jungwon, rough sex (w/ emotion), fingering, protected sex ✿ scene At his own party, Jungwon sees you flirting with someone else, and snaps. One heated argument in his room turns into rough, jealous, long-overdue sex ────── library ⊹ ࣪ click to join taglist

like + reblog appreciated <3

You know exactly what you’re doing.

You’ve been doing it all night, laughing a little too loudly, leaning in just a little too close to that guy from your class. You knew Jungwon was watching, and maybe that was the point.

The party is at his house, but he’s barely spoken to you. He’s been sulking in the kitchen, arms crossed, jaw tight. Meanwhile, you’ve been hanging out in the living room, letting another guy refill your drink and inch a little too close on the couch.

It’s petty. You know it.

But then again, he started it.

He’s been hot and cold for weeks. Flirting with you when it’s convenient. Glaring at any guy who even looks your way. But he never says anything. Never acts. Just looks like he wants to ruin someone, then disappears like none of it matters.

So tonight? You make it matter.

You’re half laughing at something some guy says when you feel a presence behind you, warm, tense, unmistakable.

Jungwon’s voice is low, quiet, and cold.

“Can I talk to you?”

You turn, your mouth parting, but before you can answer, his hand wraps around your wrist, not hard, but firm, and he pulls you off the couch, out of the crowd, down the hallway, straight into his room.

He slams the door shut behind you.

The silence hits like a wave.

“Are you kidding me?” His voice is low and dangerous.

You cross your arms. “What?”

He stares at you like he doesn’t even recognize you. “You really think I’m gonna just stand there and watch you flirt with him? On my fucking couch?”

“We were just talking—”

He laughs, humorless. “Don’t insult me.”

You take a step back, pulse rising. “Why do you even care, Jungwon? You act like I’m invisible half the time.”

“I care because he had his hands on you.”

“Maybe I wanted him to,” you lie.

He moves before you can flinch, not touching you yet, just stalking toward you, something raw burning in his eyes.

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

“Then what are you trying to do?” His voice drops lower. “Make me jealous? Humiliate me? What?”

You breathe out, shaky. “I don’t know. Get a reaction. Something.”

“You want a reaction?” he says slowly. “Fine.”

Before you can speak, he grabs your waist, walks you backward until your spine hits the door. His face is inches from yours.

“You really wanted him to touch you?” he murmurs. “To put his hands all over you? Is that what you want?”

You blink up at him, chest rising fast. “No.”

“Then why?” His voice breaks, just slightly. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because I didn’t know how else to get through to you.”

He stares at you, the kind of look that strips you bare. Then, like something in him snaps, his mouth crashes against yours.

It’s rough. Messy. His hands dig into your waist as his lips devour yours, teeth catching your lower lip, his body pressing into yours like he’s finally, finally letting himself feel everything he’s been holding back.

“You drive me insane,” he growls into your mouth. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Your fingers are in his hair, tugging, nails grazing his scalp. You kiss him back like you’re starving.

When he pulls back, your lipstick is smeared, lips swollen. He stares at you, panting.

“You want me to stop?”

“No.”

That’s all it takes.

He lifts you by the thighs, carrying you to the bed like he can’t wait another second. His mouth is back on your throat, biting and sucking until you whimper.

“You’re mine,” he says roughly, dragging your top off, pulling your bra down with a frustrated tug. “Say it.”

You gasp as his mouth wraps around your breast, licking over your nipple before sucking it hard. “Jungwon—”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours—fuck—I’m yours.”

His hand is already between your legs, fingers pushing your panties to the side and dragging through your soaked folds. “So fucking wet,” he groans. “From him or from me?”

“You.”

“Damn right.”

He fingers you fast, rough, curling deep as his thumb circles your clit. You’re already close, your hips grinding helplessly into his hand, but he doesn’t slow down.

“You like pissing me off?” he murmurs. “You like being bad, making me jealous?”

You nod, breathless. “Only because I wanted you to do something.”

“Well,” he says, ripping a condom from his drawer and rolling it on, “you’ve got my attention now.”

He thrusts into you with a groan, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out, the stretch hitting perfectly, his pace relentless from the start.

He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your thigh as he slams into you over and over, his name falling from your lips in broken moans.

“I’ve thought about this,” he pants against your neck. “So many fucking times.”

“Me too—Jungwon—”

“You’re mine. You hear me?” His voice is desperate now. “No one else touches you like this. No one.”

“I know,” you gasp. “I know—only you—”

And when you come, it’s dizzying. Your vision blurs, your body shakes, and he’s right there with you, fucking you through it until he’s gone too, collapsing over you with a strangled moan.

The room is quiet now, but it’s not awkward. It’s heavy with everything you couldn’t say before, all the tension, the longing, the wanting.

After a minute, Jungwon kisses your cheek. Your shoulder. Your wrist where he’d held it.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he whispers. “It’s always been you.”

You smile, pulling him down into your arms.

“Then next time,” you murmur, “maybe just say that.”

He huffs a soft laugh, presses his lips to your temple.

“Yeah. Next time.”

🪷 ─── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto (join the taglist guys..)

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izzih22 · 3 days ago

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Can you do one where Azzi sees the pressure on Paige building because she hears how people are talking, and then she snaps on everyone, coaches and players alike, after she hears them talking about what they expect from Paige after she has a bad practice and she leaves the locker room without waiting for Azzi because she’s so overwhelmed. Telling them that they may be under pressure too but that it’s nowhere near what Paige is under and if they cared about her they would understand and try to help carry it instead of add on to it like they have been

Probably could take place sometime over the summer after the 2024 March madness when Paige said she hated the idea of losing so much that she forgot how to win if you wanted a specific timeframe

Everything You Don’t Say

Note: ig I’m kinda back… also this is not a depiction of any of the girls it’s just for the story.

It starts with a missed layup.

Not just a bad one. Not the kind where Paige shrugs and taps her chest like, my bad, I’ll get the next one. This one clangs off the backboard like a cry for help, like she’s forgotten where the rim even is. She doesn’t react. No grimace. No head shake. Just keeps moving through the drill like her body’s on autopilot.

Azzi notices. Of course she does.

Paige always plays with her whole chest every step fierce, every shot deliberate. Even when she’s quiet, there’s heat. But today?

There’s nothing.

No talk. No fire. Just exhaustion so visible it wraps around her shoulders like a wet towel.

“Y’all seeing this?” someone whispers behind Azzi on the sideline.

“She’s been… off.”

“I mean, she’s seems tired. What’s her deal?”

“She better figure it out before preseason...”

The words prickle against Azzi’s skin. She turns her head slightly, not enough to confront anyone… not yet atleast, but enough to clock who said what.

KK, Jana, Ice. Not mean. Just frustrated.

But Azzi doesn’t care. They don’t get it. They don’t know what Paige has been going through.

Coach calls for transition drills, and the pace picks up. Paige turns on the jets, trying to outrun whatever’s haunting her, and for a minute, Azzi sees it the fight, the defiance. But it only lasts so long. Then she’s gasping for breath, bent at the waist, eyes fixed on the hardwood like she’s lost in it.

Coach blows the whistle.

“Bueckers, this is the third practice in a row,” he says, not yelling, but loud enough that the whole gym hears. “You’re the example. Your standard has to be higher than this.”

Azzi winces.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the sideline, resting a sore ankle, towel draped over her shoulders. She knows what those words will do to Paige. Knows that example is code for carry everyone. That standard means don’t mess up, ever.

Paige doesn’t say anything. She just nods once, jaw tight, and finishes the drill.

Azzi watches her the whole time. Watches her force her body through another ten minutes of drills, watches her bite her lip so hard it goes white, watches her finish a play and then bolt straight out of the gym without waiting for anyone… without waiting for her.

Azzi’s heart sinks.

Because Paige always waits.

Even when they’re not riding home together. Even when they’re barely speaking after a fight. Paige waits. She leans against the locker room door with her headphones half on, hoodie sleeves pushed up, and waits for Azzi like it’s instinct.

Today, she’s gone.

And the second the whistle blows and Coach dismisses everyone, the team starts talking.

Not even quiet.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her.”

“She’s being so dramatic.”

“I swear if she tanks this season—”

That’s when Azzi stands.

And snaps.

She doesn’t yell.

She doesn’t have to.

The sound of her voice tight, controlled, and angry in a way none of them have ever heard is louder than anything.

“You done?”

Everyone freezes.

Azzi’s standing in the middle of the gym, arms folded, one socked foot tapping softly against the court. Her eyes are sharp. Her mouth is a flat, trembling line. She doesn’t look like herself. Or at least, not the self they know.

KK opens her mouth, confused. “Az, we weren’t—”

“Yes, you were,” Azzi says, calm and cutting. “You were talking about her like she’s not the reason half of you even came here.”

Ice blinks. “We’re just saying it’s—”

“What? Hard? Yeah. It is. But you don’t get to dump everything on her because you’re tired.”

There’s a silence that stretches too long.

Azzi’s voice cracks a little when she speaks again. “She’s been holding this team on her back for four years. She’s been your go-to, your example, your headline, your shield from every hard moment. And you all forget that she’s human.”

Jana shifts her weight. “She’s not the only one under pressure.”

“No,” Azzi agrees, softer now. “But none of you know what it’s like to be her. To walk into every gym with people expecting you to save the season. To come back from injury after injury and still be perfect. To be told you’re the face of women’s basketball and not break down under the weight of that.”

Her chest rises and falls fast. Her voice dips again.

“She’s exhausted. Not because she doesn’t care. But because she does more than any of you will ever understand.”

Coach steps forward like he wants to calm her, but Azzi turns her eyes on him, too.

“And you. You think you’re helping when you say that crap about standards and examples? You’re just adding more weight. You see one off day and forget what she’s carried for years.”

Coach says her name gently. “Azzi—”

“No,” she cuts him off, and now her voice is trembling. “She’s the most selfless person I’ve ever known. And every time she slips…every time… you all act like she’s failing you.”

No one speaks.

Not because they don’t have thoughts.

But because this is Azzi. Sweet Azzi. Quiet Azzi. The one who always stays neutral, who softens tension, who floats more than she stomps.

And right now she’s shaking with anger. With love.

Azzi swipes at a tear and turns before anyone can say anything.

She’s gone before they can apologize.

—

She finds Paige outside, behind the gym.

Slouched on the concrete steps. Knees pulled up. Eyes red.

Azzi sits down beside her without a word and waits.

Paige speaks first, voice hoarse. “They’re right, aren’t they?”

“No,” Azzi says instantly.

“I missed a layup.”

“You’re tired.”

Paige snorts bitterly. “I’m always tired.”

Azzi doesn’t argue. She just reaches for Paige’s hand.

“You didn’t wait for me,” she says softly.

Paige closes her eyes. “Didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I’ve seen you worse,” Azzi says gently, bumping their shoulders. “Remember that USA camp where you missed ten free throws in a row and cried in the storage closet?”

“You promised you’d never bring that up.”

Azzi smiles, and Paige finally lets out a half-laugh.

“I hate this,” Paige whispers after a minute. “I hate feeling like I’m not enough.”

“You don’t have to feel enough,” Azzi says. “You are.”

“I don’t know how to not carry everything.”

Azzi squeezes her hand. “Then let me carry you.”

Paige finally looks at her.

And there it is all the pain, all the guilt, all the pressure. All the weight that comes from being the name everyone knows, the story everyone wants, the win everyone expects.

“I don’t know how to fall apart,” Paige says.

“Yes, you do,” Azzi whispers. “You do it with me. You always have.”

That breaks something.

Paige leans into her then no more pretense. She curls into Azzi’s shoulder like a wave pulling back into the sea, like a girl who’s finally stopped pretending she’s invincible.

And Azzi just holds her.

Not tightly.

Just fully.

Like this is a thing they’ve done a thousand times and it is. Because they’ve been doing this since they were teenagers. Since Paige was the golden girl and Azzi was the quiet storm who saw through the shine. Since they traded jerseys after games and whispered on FaceTime until one of them fell asleep.

Since before any of this was real.

Since before it mattered.

“I yelled at everyone,” Azzi murmurs into her hair.

Paige pulls back, eyes wide. “You?”

“Yup.”

“Like… loud?”

“No. Worse.” Azzi smiles faintly. “I was calm.”

Paige groans and buries her face in Azzi’s hoodie. “I’m so in love with you.”

“I know.”

“You’re not supposed to say it like that.”

Azzi chuckles, brushing Paige’s hair back from her forehead. “I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen, Bueckers. I’m allowed to say it however I want.”

They sit in silence for a while, Paige’s head tucked under Azzi’s chin, the sky slowly turning pink overhead.

“I don’t want to break,” Paige says finally.

“You won’t.”

“But if I do?”

“I’ll be there.”

“And if I get worse?”

“You won’t. But I’ll still be there.”

Paige exhales. “Why do you love me like this?”

“Because you let me.”

That gets her.

She lifts her head and looks at Azzi like she’s trying to memorize her.

And maybe she is.

“Let’s go home,” Azzi says softly.

“I’m gross.”

“You’re mine.”

Paige blushes. “You’re such a sap when I’m sad.”

“You like it.”

“I love it.”

They stand, and Paige doesn’t let go of her hand the whole walk back.

—

Later that night, after showers and silence and shared takeout eaten from one container, they’re curled up in Azzi’s bed. Paige has her head on Azzi’s chest, one hand tucked under her shirt like it belongs there, which it does.

“I’m sorry I walked out,” she mumbles.

“I’m sorry I didn’t scream at them sooner,” Azzi replies.

Paige smiles, small and real. “I think you might’ve scared KK.”

“She’ll live.”

A pause.

“I think I might finally sleep tonight.”

Azzi kisses her forehead. “Then sleep. I’ll be here.”

Always.

Because loving Paige has never been about the stats. Never been about the hype. It’s been about the girl behind the glare the one who breaks down in locker rooms, who holds too much too tightly, who forgets she’s allowed to be soft.

And Azzi?

She’ll always remind her.

Even when no one else sees it.

Especially then.

#pazzi fics #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige and azzi #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd

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slutzforbueckers · 20 hours ago

Note

Hi! Love your work! Thought maybe action #9 sending text/pictures where maybe reader & paige were texting back and forth but then paige got a message from the team chat at the same time and sent her wild response to the team and not reader on accident! Then damage control lol

oopsies

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: not rlly smut but kinda fluff too idfk

♡— synopsis: you and paige were in the middle of sexting when she got a message from the team groupchat… she accidentally sent the wrong message to the wrong chat.

❥•°❀°•༢

paige 💋💋

i miss your pretty pussy

so fucking good

you bit your bottom lip at her text, rolling over onto your stomach as you thought about what to say next. within the next few seconds you decided that a picture would probably do more justice than anything you could say.

you

*one attachment*

she misses you too p, dw

paige groaned when she saw the picture of your fingers spreading your pussy, your arousal clear by the string of slick connecting your fingertips. she pressed her thighs together, trying to relieve some pressure.

she started typing again immediately, barely able to focus with the heat pulsing between her legs. while she typed she got a notification from the team group chat, she didn’t bother to look as she raised her pointer finger and swiped it away.

what she didn’t realize was that she accidentally clicked on the notification instead of swiping it. her thumbs were clumsy as she quickly typed and sent the text without checking twice.

paige 🪣

fuck baby

i wanna spread you open n taste everything

i’d have you crying in like five minutes

she clicked out of the messages to answer the group chats text but when she clicked on it a picture of your cunt was staring back at her. paige’s brows furrowed in confusion and her eyes narrowed as she checked the name—it was your contact alright but where was the text she’d just sent?

paige thought she had maybe accidentally hallucinated it and she started to type it out again but then she started receiving a string of notifications from the group chat. she saw up quickly when she realized what she’d done.

aubrey 👵🏾

girl what???

kk 💃🏽

oh hell nah

REF DO SOMETHING

jana 🍃

omfg delete delete delete

QUICKLY

paige’s soul left her body, she stared at the screen in horror, the realization hitting so hard it made her physically recoil. “fuck fuck fuck,” she hissed, scrambling to unsend the message—but it was too late, everyone had seen it. she tried to flip it around, do and say anything to stop this from being brought up for the next 10 years of her life—even though that was totally unstoppable.

paige 🪣

im so so so sorry

i was literally hacked

this is literally ai

don’t believe everything you see on the internet

kk 💃🏽

girl boo 🌚

azzi 👑

no ai could do that amount of damage i fear…

caroline🙎🏻‍♀️

i hate to say this but you’re cooked

you laid on your stomach still, wondering what was taking paige so long to answer. you started to type another message out but then you saw the three little grey dots appear.

paige💋💋

babe…

i accidentally sent the team gc the wrong text

*one attachment*

you looked at the phone in confusion and clicked on the picture. it was a screenshot of paige’s group chat, her text were at the top—filthy words that should never be spoken to anyone other than her girlfriend.

you laughed, you couldn’t help it. all you could do was picture paige’s face when she realized—how mortified she must’ve looked. you called her immediately and she picked up after the first ring, her face red with embarrassment. “you know you’re never living that down, right?”

“shut up, it’s not funny.” paige groaned, running her hand down her face. you laughed a little harder and she turned a little more red, glaring at the phone like that was really enough to stop you from laughing. “okay bet, remember this tomorrow night.”

her voice dropped to a low tone and you stopped laughing, your face going still because you knew what she meant. paige raised her brows and smirked, thinking that she had finally silenced you—which she should’ve known better when that mischievous smile came back.

“one second, let me make sure i’m talking to the right person.”

#m speaks #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x fem!reader smut #sub!paige bueckers #paige bueckers fluff #dallas wings #paige bueckers x fem!reader fluff

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nghtwngs · 3 days ago

Note

I need a bob fic where reader is part of the thunderbolts and they start to notice small things from their room going missing, panties, chapstick, food wrappers, etc. and one day they catch bob in the act and instead of finding it creepy they find it cute. Blah blah blah they end up fucking

18+ mdni, dark content, perv!bob reynolds x reader, vaginal fingering, implied masturbation (bob), panty stealing, no pronouns for reader, first time writing a dark fic so hopefully this isn’t completely shit haha…

“What the hell? Where is it?” You frantically search through your bag, gaining Ava’s attention.

“What is it?” she asks, peering over your shoulder.

“My favorite lip balm. Ugh, I already lost the last one I had, and it was like twenty dollars. No way I lose it twice.” You continue digging through your items to no avail, turning your head to look at her. “Right?”

She shrugs. “Maybe Alexei found it. He’s been obsessed with lip balms ever since he found out chapstick is pretty much useless. But I think your real problem is that you’re buying twenty dollar lip balm in the first place.”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of nice products…” You sigh, nearly giving up after already an hour of rummaging through all of your stuff. “That one is just the one thing I like to splurge on a little.” You huff, crossing your arms. “It’s like something is eating up all my stuff. I lost a sock the other day too. It might just be that dumb, loud washing machine Valentina refuses to replace. I think she’s just keeping it there to spite us.”

“That thing is annoying,” Ava says, “but I’ve never lost anything before. I don’t remember anyone else complaining about having lost something either. Well, except that one time two weeks ago when Alexei lost his sunglasses, and we were making bets on how long it would take him to realize they were sitting on his head.”

“Ugh, I was really so close on that one too.”

He doesn’t hear you when you arrive just outside your bedroom door or when you’re twisting the knob to let yourself in. But he does hear the shock in your sweet voice when you try to ask him, so utterly confused as to why he’d be standing in your room, “Bob? What are you…”

His hand is still deep inside the drawer where you keep all your underwear—and suddenly, it’s like everything magically clicks into place. You should probably go apologize to that dumb washing machine for falsely accusing it of theft when the real thief is right in front of you, his cheeks blushing furiously.

Bob removes his hand from your dresser, hiding it behind his back like a child caught red-handed. “I can explain—“

“—What exactly?” you ask, scoffing as you cross your arms. “That you’ve been stealing all my shit like a pervert? You could’ve just asked, you know. Were you too shy to?”

“I…” He gulps, still burning with red-hot embarrassment as he says softly, “I’m sorry.”

“You steal my sock too?” You cock your head, an cruel grin growing on your face. “What could you have possibly done with that, huh?” You step closer towards Bob, glancing down at your panty collection. “Which one were you looking for? Or were you just pursuing?”

“The… the thin, light pink ones,” he softly answers, unable to meet your eyes. “I saw them when you were doing laundry the other week…”

“You won’t find them in there.”

You hum quietly, gently grabbing the hand that had been stuck deep in your underwear drawer and guiding it towards the waistband of your tiny skirt. Bob glances up at you, and you nod slightly. Rather than lifting the fabric up, he tentatively tugs it down to glimpse at the panties you currently had on—blush pink, the pair that had him fucking your sock just two weeks ago, imagining it was you.

It’s not long before Bob has you sat in front of him on the foot of your mattress, fingers pushing in and out of your drooling cunt in a steady rhythm. His other hand paws at your chest, thumb, wet from your saliva, swirling around your hardened nipple. When his fingers find that one spot that makes your thighs twitch and your walls clench, he lets out a breathy sound of pride. The hand that had been playing with your breast moves up to your whimpering mouth, fingertips pressing against your plush lips before gliding inside.

You’d already imagined something like this before, but your imagination pales in comparison to whatever this is. His fingers are stuffed so tightly inside you that your spit begins to spill out and drip down the two fingers he’s got in your mouth. A sad, little whine escapes your throat when he pulls his fingers out of you, beginning to circle the pad of his middle finger around your wet hole. He uses more pressure, pressing it into your clenching flesh without ever pushing it back inside, eliciting more gasps from you as you beg him for more.

“B-bob,” you call his name once his fingers glide out of your mouth, whining.

You feel way too empty, but you know you’re in no position to be making demands with the way he’s got you spread out like this. The part of your brain that’s completely melted from him fingering you pleads otherwise, however.

“Hm?” He’s really not trying to tease you, but he can’t help but make you wait a little. Seeing you all needy like this for just his fingers is doing wonders for his ego. And his cock.

“I need you.”

“Need what?”

“To… make me come…” you mutter under your breath before adding on for good measure, “Please.”

“You’re so sweet,” he coos, the pads of his middle and index fingers easily finding your clit, marveling at how wet you’ve become.

Your pretty folds are drooling down your sheets, but you probably won’t mind. He’ll volunteer to wash your bedsheets if you’ll keep letting him fuck you like this. You’re squeezing around nothing, one of your hands clutching the forearm of the hand he’s got wrapped around your thigh, keeping you open for him. He hadn’t even bothered to remove your underwear earlier, only sliding it to the side and away from your slit. The pink fabric now a darker shade from your own arousal.

Bob starts to feel your peak approaching once he’s slid his fingers back inside you to give you some relief. He can’t help it when he’s got the prettiest thing moaning his name like that. Your sounds of pleasure continue to grow louder, and he feels your cunt grow tighter around his hand. He picks up the pace, quickly pistoning his fingers inside your spasming walls to help you reach your high.

“I’m—Bob, I’m gonna cum—“ With another cry of his name, your orgasm washes over you, drawn out by the continuous force of his fingers fucking you, palm meeting your clit with delicious pressure.

You let out a string of breathless curses, limp in his embrace. He kisses up your neck to your temple sweetly. Another serene moment passes before you mumble, “Do you have my black pair of underwear? I wanted to wear it today. Couldn’t find it.”

“Maybe…” he replies in a sheepish tone, plucking at the waistband of your pink panties. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

“And my sock?”

“You probably don’t want it back…”

#going to hide now #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds smut #sentry x reader #sentry imagine #sentry smut #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts imagine #thunderbolts smut #the void x reader #the void imagine #the void smut

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satossential · 3 days ago

Text

the first time ghost hears you laugh, it’s by accident.

he’s on the ground with soap, stalking through a bombed-out skeleton of a building in some nowhere town, dust in the air and glass crunching under their boots. there’s tension crackling in the comms like static. then soap makes a joke—some offhanded quip about ghost’s “sunny disposition”—and for once, ghost doesn’t have a comeback ready. he just grunts.

then you laugh.

not a small laugh either—genuine, surprised, warm. the kind of laugh that makes soap pause and blink like he’s just witnessed something sacred.

ghost doesn’t say anything. but his head turns, eyes narrowing beneath the mask.

“the hell was that?” he mutters into the comms.

you try to play it off. “what? nothing. just… that was funny.”

“you laughed,” ghost says, voice low, almost accusing.

“yeah. i’m capable of laughter. shocking, i know.”

soap’s already grinning. “we makin’ you laugh now, lass? careful—ghost’ll start trying to be funny next.”

“i’m always funny,” ghost replies dryly. “you lot are just slow.”

but he’s already thinking about it. about you. about the sound of your laugh, clear even through the comms. it caught him off guard—not because you laughed, but because it made something in his chest go light. and that’s dangerous.

—

he doesn’t mean to make it a mission. not at first.

but after that op, he starts paying more attention. to your voice in his ear, to the way you narrate things from base, sometimes with a hint of humor, sometimes with a soft firmness that makes him feel… steady. anchored.

and when you do laugh—because soap says something stupid again or gaz makes a snide joke—ghost finds himself smirking behind the mask. it’s rare. it’s good.

then one day, he says something—low and sarcastic—and you snort. actually snort through the comms. soap loses it.

“ohhh, that was a good one, lieutenant!”

“shut it,” ghost mutters, but he still has that smirk in his voice.

and from then on, it’s different. he doesn’t just tolerate the comms chatter—he feeds it. says things under his breath that only you might catch. drops dry little comments mid-firefight just to see if you’ll catch on and let that laugh slip again.

it becomes a game. a private one. just him and the idea of you, somewhere safe with a headset on, laughing just because he said something funny.

—

eventually, it goes further.

he gets back to base after a rough mission, blood drying on his sleeves. you’re there in the control room, leaning over a monitor. when you look up and see him, you smile—soft, easy. like you’re happy he’s back.

“heard you on comms,” you say. “you were actually kind of funny today.”

he pauses. then steps closer. his voice drops, just for you.

“that why you laughed?”

you blink. then grin, a little sheepish. “you caught that?”

“heard it clear as day.” he leans on the console, tilting his head. “didn’t know i liked that sound so much.”

you stare for a second, caught off guard—and then, like music, you laugh.

ghost doesn’t say anything more. he doesn’t need to. he just stands there, listening.

mission accomplished.

#¡! http.lane.com ❞#ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon ghost riley #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon riley fluff #ghost call of duty

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moondustbaby · 3 days ago

Note

N – Nipple play (licking, sucking) with blue collar Rafe

N – Nipple play

blue collar!Rafe x wife!Reader

✨1k celebration post✨

mdni 18+

You’re sprawled on the couch in his hoodie and nothing else—legs draped over his lap, back pressed to the armrest, the hem of the sweatshirt bunched up high over your chest.

And he’s been focused on your tits for the last twenty minutes.

He’s not even trying to be subtle about it—licking, sucking, dragging his tongue in lazy circles around your nipples like he’s got nowhere else to be.

“Rafe,” you whimper, thighs twitching as he groans against your chest.

“You started this, baby,” he mutters, mouth still wrapped around your nipple. “Comin’ out here in my hoodie like that. No bra. No panties.”

He sucks harder, making you gasp. His free hand is between your legs, two fingers buried deep, slow and torturous. But he doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t move his mouth. Just keeps flicking his tongue over your swollen nipple while you squirm under him, wrecked.

“You know how I get about your tits,” he says, voice rough. “You know I can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

You moan, back arching into him. Your nipple slips from his mouth, wet and aching, and he replaces it with his fingers—tweaking, rolling, pinching just enough to make your pussy clench around his hand.

“Please,” you whine, eyes glossy. “Rafe, I need—”

“I am takin’ care of you,” he interrupts, dropping his mouth to your other breast. “You’re the one actin’ like I don’t got a job to do here.”

He smiles against your skin when he feels you throb around his fingers again.

And when you cum like that—whimpering and shaking with nothing but his fingers inside you and his mouth on your tits—Rafe doesn’t even try to hide how proud of himself he is.

“You’re my favorite fuckin’ girl,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “And these are my favorite fuckin’ toys.”

a/n: i’m sorry but if you walk out in his hoodie and no bra?? that man is not doing anything else for the rest of the day. thank you for the request, angel—this one is for the girlies with sensitive tits and a husband who treats them like his personal stress balls.

♥️ lani

nsfw a-z

✨1k celebration schedule✨

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lmvari · 3 days ago

Text

⟳ 27. BLUEPRINT

Love terrified Kuni.

It was why it’s easier to pretend he didn’t care than to deal with the mess of actually feeling emotions. Because the truth was, he knew what came after.

He learned too early that love doesn’t mean staying. It left him shattered and alone.

He'd lived it twice too many times.

It started with his mother.

Sharp, elegant, composed. Always with one hand on her tea and the other on her schedule. She was the type of woman people admired from afar. Untouchable. Unshakable.

But to Kuni, she was simply his mom.

Though distant, she taught him everything he needed to, reminded him to be independent and never show weakness. A kind of tough love that you’d feel cared for.

She wasn’t perfect, but she was his entire world. She made a silent promise to be there. To guide him. To raise him right.

By fourteen, she was gone.

No explanation. No goodbye.

Just a letter and a cold set of instructions.

Kuni later found out her whereabouts through his mother’s friend. Apparently, she left the country. Started over with her life. A life that didn’t include him.

She left him the apartment. A trust fund with enough to cover school, food, a quiet kind of living. She left instructions, contacts, legal arrangements, everything a responsible parent should leave behind.

But she didn’t leave herself.

And that was the part Kuni never forgave. He felt rejected. How could someone who taught him everything just walk away? How could someone who gave life to him disappear like he wasn’t enough to stay for? She made sure he’d live. But she never once asked if he’d be okay.

But no matter how much he tried to harden himself, no matter how often he repeated her lessons in his head—

Don’t feel. Don’t break.

He still loved her.

And the thing is, the more someone taught you not to feel, the more devastating it was when you still did.

Since then, Kuni learned:

Love doesn’t mean permanence. Love is something people say until they decide they’re tired. Since then, he built a wall no one could scale, no one could touch. He never let anyone try.

But Kuni’s defenses were paper-thin.

Just before his senior year, Mona came into his life.

Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, ambitious and brilliant in ways that scared him. He didn’t mean to let her in. He told himself not to.

But she made it so goddamn easy.

She made him feel seen, like he wasn’t just someone people tolerated but someone they actually wanted. For a while, she made him believe he could be enough. To be loved. To be chosen.

But dreams don’t wait for love. And Mona had big ones. She was always chasing something—her career, the stars, a future that didn’t leave much space for someone like him.

There were days she didn’t answer his calls, weeks when she barely looked up from her screen. At first, he understood. People get busy. He could wait.

But then weeks turned into months, and Kuni slowly got tired of waiting for someone who no longer remembered to wait for him.

Still, he clung to her.

Even when the silence between them was louder than any words. Even when she drifted so far he could barely hear her voice anymore. Even when it got to the point where even he pitied himself.

He told himself she was just busy. That she’d come back.

That people could stay.

He was wrong.

Mona sits at the edge of Kuni’s bed, hands folded, back too straight. She’s already dressed, coat draped over her lap. The air between them is thick. Final.

“I got the offer in Berlin,” Mona had said, barely above a whisper. She wasn’t smiling.

Kuni didn’t ask what offer. He already knew.

“You’re leaving,” he said, even though it wasn’t a question.

She nodded.

He stared at the coffee table between them. The untouched tea. The silence.

“When?” he asked.

“Next month. It’s… it’s everything I’ve worked for. It’s my dream.”

Right. Her dream. What is he, then? Just something she happened to like along the way?

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His chest ached, but he didn’t let it show. Just leaned back against the couch and looked at her. Really looked. Memorized the way her brows furrowed when she was nervous, the way her fingers tapped her knee when she was holding something back.

“You’re not coming back,” he said as if it’s a statement.

It took her a moment to respond. She gave a small, hesitant shrug. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. Her voice was composed, but not cold—just honest. “This is something I have to do, Kuni. For myself.”

He nodded slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah.”

He knew. But knowing didn’t make it hurt less.

It wasn’t her fault, not really. He knew from the start who she was. Knew she had dreams bigger than this city, than him. It was his fault for being weak and indulging in something he knew was a risk.

He wanted to come with. Drop out, leave everything behind and live a quiet life with her in another country while she pursues her dream. But he knows she would never agree to that. And staying with her while she’s away would only be a distraction and hold her back from the things that she wanted to accomplish. And he knows he would go crazy worrying about her whereabouts.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He gave her a tired, bitter smile. “Don’t be. I already expected this.”

And he did. He just hadn’t realized how much of him she’d take when she left.

Kuni never hated Mona. He couldn’t.

She was doing what she had to do—what Ei had done, too.

They were both selfish, yes. Except Mona had a valid reason. And he thinks maybe that’s why he didn’t react out of anger.

He didn’t cry that night. Didn’t beg. He just sat there, eyes wide and empty, letting her go. Because he knew better than to fight for someone who’d already made up their mind.

The next morning, she was gone. And in her place was silence.

Kuni knew, deep down, that he was fragile.He let someone in, even when every part of him screamed not to. Naive. Stupid. Too soft where it mattered most.

So this time, instead of just walls, he built thorns around himself. Weapons. Barbed words, sharp silence, cold detachment. Anything to keep people at a distance. He started hooking up, messing around, destroying his reputation, losing himself in the temporary comfort of bodies that didn’t ask questions.

Because love, he decided, was just a longer word for loss.

And he was tired of losing.

But then you happened.

And Kuni wanted you.

He didn’t know it then.

The start of fourth-year.

He didn’t realize the girl at the bar, the one that suddenly sat beside him, was about to become the most emotionally confusing part of his life since the people he loved walked out and took parts of him with them.

Back then, you were just a stranger. A friend of a friend’s. A blur in the crowd. Another girl to satisfy his needs. You weren’t supposed to matter. Weren’t supposed to be more than just a one-night stand.

But you did. Somehow.

Somewhere between the stolen glances and clumsy laughter over shared drinks, between the way you didn’t flinch at his sarcasm or walk away when he got harsh and quiet—you started becoming unforgettable.

And Kuni didn’t remember people. Not like that. Not after just one night.

But that was the thing about you.

Even then, when you were both pretending, both half-lost in your own ways, you had this way of slipping under his skin like you belonged there.

He just didn’t know it yet.

“You look depressed.”

He turned to see a face he was sure he’d seen multiple times before.

Who were you again?

Oh, right.

[Surname].

The girl he usually saw with Ajax’s girlfriend in photos and parties. Usually somewhere across the room, half-laughing at something your friends said. He didn’t think you’d ever spoken directly to him before. Maybe in passing. Maybe not at all.

“And you look like someone who should mind their own fucking business,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of whatever was left in his glass.

Kuni wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone’s shit. Today was already bad enough. It was their anniversary. And he wanted to mourn it alone. So either you leave him alone or deal with his asshole attitude.

Except you didn’t go away.

Just slid onto the couch next to him like you were old friends, slouching on the backrest.

“Just saying. You’ve been sitting here for like thirty minutes, scowling into your drink like it said something rude.”

He gave you a side glance. Your lips were smirking, but your eyes were something else. Curious. Too perceptive for someone who had probably been drinking all night.

“What do you want?”

“A less boring night,” you said plainly. “You seemed like a good place to start.”

That made him laugh, just barely. People often don’t approach him first like that.

“Why are you here alone?” he asked.

“My friends bailed on me. Had a rough week,” you answered.

He simply looked at you with a side look, mulling over whether he should entertain you or not.

Well, maybe small company is okay. He decided.

The both of you talked. Nothing deep. Just enough to fill the space between glances and refills.

It was surprisingly comfortable.

Your sarcasm met his in the middle. Your eyes lingered just a little too long. You leaned in when you laughed, nudged his shoulders when you disagreed. And the longer you stayed like that, the more the air between you shifted.

Warmer. Tighter.

Every brush of your knee against his felt more intentional. Every look a little heavier. You stared at him just a second too long.

Kuni found himself drawn in, caught in the way your gaze lingered. There was something disarming about you. Not in-your-face attractive like most of the girls scattered around the bar, but effortlessly magnetic. Your outfit was modest by comparison, yet the bare line of your shoulders and the way your top hugged your figure left just enough to wonder about.

Teasing, intentional, but not trying too hard.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about what you looked like underneath it.

And yet—

Yeah. Something stirred.

Shit.

He hadn’t come there to take anyone home. That wasn’t the plan that night.

He licked his lips, feeling them dry.

You looked at him again, head slightly tilted, a silent invitation hanging in the air, like you were waiting for him to say something.

Fuck it.

He mirrored your tilt, voice dropping low and lustful. “My place?”

There was no hesitation. Just a nod.

A small, knowing smile.

Kuni thought you were odd.

Not in a loud, obvious way. Just odd enough to make him notice.

Most people who came to bars like that, looking for a warm body and a night of distraction, understood the unspoken rule:

Leave in the morning.

No lingering. No breakfast. No awkward small talk pretending that what happened meant something.

One-night stands came with that silent agreement. Hit and run, no strings. It was safer that way. No messy emotions, no confusion. Either he slipped out first, or the girl did. Always.

He usually brought them back to his place, so he was used to waking up alone. On the rarer occasions when he woke up first, he’d lie in bed longer than necessary, sometimes even missing a morning class, just to avoid making it uncomfortable for the girl to make her quiet exit. It was routine. Predictable.

So when he woke up that morning after the bar, bare mattress on his back, the hangover still settling behind his eyes, he assumed it was the same as always.

You were gone. Of course you were.

He sat up, dragging a hand down his face.

But something felt off.

Kuni woke abruptly from his sleep, sweaty and heaving.

He stared at the wall, in a trance. Head throbbing from the hangover.

Fucking nightmare.

He shook the dreaded feelings away and scanned his surroundings.

The room was quiet, too quiet. But not in the empty kind of way. There was a presence still hanging in the air. The subtle sound of movement outside the room.

And that was when it hit him. He walked out of his room and into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

You glanced over your shoulder casually, flipping something in the pan. “Cooking breakfast.”

His eyebrows twitched. He blinked.

“Right,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “‘That’s not necessary.”

“I want to.”

There was no hesitation in your voice. Just calm certainty, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be in a sort-of-stranger’s kitchen making breakfast after a one-night stand.

He leaned against the counter, eyeing you like you’d just sprouted a second head. “Have you ever slept with anyone before?”

You didn’t even look up as you answered. “Yes.”

His brow furrowed deeper. “Do you always cook breakfast for them?”

That time, you did glance at him, smirking a little. “No.”

“The hell—”

“You looked lonely last night,” you said simply. “And depressed. You looked like shit. Still kinda do, honestly.”

Kuni opened his mouth to respond, but you kept going, unfazed.

“Also, your apartment’s a disaster. I had the overwhelming urge to clean it. Cooking seemed like a good start.”

Kuni looks around his place, seeing all of his belonging scattered. Laundry. Trash.

Oh.

He didn’t have a strong desire to clean much ever since he started fooling around. Keeps most of the girls away.

You slid a plate with food onto the counter in front of him with practiced ease. “It’s not that deep. I just thought you could use a small win today.”

He stared at the plate, then at you, silent for a long moment.

You just smiled, turning back to the stove. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t completely, utterly confusing.

He takes in the sight of you cooking in his kitchen. You were standing there, his shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair messily tied back, completely at home in a place you’d only stepped into for the first time a few hours ago.

And something about that made his chest tighten. Not with warmth, but panic. It was too much. Too close. Too dangerous.

So he looked away. Swallowed hard. He walked back into his room, grabbed his phone, and when he went back out, he didn’t bother hiding the edge in his voice.

“This was a one-time thing,” he said flatly. “Don’t get comfortable.”

You froze, spatula mid-air.

He didn’t look at you.

“I’ve got shit to do,” he added, colder now. “You should head out after you eat.”

A beat passed. Silence stretching like a knife.

Still, he didn’t look.

Because if he did, he might’ve apologized. Might’ve said he didn’t mean it. Might’ve let you stay.

And he couldn’t afford that. So he hardened his voice one last time.

“Lock the door behind you. And leave my shirt.”

Then he walked out of his own apartment.

Ironically, Kuni let it happen a second time.

The one thing he swore he wouldn’t do.

Never repeat a girl. Never fall into the same pair of arms twice. Never give anyone the power to make him crave them more than once. He made that rule for a reason. To keep things clean, forgettable, and detached. It wasn’t even about morality, it was survival. Once was already too much for someone like him, someone who’d learned the hard way what happened when you let someone past the surface.

The plan was simple: drink, fuck, forget. Find a new face, a temporary escape, rinse, repeat. He didn’t even bother to learn the names of most of them.

You were supposed to be just like every other. A face he’d forget by morning.

But you weren’t.

Kuni wondered about you.

Not just in passing, not just in the shallow, fleeting way he did with others.

Unlike the others, he was already acquainted with you. He’d seen you around campus, around his friends, knew your name before he ever touched you. Got to talk to you before he even touched you.

Back then, you didn’t even cross his mind. But that night and the morning after, something shifted.

You were different, not because you tried to be, but because you didn’t. You were sarcastic, annoyingly perceptive, and knew how to keep up with him in the short time he got to talk to you.

And maybe that was the problem.

That was what scared him.

The way you deflected all of his attacks. The way you lingered in his head long after you were gone. And that was dangerous.

So when he opened his door and saw you again, three days later, he was already on edge.

Kuni opened the door halfway, eyes slightly bloodshot, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand.

He stared at you in disbelief.

“Didn’t I say it was a one-time thing?”

Cold. Defensive. Because if he let it get soft, even for a second, someone would crawl past the walls again.

You didn’t flinch. “Relax. I just need my ring.”

He took a sip before answering. “What ring?” he says, tone bored.

“The gold one. I left it by your stove.”

He blinked, recalling it, then remembered exactly what you were talking about. It was the ring he saw when he got back to his apartment.

He figured it was yours, obviously, since you’re the only girl that had the audacity to cook in his kitchen. But he didn’t really think you’d go back for it.

“You left it on purpose.” He stares at you.

“You wish. It’s a ring with sentimental value, unlike you. I just forgot about it.”

“If it’s really important, you wouldn’t’ve forgotten it,” he accuses.

“Would you just give it to me?” you glare at him.

He sighs in defeat. He walked back to his messy couch and gestured lazily. “Go get it yourself.”

He hears you mutter a frustrated ‘finally,’ before focusing back to drinking.

You walked past his living room and headed straight for the kitchen. His eyes follow you, watching with half-interest, half-irritation, nursing his drink in silence.

You found it easily, sitting there like it never moved. You stared at it for a second longer than you needed to before sliding it back onto your finger.

Then thunder cracked loud outside.

The rain had come fast and hard, lightning flickering in the windows.

“Shit,” you muttered, glancing out. “You got an umbrella?” you called over your shoulder.

“Nope.”

“Wow. Responsible.” Sarcasm. “I’m out,” he heard you say.

He didn’t respond. But he noticed how your steps slowed. How you lingered by the door, fiddling with your ring, eyes darting toward the storm. You didn’t want to go out in the pouring rain. You didn’t say it, but he could tell.

He let out a sigh and muttered without looking at you, “Stay until it stops. I’m not driving you.”

Simple. Emotionless. But you stayed.

You ended up on his couch while he poured himself another drink. He didn’t offer conversation. Not wanting the night to steer differently.

The silence stretched for minutes, but then, you surprised him again. You walked over and grabbed the bottle. Poured yourself a glass. Sat beside him like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising a brow.

You took a sip and shrugged. “What, you don’t share?”

He didn’t reply. Just let you do whatever you wanted.

Just what is it with you and being too comfortable around him.

He tried so hard not to interact, tried hard not to linger his eyes for too long. But he had a few shots already and the liquor is starting to take effect.

He took a subtle glance at you.

Then your eyes unexpectedly met his, and he was caught—just looking.

At the curve of your lips, the slope of your neck, the way your legs crossed under your oversized hoodie.

“You’re staring,” you said, lips twitching into a smirk.

He snapped his gaze away, regretting his actions.

Something was growing on him. Hard.

He shouldn’t’ve let you inside. He should’ve just gave you back the ring himself.

“I thought this was supposed to be a one-time thing,” you added, voice laced with laughter and teasing.

It hit a nerve. He didn’t reply.

You leaned in closer. The air shifted. He clenched his jaw, still silent. Still pretending it didn’t affect him.

Your fingers grazed his knee. And that was it.

He was tipsy. Tense. Tired of pretending.

And just like that, everything he’d tried to bury lit up like fire under his skin.

The rules broke. Again.

You didn’t stay that night. You left quietly early in the morning while he was still asleep. But when he woke up, the apartment was clean. The dishes were washed. The clutter was gone.

A plate of food sat on the counter. Next to it was a folded napkin with a note in what he assumed was your handwriting:

‘Just fucking eat it.’

It made him chuckle.

And that’s what pissed him off most.

That you left no trace of yourself, except for something so human it stuck with him the whole day.

So Kuni let it happen. Again.

If the second time was unexpected, the third was deliberate.

You showed up at his door a week later, around midnight, cheeks pink from the cold. Or maybe from the fact that you were reeking of alcohol. Your hair was messy, jacket half-zipped, and your lips pulled into a crooked line that told him this wasn’t planned.

You didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Can I come in?”

He blinked. “What are you doing here?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t wanna be home. Fought with Lumi. Needed a distraction.”

And he was the first person you thought to come to?

“You’re drunk.”

“Sober enough to walk here.”

He almost shut the door in your face. But something in your face, tired, but still sharp with defiance, made him pause.

You didn’t wait for him to invite you. You pushed past him like it was your place, like you belonged there.

And when he tried to say something, you kissed him.

Fast. Desperate. Familiar.

He almost lost his balance. But he didn’t push you away. Maybe that was his mistake.

The two of you didn’t fall asleep this time. Both of you just lay there, skin warm, breaths uneven from whatever that just was.

Kuni stared at the ceiling blankly. “I swear, this is the last time,” he mutters.

You turned to him with a questioning gaze.

“I don’t do repeats. You already crossed that line.”

You stared at him, half amused, half insulted. “Right. I forgot, you’re the infamous campus heartbreaker.”

He didn’t respond.

You waited. Then asked, “Why do you do it?”

“That’s none of your business.”

You sat up a little, tugging the blanket higher. “It’’s about commitment, isn’t it? Doesn’t it get tiring? Having to find someone new every time?” you tried to pry more.

He didn’t answer. You studied him for a beat. He looked calm, but you knew better. You didn’t press further.

“Never mind. It means nothing to me. I don’t like commitment, either. So you don’t have to worry about reusing me,” you laugh. “Rather than worrying about your sex life, I should worry about my health. You probably have STDs, or something,” you hug yourself and shiver dramatically.

He rolls his eyes. “I always use a condo–”

“Relax, I was joking,” you snort.

This irked him.

“Get out of my apartment.”

And you did. With an annoying giggle at that, too.

Kuni mulled it over long after you were gone.

This meant nothing to you. You said it yourself. Maybe that’s when everything took a turn. Because to him, this never meant anything, not really. But he was scared that he’d start to consider giving it meaning.

You were a risk.

But then again… so was everything else.

The exhausting nights of downing drinks to build the courage to flirt. The meaningless hookups. The silence in his room afterward. The emptiness that clung to him even when the bed wasn’t. He kept running from commitment, kept choosing chaos, but in the end, it still left him tired. Worn and bitter and bored of it all.

And then there was you. Bold. Audacious. The kind of fun Kuni didn’t have for a while.

He didn’t trust himself. Not to stay cold. Not to keep the distance. Because, again, he knew he was fragile despite everything. But when you said it didn’t mean anything to you, something in him relaxed.

Maybe, just maybe, if you could control yourself, he could too.

The next time it happened, it was Kuni who approached you first.

Then it was you. Then him again.

A quiet back-and-forth, a rhythm born from stressful weeks and late nights, each of you seeking the same kind of escape in the other.

It was unspoken, effortless. Friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. A fling. Whatever label people might throw on it, neither of you bothered to define it.

It was easier that way. Easier to pretend it was simple. And for a while, it was.

Because Kuni was careful. Always.

He set his own rules. His own boundaries. After every night, he made sure to be the one who woke up and left first, even when it was in his own apartment.

Sometimes, you beat him to it. And he took it as a sign that maybe you got it, too. Maybe you were just as good at keeping things distant.

When both of your friend groups found out what’s happening between you two, despite all the teasing and doubts about the nature of your relationship, you both kept denying it.

We’re just friends.

A short sentence that he repeated a hundred times. And you followed.

The two of you never hung out outside of bed. Never spent quality time. Never got to know each other beyond the surface level. Most of the time, when life was going fine for the both of you, weeks would pass in silence. No check-ins. No texts. Just distance until the next bad day came, and one of you reached out, needing relief.

So it continued. Wordless. Measured. A mutual understanding held together by silence and restraint.

For months, you both clung to the comfort of routine, anything to stop whatever complicated feelings were quietly growing in the spaces you refused to look at.

He appreciated you for it. How you never crossed the line he silently drew. You never asked the wrong questions. Never prodded at the past he kept buried. You never tried to peel back the layers he guarded like armor.

You were content with what little he gave. Fragments of deep conversation, fleeting touches, the kind of closeness and banter that never demanded more.

And somehow, that made it easier. Safer. It was comforting to him, in a way. Knowing someone could be there even when he offered next to nothing except his body. Even when the two of you barely qualified as friends.

But over time, something shifted. Because the more times it happened, the more curious he became. He became restless. He found himself wondering:

If you were willing to stay through the bare minimum—no promises, no answers, no depth—

what would happen if he gave you more?

Four months in, things began to change.

It was subtle at first. So subtle that it went past Kuni.

Maybe it was when you started ranting before getting intimate. Stating your reasons for calling him. You’d drop onto his couch with a sigh, words spilling out like a routine. And he just listened. Something he didn’t even realize was way past his boundaries.

“I swear this prof. hates me.”

“I keep getting migraines lately, it fucking sucks.”

“My thesis partner thinks ‘editing’ means changing the font.”

Then there were other things. You started checking if he had eaten, always in the form of an insult.

“Don’t tell me you’re surviving on caffeine and alcohol again.” And he’d roll his eyes, but the next time, you’d still ask. Even urged him to buy food that he can cook.

He started keeping snacks you liked. The ones you always brought when you were hungry, stating, “I want to eat before we do anything.”

He later went on a grocery run and mindlessly stocked up on them. Kept them in a drawer in his kitchen. Along with headache meds. “Emergency stash,” he claimed when you noticed. Didn’t say whose emergency he meant.

Or maybe it was the time when nothing happened.

You showed up, visibly stressed, visibly shaken, and instead of touching him like he initially thought you’d need, you asked if you could just stay.

No ulterior motive. No need to touch.

So you sat beside him. On the floor. In silence. Shoulder to shoulder. And you didn’t even say a word. But somehow, it made all the noise in his head quiet.

That was when it started to really terrify him.

Because in all the flings he had, no one ever reached that far. They got his body. Never his quiet. But you? You found your way into both. Without even realizing.

Suddenly, Kuni wasn’t sure if this was just physical for him anymore.

Because for the first time in a long while, he started to wonder to himself how your day was. If you were sleeping okay. If you went out with your friends today. He started to replay the way you laughed when he humors your playful banter and insults. The way you looked proud when you beat him at a dumb card game one night after leaving the bed in a storm.

And worst of all, he started calling you up more often even when he didn’t really need to. Granted, it always ended in sex, but a part of him simply did it to hold you.

That’s when it changed.

The lines between you didn’t blur with the heated touches or the nights tangled in each other’s arms. No, those were expected. Part of the deal. What truly blurred them were the quiet, gentle moments that had no place in whatever this was.

It was never the passion that confused him. It was the tenderness. The kind that shouldn’t exist between two people who swore they were nothing. Because despite everything he tried to avoid, he started to silently care.

And caring was the one thing he swore he’d never do again. Not after what happened before. Not after everything he’d buried just to survive.

But he found himself forgetting what it felt like to be left behind—ironically, in something destined to end that way.

Because with you, it didn’t feel like survival anymore.

It was something dangerously close to living.

So much so that for a while, Kuni thought about ending it.

Not because he was tired of you. It was the opposite. It was because his feelings were changing, and that was never part of the plan.

He believed that it meant nothing to you. That it was all him making something up in his head. That the quiet care, the shared silences, the way you both stayed longer than necessary were just convenience. It simply stemmed from your personality.

After all, neither of you ever defined what this was. In those rare, intimate moments, where one of you would do something only people who cared would do, there was always a wordless agreement to never speak of it. To pretend it didn’t mean anything. There was always awkwardness hanging in the air.

So he convinced himself that if it continued, you’d leave. That one day, you’d see him for what he was—someone wrecked and weak—and you’d reject him for it.

But then the what-ifs started to creep in.

What if you felt it too? What if the small things mattered to you just as much? What if you weren’t staying because it was easy, but because, like him, you hoped?

And if he pushed you away first, he’d be losing you. Not because you left, but because he didn’t let you stay.

So Kuni continued.

He continued to keep you around.

Continued to dance back and forth between acceptance and denial.

When Kuni woke up before you, he didn’t leave.

He used to always leave before dawn. Always.

But lately, every morning, he stayed longer than necessary. Half-asleep on the edge of your bed, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, arm lazily draped around your waist. Close. Closer than he ever let himself be while conscious.

Shit.

He wanted to avoid cuddling, as much as possible. But it happened sometimes, blamed it on the cold or on reflexes. He’d usually slip away before you stirred. No trace. No warmth left behind.

But this time, when you shifted in your sleep, back brushing against his chest, he didn’t move.

You were turned away from him. Breathing slow. Completely unaware of the way he looked at you.

He let himself look. He took it all in. The calmness of your features, the way your hair fell across the pillow, the slight twitch of your fingers like you were dreaming. The kind of softness he’d convinced himself he wasn’t allowed to want.

He could’ve left. Should’ve, probably. But instead, his eyes fell to your hand, resting loosely on the blanket.

That ring. The stupid ring that started it all. If you hadn’t left it that night, maybe none of this would’ve spiraled into whatever you were now. Maybe he wouldn’t be here wrapped up in warmth he told himself he didn’t need.

But he was.

And without thinking too hard about it, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. Quiet. Careful.

He didn’t point the camera at your face. Just the way your back curled slightly toward him, the way the early morning light traced soft outlines across the sheets, the stillness of it all.

A snapshot. One he’d keep for himself. Just to remember. He observed the photo, thinking that it didn’t give justice to the real thing.

Pretty.

He never said it aloud. Not to you. But maybe someday, you’d see it.

And maybe you’d understand.

Kuni hadn’t been subtle.

Not lately.

And maybe that was the point. He knew he was slipping. Letting things show. Letting you see. The in-between, too heavy.

He started leaving hints on purpose. Not loud gestures that would risk scaring you away, but little things. Quiet gestures. Nothing he expected anything back for.

He just wanted to show you the change. Wanted you to know without him having to say it, and to see if you felt the same too.

He thought about everything—about how easy it would be to pull away again. How easy it would be to just keep things as it was.

But a part of him didn’t want easy anymore.

Kuni didn’t reply to your message, in a hurry.

He didn’t think. He just moved. Grabbed the snacks he knew you liked and stopped for coffee, even though it was already late and the café near his dorm was closing soon.

He didn’t have a plan. He just… didn’t want you to feel alone tonight.

When he spotted you hunched over a table in the library, looking one breath away from falling apart, something sharp tugged in his chest. So he walked over and dropped the coffee and snacks in front of you. Didn’t say anything grand. Just eased into the seat across from you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked at the table, then up at him.

“What is this?” you asked, wary.

He shrugged, trying to play it off. “You look like you’re two pages away from losing your mind.”

That was it. No ulterior motive. Just… worry. Quiet, uninvited worry.

He saw the way you hesitated before touching the cup. Like you were trying to figure out what he wanted. Like you were weirded about him just showing up.

You stared at the coffee like it might bite. Like it meant more than it did—or maybe exactly what it did.

“Seriously,” you murmured, not meeting his eyes. “Why are you here?”

He leaned back, tried to keep it light. “Dunno.” Then softer, “Just figured you’d need a recharge.”

He watched your fingers curl around the cup. That was enough. He didn’t need a thank you. He just needed to know you were taking care of yourself, even if it was through him.

Your notes were a mess. Your eyes were dull. He could tell your head hurt.

“You sure you don’t wanna take a break?” he asked.

“I can’t.”

“You look like you need one.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, well, I don’t have that luxury.”

He bit back the urge to argue. You were always so stubborn. Always acted like you had to do everything on your own.

So instead, he offered what little help he could. “It’s late. Continue studying at home.” He hesitated. Then, quietly, “Or at my place. It’s closer.”

And just like that, your expression changed. He saw the way your hands stilled. How you immediately shut down.

Why?

You laughed, cold and hollow. “Right. And I’m sure we’d get so much studying done there.”

He blinked, confused. The edge in your voice was sharper than usual. “What do you mean?”

Oh.

You thought this was about that. Of course.

He felt a heavy feeling he couldn’t describe.

You didn’t answer. Just brushed him off. Told him you still had a lot to do. And maybe he should’ve argued. Explained himself. But what would’ve been the point? You’d already made up your mind. So he let the silence sit. Then stood up quietly.

“Fine,” he muttered, trying not to let the sting show. “Don’t overwork yourself, moron.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to say. Wasn’t what he wanted to do.

But it was too late, and all he could do was walk away.

Kuni didn’t plan to call.

He read your message that you planned to do an all-nighter, and his thumb was already tapping the call icon.

He told himself it was to check on you. To keep you company while you worked. Not because he missed you. Not because the silence of his room felt louder without you in it.

When you answered, the image of you lit up his screen, half-tired, eyes ringed with stress, but still managing that soft ‘Hey’ that landed somewhere uncomfortably near his chest.

“Hey,” he answered. He kept it easy. Familiar.

You asked why, and he gave the first excuse that came to mind:

“You aren’t here and I didn’t have anything else to do.”

A lie, kind of.

There were things he could be doing. He just didn’t feel like doing them knowing you’d be staying up all night.

You asked about studying, and he brushed it off like it was nothing. Said he already did. Said he doesn’t pull all-nighters like you losers.

Made you laugh. That was the point.

He didn’t say he’d been thinking about you since earlier. Didn’t say he regretted how that went. How you looked at him like he was just another interruption. Like all he ever wanted was you in pieces, never whole.

So he stayed quiet now. Watched you twirl your pen. Half-listened as you thanked him for the coffee.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Truth, laid bare without thinking. He waited for the blowback, for you to read into it and pull away again. But you didn’t. Not really. You changed the subject like you always do.

You didn’t know that he stayed on the call for your voice. Watching you frown at your notes and bite your lip grounded him more than sleep ever could.

That he was trying, really trying, to just be there without asking for anything.

Even when your eyes started to flutter shut. Even when your voice got quieter and softer until it was barely there.

He teased. Called you an idiot when you couldn’t remember what he last said. Then watched you drift off, your figure slackening in the frame.

He didn’t end the call right away. Didn’t hang up like he should’ve.

He just stared. You looked peaceful. Safe.

And under his breath—too quiet for you to hear, but loud enough to mean something—he whispered,

“Goodnight, pretty.”

Then he hung up.

And stared at the empty screen a while longer.

Kuni knew he was being too careful.

Why you couldn’t see what he was trying to show you. Why you assumed things that weren’t pure.

He wanted to make it more obvious. Not by saying something, but by doing something. Asking you out.

He remembered Ajax once casually mentioning how he gets his girlfriend little gifts when she does well. Sometimes for absolutely no reason. Something small. Something thoughtful.

Kuni had rolled his eyes at the time, but the idea stuck.

So when he saw the charm, delicate glass petals with a little space for initials, he didn’t even hesitate. He bought it without overthinking.

Well, maybe he did. A little.

Because it wasn’t just a gift. It served as a starting point. A declaration.

He stood outside the lecture hall, leaning against the wall, pretending to scroll through his phone. He heard your laugh before he saw you, that breathless, giddy kind that only came when you were running on adrenaline.

And then there you were.

You looked light.

Freer than you had in days. Weeks.

And the way your eyes found him—like you were surprised by him being there—it settled something restless in his chest.

“Hey, genius,” he said, tone flat, like this wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t waited ten whole minutes rehearsing, nothing to say.

You lit up. You tried to play it off, made a joke about maybe not passing, and he scoffed.

Please.

He knew you passed.

He saw it in the way you carried yourself, like you finally remembered you were brilliant.

You laughed, and he felt it more than heard it.

So he pulled the charm from his pocket. Held it out to you with no ceremony. No big speech. Just a quiet offering.

“I figured you deserved something,” he muttered. “Should’ve gotten a bigger one, since you aced it and all.”

He watched you freeze. Watched the way your fingers curled around it carefully, like it might break. Like it meant more than you were ready to say.

And maybe that was the point.

This wasn’t like the coffee, or the food, or the study calls.

This wasn’t fleeting. It was something you could hold on to. He didn’t need you to give it back, or throw it away, or overthink it.

He just needed you to keep it. To know he was proud of you.

When your voice faltered, he looked away. Shrugged. Stuffed his hands into his pockets like it was nothing. Like his pulse wasn’t racing.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he said, already walking ahead.

Then, over his shoulder, with more ease than he felt: “C’mon. I just finished my own practicals. We need a proper celebration. Nothing big, just us. You in?”

He didn’t wait for your answer. Didn’t look back. But a big part of him hoped you’d see it for what it really was.

The hair thing.

He hadn’t meant to do it. It surprised him, as well. Like it was instinct, like your presence was already stitched into the rhythm of his hands. But the moment his fingers grazed your skin, he felt it. Too soft. Too familiar. Something that felt less like impulse and more like yearning.

You looked at him like you felt it too. That made him hope. Made him more confident.

He could feel that you wanted more.

So when you reached your dorm and he opened his mouth—finally, he thought.

Just fucking say it.

That he wanted more than what you had now. That this thing between you wasn’t just about satisfying cravings anymore. That he was starting to look forward to the in-betweens more than the aftermaths.

That he was falling—fast, hard, and quietly—for the only person who might or might not catch him.

But then his breath caught.

His courage flickered.

What if saying it ruined this? What he got the wrong signals?

So he smiled, bitter and tired, and said, “Never mind.”

And you looked at him like you knew. Like you were waiting for something, too. Like you were hoping.

“Kuni…” you trail off. Your brows furrowed and your lips frowned, clear disappointment.

Seeing that almost made him cave. Almost. But instead he flicked your forehead, the safest affection he could manage. Told you to get some rest, and turned away before he changed his mind.

Maybe next time, he thought.

When he walked off, he didn’t feel lighter. He felt everything all at once. Tight in his chest, sharp in his ribs.

Kuni was still a coward.

And he continued being a coward.

For days, he said nothing. Did nothing. Just existed on the edge of every what if.

He kept thinking about that night. Your laugh echoing in his chest, the way your eyes softened when you thought he wasn’t looking, the warmth of your skin when he tucked your hair behind your ear. Stupid. It was so stupid. But it stuck with him like a song he couldn’t turn off.

He should’ve said something. That night. When he hesitated. When he looked at you and wanted—really wanted—for the first time, something more than what you were.

But he hadn’t. Because hope is dangerous, and he wasn’t brave enough.

A part of him started to regret his actions. Started to regret stepping over his own boundaries. Because he realized again that it really was easier to pretend it was nothing.

At some point he hoped you’d do something instead—reach out, push the line, call him out. Anything that would make the leap easier. Something that would let him off the hook.

And still, he couldn't do it.

Because he knew it was his responsibility.

Instead, he buried it under silence. Let the days stretch on with only a few texts, safe and distant. Played it cool like he wasn’t checking his phone every few hours, like he wasn’t searching for your face in the halls more than usual.

It drove his friends insane.

“You’re being a dick,” Ajax told him flat out one afternoon. “You start treating her like she’s special, then keep denying to everyone else that you feel something. Do you know how that looks like to others?”

"There really is nothing to it,” Kuni spat. Denied.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re sure acting like a guy in love.”

He had no answer to that.

Vague denials, dismissive shrugs to his friends. He clung to them like they were lifelines. But the cracks were starting to show. Even he could feel it.

And Kuni had always been good at many things—sarcasm, pushing people away, hiding behind sharp words and sharper silence.

But love?

It was something he swore to never feel again.

And you? You were becoming too important to risk on a maybe.

So he stayed quiet. A coward still.

But even he knew—

He couldn’t keep hiding much longer.

Kuni was genuinely curious.

He was looking forward to hearing your request after winning the bet.

What would you ask of him? It seemed like something you’d been dying to say. Maybe it was dumb, but he was already prepared to give in to whatever you asked.

But he didn’t expect to get blindsided.

She was back.

He found out just not through whispers, but straight from her—texting him out of nowhere.

Hey. I’m back. Can we talk?

She told him months ago that she wouldn’t return. That she needed to do this for herself. And he accepted it. Quietly. Painfully.

And now?

He stared at his phone too long. Didn’t answer. Thought ignoring it would make it go away. But fate had other plans, because next thing he knew, she was there, in the hallway, walking toward him like time hadn’t passed at all.

Same familiar perfume. Same old eyes that once made him lose himself. And for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

Déjà vu didn’t come gently. It came like a wave, dragging everything he buried right back to the surface.

He agreed to meet her. Maybe for closure. Maybe out of reflex.

The world felt muted.

“You look good,” Mona said softly. “Tired. But good.”

He didn’t return the compliment. Just looked at her, quiet.

“What happened to Berlin?” he asked, his voice low, guarded.

“I finished what I had to do there,” she said, smiling. “They let me come back. I’m gonna graduate here. Take some time to figure things out.”

Kuni nodded. Nothing inside him moved the way it used to. There was no ache. Just… a distant memory.

“Did it go well?” he asked out of courtesy.

“It did! I learned so much and had countless opportunities.” She smiled proudly, remembering the things she did and experienced.

After a pause, “I’m glad it went well. You did good,” he said, to his own surprise. And he meant it. She laughed at the sudden compliment, nudged his arm playfully. He didn’t mind.

And that’s when it happened.

He smiled. Soft. Brief. Real.

But it wasn’t for her. Not anymore. It was for who she had become. For who she fought to be.

Because even as he looked at her, it wasn’t Mona’s face in his mind.

It was yours.

He remembered the way you clenched your pen when you were focused. The way your eyes sparkled when you got fired up talking about something. The way your voice shifted when you were nervous but pretending not to be.

God.

He wanted to see you like this too.

Thriving. Smiling. Accomplished.

And he wanted to be there beside you when you did. To be someone who stood still beside you while the world changed.

That’s when the guilt hit. That’s when the confusion clawed its way back in.

Mona being here—she complicated things. She was a symbol of everything he let go of. And now she was back. It’s the last thing he needed right now.

“I’m happy for you,” he said coldly, slowly walking away. “Really. But I’ve got to go.” He waved her goodbye, turning his back on her.

“Wait, Kuni…” she called out.

He stopped.

“Um.. There’s more,” she said. “Please hear me out.”

He turned, facing her again.

“My parents. They’re trying to arrange a marriage with someone in Germany. Says it was for a partnership. Pay back for accepting me in Berlin.” she said. “That’s… also partly why I came back here.”

She continued, “I told them I’d go along with it after graduating here for a year but… I don’t want to. I don’t love him.”

He stared at her, silent.

“I want to try again. With us,” she said, stepping forward. “Maybe if I show them I’m in love with someone else, they’ll back off. If we can rekindle what we had…”

His heart dropped.

“No,” he said, voice cold. Sharper than before. “You want to pick up where we left off like it was nothing?” he said quietly. Kuni really couldn’t blame her for leaving. Couldn’t get angry. But asking this of him?

“I—” Mona looked taken aback.

“You left. You said Berlin was your dream, and I respected that. I let you go without begging you to stay.”

A pause. The wind rattled through the open halls.

“You don’t get to come back now that I’ve found reasons to move forward. You don’t get to do this to me.”

Her expression faltered. “But—”

“Goodbye,” he said. Then he left. No second glance.

He didn’t touch his phone that afternoon. Forgot to.

Not with everything in his head.

Kuni noticed your silence immediately.

You always replied. Sometimes late, sometimes short, but you always said something. But now, days have passed. No “lol.” No reactions. No dry sarcasm.

Just… nothing.

He told himself maybe you were busy. Research, projects, a nap that turned into three days of recovery.

But when the silence stretched longer, a dull throb of worry settled in his chest.

Had he messed up?

Was it the late reply?

The bet?

He hated how his first instinct was to spiral. And he hated how the thought that maybe you’re done with him made his throat tighten.

Still, he swallowed his pride and looked for you. In your usual hallway. Outside the library where you liked to sit. Even tried knocking on your dorm and waited for you to come out.

But you didn’t.

So he kept texting you. Even asked Ajax to ask your best friend if she’d seen you.

None of the things he did resulted in a response from you.

He knew something felt off.

And it didn’t help that Mona was everywhere now.

She waited for him after class. Sat beside him during lunch like they were still something. Talked to him like nothing had changed.

Maybe to her, nothing had. But everything had changed for him.

He didn’t want this. Didn’t want her here. Didn’t want the past making itself comfortable beside him when all he could think about was you.

But when he tried to distance himself, when he gave her cold shoulders, short answers, quiet indifference, she just smiled and brushed it off.

“I’m an irregular student. You’re the only friend I have right now,” she said once. “It’s not like I’m trying to get back together. I just… feel safe around you.”

And he had nothing to say to that. So he let her stay. Even when it felt wrong. Even when it made him look like someone he wasn’t anymore.

Because what could he have done? Mona leeched on him.

What he didn’t realize was that you saw it. Everyone did.

Saw her sitting beside him. Saw her waiting for him.

It looked exactly like what he swore he didn’t want anymore.

He was blind.

Kuni didn’t expect your reason.

Didn’t expect you to disappear because of him.

For days now, Kuni’s been turning that silence over in his mind, retracing every interaction, every message he sent that went unanswered. But then he noticed, how you were replying to others since they started mentioning you again. How you posted that one tweet.

You weren’t offline. Just off with him.

That’s when it hit him.

Maybe he had pushed too hard. Maybe you were pulling away because he stepped too close to a line you never agreed on crossing.

He hadn’t even asked to sleep with you again lately. Neither of you had.

No excuses this time. No impulse to hide behind.

Just him, choosing not to make a move. Because lately, every time he looked at you, he didn’t want something casual. He wanted to stay. Stay even when it wasn’t convenient. And he thought you were somewhat on the same page.

And maybe that was the problem.

You didn’t ask for that. You never said you wanted more.

Maybe he got the wrong impression.

So he stopped messaging. Not to punish you. Not to give up. But because he thought maybe he’s the reason you’re backing away. Maybe you're trying to breathe and he kept hovering too close.

He didn’t want to make it worse. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He noticed how fast you distanced yourself the moment things felt real. Something he thought he’d be doing. Though it ached him, because he was hoping otherwise, he thought maybe you’d call him up again when you needed relief. That things would go back to how it used to.

How it should be.

That rainy Sunday night confirmed it.

He didn’t expect to see you. He didn’t expect to feel the ache surge back up like it never left when he spotted your figure across the store. Hoodie. Hair damp from drizzle. Your eyes darting away like he was a stranger and brushing past him.

An unforgiving storm poured down, as reflecting his heavy feelings.

You didn’t dare run through the storm, staying outside the convenience store, stuck. Thinking about it, it was similar to when you went to retrieve your ring and ended up staying at his place because it was raining.

Except this time was different.

He watched you. Watched your silence from inside. He waited for you to go back. To talk to him. He waited for the words. But you didn’t make a move, just hugging yourself from the cold, waiting out the storm.

Feeling discarded again, he confronted you. Not wanting to face the same hurt he experienced in the past once more.

He came off strong at first, but he wasn’t angry when he asked. Just tired of pretending it didn’t sting. Tired of acting like he didn’t care, when he did.

And the way you answered—empty, vague, careful—it only confirmed what he feared: you were never going to tell him the truth unless he forced it out of you.

But he didn’t expect what you said next.

“I want to claim my bet.”

Then his heart sank the second you said you wanted to stop.

No more late nights. No more whatever-this-is. No more excuses to see each other. Essentially, it was the only thing that held your relationship together.

He was wrong. It was never anything deeper.

Not to you, evidently.

He thought about saying something. Thought about asking why now, why like this, in the middle of a storm that sounded like the world was falling apart around you.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to reach for your hand and tell you that he wasn’t ready to let go.

That it wasn’t a fling anymore. Not for him. But he didn’t. He just accepted the hurt once more. Because it was what he’s used to. His first instinct.

“Alright.”

Because, again, what else was there to say to someone who already made up their mind?

So he pulled his hood up. Took one last glance at you—quiet, expressionless, unreadable. And walked out into the storm. Not because he didn’t care, but because staying felt more humiliating than being soaked to the bone.

Each drop felt like punishment.

Every step away from you a reminder:

You were never his to begin with.

And still, as the rain drenched him and blurred the streetlights ahead, all he could think about was the sound of your voice, flat and final—

“Let’s just leave each other alone.”

And maybe, in the end, that’s what he’ll do. Not because he wants to. But because you asked him to. Even when it felt like a punch in the gut when someone he cared for left him again. Even if it means walking away with the one thing he never admitted out loud:

You were more than just something to satisfy his needs. You were the risk he wished he took earlier. Something real that he wished he had established earlier.

Maybe your view of him would’ve changed. Maybe you would have opened up to him. Maybe it could’ve been easier than easy.

If he only had the courage back then.

Kuni regretted that stormy night.

The silence that followed. The words he didn’t say. The look on your face. He told himself it was better this way, easier for you both. But every day since, the hollow ache in his chest reminded him otherwise.

He didn’t text. Didn’t call.

He couldn’t. Because what would he even say? That he missed you? That he was sorry? That the space between you felt like it was swallowing him whole?

So instead, he waited. By the gates, where he knew it was around this time if the day when you left the campus that day.

He didn’t tell you he’d be there. He couldn’t handle being ignored again, or worse, watching you walk away with that same look in your eyes.

He knew you’d refuse to talk to him.

He waited.

Hours passed. His legs ached. But he kept looking. For your silhouette. Your steps. The familiar weight of your presence in a crowd.

And then—

He thought he saw you.

Or maybe just the shape of you. He blinked, unsure, stomach tightening with something bitter and hopeful all at once.

But Mona appeared.

Her voice broke through his thoughts, casual and teasing. She said something about him being distracted again. He didn’t answer right away. Just kept his eyes in that direction, heart pounding.

He didn’t even realize Mona had reached for his arm until he felt her hand. He didn’t pull away. But he didn’t lean in, either. Not really. Just stood there, letting her talk, letting the moment slip.

And then—he saw you.

Clear this time.

Your eyes met his across the campus distance, and the world went still for a breath. You looked at him with an unreadable expression, but it was evident that you didn’t want to talk to him.

His chest ached. He wanted to move. To say something. Anything.

He noticed Lumi beside you, giving him a cold glare. He sighs, giving up, and turns to Mona, “Let’s go.”

As he walked away, he kept thinking about that split second. The look on your face. He didn’t know if you’d ever talk to him again. But he hoped that you’d seen it.

That you’d seen him waiting.

That you’d understand he hadn’t stopped.

Not really.

Not ever.

Kuni considered entertaining Mona’s offer.

She made it easy. Familiar smiles, old jokes, the kind of comfort that used to mean something. Maybe if he let himself fall back into that rhythm, he could use it as a distraction. Maybe he could pretend her presence filled the space you left behind.

Maybe he could trick himself into believing he still had it in him to feel that kind of fondness for her again.

Though, it seemed unlikely. Because even as Mona laughed beside him, even as her hand lingered on his arm like it used to, his mind kept drifting.

His mind kept drifting to you.

He knew it was pathetic.

Going back to the past that caused him pain. Maybe it’s because the pain he felt with you hurt more.

Unlike Mona, you didn’t climb over his walls, didn’t tear them down. You never pushed, never crossed the lines he set.

He let you in on his own terms. He wanted you. A conscious decision. One he made willingly, recklessly, because it felt right at the time.

And now, he regrets it.

But because in doing so, he cost you.

But at this point, he just wanted the ache to stop. Wanted the nights to pass without your name sitting on the edge of every thought. Wanted to stop remembering the exact way you looked when you said goodbye.

So he let Mona talk. Let Mona hang around, fooling both of them in the idea that she had him again.

And his friends didn’t take it well.

Lies. All fucking lies.

Truthfully, he agreed with his friends. But he couldn’t help but defend himself. Maybe it was mostly his pride talking.

They didn’t know the whole story to judge and reprimand him.

He knew that was one of his many faults too.

Kuni tried to reach out to you again.

He wanted a final attempt. Even knowing you probably wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Still, he found himself driving, on impulse, on hope, to your street late at night, at a time he was sure you’d be home.

He parked nearby, lights off, waiting in silence.

But your dorm windows were still dark. No signs of life. He knew you weren’t asleep this early, so he waited.

Ten minutes. Twenty. An hour.

And then he saw it. Headlights cutting through the street. A car pulled up to the curb right in front of your building. A car he recognized immediately.

Kaz’s.

The tinted windows were light enough to make out the face in the driver’s seat.

Tall. Relaxed. Familiar.

And then his breath caught.

You were in the passenger seat. With Kaz. At night. Alone.

What the hell were you doing with him?

A pit opened in his stomach, heavy and bitter. He watched as you smiled at Kaz. Soft, warm. A smile he hadn’t seen in weeks. A smile he could recognize anywhere even through tinted windows.

You opened the door, stepped out. Kaz stayed in the car, waiting until you were safely inside before pulling away.

Kuni’s hands clenched the steering wheel. Jealousy and betrayal burned through him, sharp and ugly. He didn’t have the right to be angry. But that didn’t stop him from seething.

Is that why Kaz was so angry at him? He thought it was weird how he seemed personally affected by what he’d done. And you. How could you replace him so fast? Flash someone a smile so soft, so easy, just like that?

He considered stepping out the car, knocking on your door, and confronting you. But he knew better than that.

Kuni banged his head on the steering wheel, feeling his head throb from the pain of all these thoughts.

Was he really just nothing to you?

For the first time in a while, Kuni genuinely considered crying.

As pathetic as it sounded.

Not out of anger. Not even heartbreak. Just… exhaustion. The kind that creeps in after weeks of pained emotions.

He started seeing it everywhere. His friends’ tweets, their replies, their subtle jabs that weren’t so subtle at all. Mentions of you. Mentions of Kaz.

He ignored the provocations, pretended they didn’t get under his skin. But it all chipped away at him.

And the one time—the only time—he finally gathered the nerve to text you again, he found out he was blocked. Everywhere. Every account.

You were done.

His anger toward Kaz? It fizzled into something colder. Not hatred. Not even bitterness.

Resignation.

Because he saw the photo he posted.

You looked happy. At peace.

And if someone else could give you that, what right did he have to hate them for it? To ruin it for you? To demand something?

So he never confronted Kaz. Didn’t call him out. Didn’t throw a punch. Didn’t do anything.

Instead, he focused on Mona, as much as he didn’t want to. She was persistent. That night, she texted him out of nowhere.

‘Let’s get ice cream’

He didn’t even think about it much before replying.

He needed a distraction. Anything to quiet the thoughts screaming in his head.

Kuni didn’t bother opening any of his phone that night.

Despite his circumstances, Kuni knew he could trust Ajax.

He was the constant in his life. His childhood friend.

The only one who knew everything. What Kuni had been through. What shaped him. Why he shut people out. Why he was so goddamn difficult and confusing.

When things got too heavy, too loud in his own head, Ajax was the one person he could run to, whether he wanted to or not.

So he told him everything. How it started between the two of you. How somewhere along the way, it stopped being casual for him. How terrified he was to lose you, to lose someone again, that it paralyzed him.

Made him act weak. Act like a coward.

And Ajax… understood. Almost as if he knew it all along.

Of course he did.

Even with that annoying, too-loud personality that always got on Kuni’s nerves, Ajax had never been the type to judge a person for baring their soul.

He listened. Really listened. Because that’s the kind of person Ajax was.

Ajax simply expressed his disappointment in how Kuni handled it. How he made it worse by letting Mona back in his orbit.

"You set so many boundaries between everyone, even [Name], and yet didn't bother with Mona? That's stupid, dude."

What Ajax revealed to him after made things more complicated. More confusing.

Ajax told him that it was a misunderstanding on both sides. That he should talk to you properly. He didn’t elaborate further, even when Kuni insisted and even threatened him.

“Sorry, it’s not my story to tell.”

He said before leaving Kuni confused.

Kuni didn’t know what the hell possessed him to say yes to Ajax’s invitation to Ven’s birthday party.

He knew you’d be there. He knew Kaz probably would be too. He knew damn well you’d want to stay as far away from him as possible. And worst of all? The party was being held at the same bar where he first met you.

Just the thought of that night—, ow everything started, threatened to pull him under.

But still… he went.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was some desperate, silent hope that you’d talk to him. That what Ajax said was true. That it was all a misunderstanding. Or maybe he just needed an excuse to drink and see you again. One last time.

And he did see you again.

…Wrapped around Kaz like it was second nature, that is.

Close. Too close.

He told himself it wouldn’t matter. That he was past this. He respected your happiness and that the ache just needed more time to fade.

But watching it unfold right in front of him, you and Kaz, set something off in him. Bitterness. A fire he thought he’d already drowned.

And maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the week-long frustration burning at the back of his throat. But when he saw Kaz leaning in to kiss you, something in Kuni snapped.

He didn’t mean to grab you on the dance floor. Didn’t mean for it to spiral the way it did. But he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand him. Couldn’t stand seeing your lips on someone else.

So when your eyes met his—startled, angry, confused—he acted on impulse.

His body moved before his mind could stop it. Tomorrow, he might drown in the regret. Maybe this was the moment he finally destroyed whatever was left of you both.

But god, did you taste good.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE yeah, i got frustrated with kuni too lol. there was a point where i got confused with what i was writing but honestly? that reflects kuni’s turmoil lmfao. sorry it took too long i’ve been busy and part of me was avoiding proofreading this chapter bcoz it’s so fucking longgg. anw, thoughts? i’m scaredddd. also feel free to correct any typos, plot holes, whtv u see fit bcoz honestly the cho is so long i couldve missed a lot of things

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