#i think if you don’t want to write a story about class dynamics then don’t

[moash]

i feel like the vibe of the wob is kind of just that brandon hasn’t really thought about it or considered that people still care, but the more people ask these kinds of things the more he will know we ARE waiting for him to deliver on these issues

[lewisvinga]

not the same | charles leclerc x reader x alexandra saint mleux

summary; due to her being in med school, there is a lack of y/n at races and social events which makes fans upset. all it took was for her to distance herself to make charles and alexandra realize what they were missing is her

fc: phoebe dynevor

word count; 831

warnings; cursing maybe

all works taglist; @goldenmclaren @namgification @c-losur3 @minkyungseokie @lavisenri @ollieshifts

note; requested ! made it so reader is in med school instead of a doctor bc like ages n such lolll n decided to mix in a bit of writing lol

masterlist !

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a few months later …

lilymhe uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; the face of someone who finally finished her exams] [caption 2; party time 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️]

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Alexandra couldn’t help but sigh deeply as she replayed Lily’s story. She hadn’t seen Y/n’s face in ages. After breaking up with Alexandra and Charles, the med student seemingly deleted all social media accounts.

Neither tried to contact her for fear of pushing her away even more. They never confirmed their break up but it’s not like the public speculated it. Due to her being a medical student and prioritizing her studies, Y/n rarely attended races or public events . Charles and Alexandra were never upset about that.

They always encouraged her to study so she could get closer to achieving her dreams instead of missing a potentially important class to attend events. Even then, their dynamic worked perfectly even if in the public eye she was never around.

She was like the missing puzzle piece to complete Alexandra and Charles.

The Ferrari driver noticed his girlfriend's silence after leaving yet again another event. He knew what she was thinking about.

“You miss her too.”

His words caused Alexandra to snap out of the trance she was in. She let out a deep sigh followed by a nod. “She graduates soon too.”

“Do you think giving her space was the right idea?”

“I mean, I didn’t want to drive her further away,” She sighs, fiddling with the gold bracelets on her wrists. “But we should’ve tried harder. I miss her.”

“I miss her too,” Charles mumbled, running his hands through his hair. A silence fell upon the two, a silence that was once filled with Y/n’s mumbles and rants about her studies and the cool facts she learned. One thing was for sure, they both wanted her back.

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Alexandra adjusted the glasses resting on her nose as she walked down the streets of Monaco. She was meeting up with Charles in the shopping center since he needed a lot of help picking out clothing.

She wasn’t paying attention when she suddenly bumped into someone. The small yelp coming from the person sounded all too familiar.

She lifts the glasses up from her eyes and gasps. “Y/n?”

“Alexandra!” Y/n exclaimed in shock. She had a smile on her face, the very same smile that made Alexandra’s heart flutter, which fluttered even more when she was pulled into a hug.

“I-How-“ Alexandra stuttered as she hugged her back. She cleared her throat before continuing, “How have you been?” She hid a frown as the girl in her arms pulled away.

“Good. I’ve been searching for a dress for graduation and I-“

“Y/n?”

Both turned around and spotted the familiar green eyes of the Monegasque. Y/n shyly smiled and waved as Charles walked up to the two. “H-How have you been?” He asked, quickly glancing at Alexandra.

“Good, good.” Y/n sighed, shifting from one foot to another. “I was just telling Alex that I’m searching for a dress for graduation. Lily was supposed to help but she bailed on me.”

Alexandra hadn’t heard that nickname coming from that sweet voice in ages. It made her heart skip a beat once again. Before she could respond, Charles quickly spoke. “Why don’t you join us? She’s helping me upgrade my closet and I know you have good taste. We can help you with your dress.”

Y/n raised her eyebrow at his words and Alexandra’s frantic nods. “About time you’re upgrading your closet. That was my biggest complaint! Just never had the time to go shop for you.” She huffed. “But I’ll take you up on that-“

“Come back to us.” Alexandra couldn’t hold back any longer. Not only did she shock both Charles and Y/n, she even shocked herself. “We miss you, amor. You complete us.”

The Ferrari driver was quick to agree. “We don’t care what strangers on the internet say. We only care about you, chérie.” His eyes had a hopeful glint as he watched Y/n furrow up her eyebrows, a sign that she was thinking deeply. “Come back to us, please.”

It was silent for a moment, no one caring that they were still in the middle of the sidewalk near the shopping center. They didn’t pay any mind to the people rushing around them. Their full attention was on each other.

Y/n let out a sigh which made both Charles and Alexandra panic for a moment before seeing the faint smile on her glossed lips. “I’ve missed you both.” Her whisper resulted in the other two sighing in relief.

“Although Lily’s support, and even Alex’s, was great,” She took a step closer to them. “It was nothing like yours. It wasn’t Alexandra making me a cup of tea. It wasn’t Charles softly playing piano to help me focus. It’s not the same. I’ve missed you both.” Her lips curled into a smile that matched both Alexandra’s and Charles’ wide smiles as they each grabbed one of her hands.

“And we’ll never let you go again, chérie.”

“It’s the three of us, always and forever, amor.”

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liked by yourusername, lilymunihe, and others !

charles_leclerc&alexandrasaintmleux: one step closer to achieving your dreams. we’re so proud of you, our sweet girl ❤️

tagged; yourusername

yourusername: 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

yourusername: i love you💗💗

charles_leclerc: i love you❤️

alexandrasaintmleux: and i love you💝

username: MY PARENTSSSS

username: y/n so smartie pants i love her 😢

lilymunihe: ONTO RESIDENCYYYYY

yourusername: YEAHH!!!!!🎉🎉

username: mis amores 😭❤️

username: how’d charles get 2 pretty gfs he’s winning

username: EXACTLYYY like i cant even get 1 😭

username: one good w the arts n the other w biology, both gorgeous asf, he’s winning

username: y/n they could never make me hate u

lewishamilton: congratulations! we’re all proud of your hard work!

yourusername: thank you, lewis🥹

username: my fave throuple itw❤️‍🩹

[anim-ttrpgs]

Why I Dislike PbtA Games, and How Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is Their Opposite

@tender-curiosities

It is no secret that I hate PbtA games.

Though due to a recent misunderstanding regarding another post, I’m going to preface this post by saying that this is going to be a very opinionated post and

I do not seriously think that PbtA games are inherently bad, though I may sometimes joke about this.

While I do often question the taste of people who make and play PbtA hacks, I do not think poorly of their moral character.

While I am going to call for PbtA to be used less as a base for games in the future, I’m not saying that the whole system and all games based on it should be destructified. It’s good for what it’s good for, but unless you’re doing that, I really think you should use something else.

Now that that is out of the way, here’s what I have to say about it.

My first experiences with PbtA games were pretty rough. Monster of the Week was not the first, but it was one of the first ‘indie’ TTRPGs I played after having previously played mostly only D&D3.5e and 5e. I really appreciated that the use of 2D6 over a D20 meant that the dice results would be more predictable, and I really liked the various “classes” I was seeing. (At this time, I didn’t really understand that they weren’t really “classes” at all, though I think I can be forgiven for this because many people, even people who like PbtA games, still talk like “classes” and “playbooks” are interchangeable.)

I was very enthusiastic to play, until it came time to start actually “making” a character, and found that I couldn’t “make” a character. I wanted to make a nuanced, three-dimensional PC who was simultaneously stereotype-affirming and stereotype-defying, with a unique backstory and dynamic with the other characters—but when I went to actually fill out the character sheet for basically any “class”, I found that most of the backstory and most of the personality for my character was being set for me by the playbook. It felt like the only thing about the character I really had a say in was their name, and that two PCs of the same playbook would actually turn out to be almost identical characters. At the time, I thought this was very restrictive and very bad design.

Later, now that I understand the design intent behind it, I still think of it as very restrictive, but I think of it as very bad design for me, not inherently bad.

When I play a TTRPG, I want more freedom in who my PC is. That doesn’t mean I want less rules, in fact having more rules can often increase freedom, but that’s a different post. I want to create original, unique characters, that I won’t see anywhere else. If it’s a class-based system, I want that class to barely touch the details of my character’s backstory or personality, so that I can come up with something original and engaging for why and how this “Fighter” fights. This means that two level-1 Fighters, despite having almost the same mechanical abilities, will potentially be very different people.

PbtA games don’t let you do that. In a lot of PbtA games, you’re not playing your own original character, you’re playing someone else’s character, that every other player that has picked up the same playbook before you has played. It’s more like “character select” than “character creation.” I think I could liken it to playing Mass Effect or The Witcher. Every player may pick a few different dialogue choices in those games that change the story, but we’re still all playing Shepherd or Geralt. No one is going to experience a new never-before-seen story in Mass Effect or The Witcher, which is very much a factor of them being video games and not TTRPGs, and therefore limited to the amount of code, writing, and voice-acting that can go into them.

This anonymous asker who sent a message to @thydungeongal seems to feel pretty similarly to me about PbtA games, and @thydungeongal's response is a very good response about how people find this appealing.

I have more respect for PbtA now than I did, but I still don't like it because to me it seems to play so much against what I consider to be the strengths of TTRPGs as a medium, much like how video games like The Last of Us and David Cage games play against the strengths of the medium of video games, and I will never like it. But other people clearly do, so to each their own.

Then another reason I don’t like it is because I think it’s oversaturating the TTRPG space. I’ve referred to PbtA before as “indie D&D5e”, and i do think that’s a reasonable comparison, because in much the same way that you always hear “D&D5e is a system that can do everything”, I think a lot of people seem to be under the impression that the PbtA system is a system that can do anything. It’s kinda the système du jour for indie TTRPGs right now, and many iterations of it make it clear that many designers do not consider how PbtA differs from more traditional TTRPGs, and how it is specialized for different types of TTRPG gameplay. Just like how I feel PbtA isn’t playing to certain important strengths of TTRPGs, I think that many—maybe even most—PbtA hacks don’t play to the strengths of PbtA. But this isn’t really PbtA’s fault, that comes down to any individual indie TTRPG developer on a case-by-case basis. And the cure for that is something I’m always saying: If you are going to be a writer, you have got to read lots of books. If you are going to be a director, you have got to watch lots of movies. If you are going to be a video game developer, you have got to play lots of video games. And if you are going to be a TTRPG designer, you have got to read and play lots of TTRPGs. That and you have to understand that TTRPGs are specialized. Even "agnostic" systems like PbtA are somewhat specialized, and therefore might really not be a great fit for the game you’re trying to make.

That and, to get more subjective again, there’s like an ocean of them, and I don’t even like the ones that are actually good.

Now that I’ve talked about how I don’t like PbtA games, I’m gonna talk about a game I do like: Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. Obviously, I like it because I’m the lead writer for it, but I would also like it even if I wasn’t the lead writer for it, because it’s just my kinda game. Eureka is the opposite of a PbtA game. I wrote it to play to what I feel are the strengths of the TTRPG medium.

Eureka’s character creation uses personality traits as a mechanical element of the character, but it does so in a deliberately freeform way. You build your character’s personality out of a list of traits, so who your character is is very much linked to what your character can do, but we aren’t just handing you a pre-made character.

Eureka is designed to incentivize organic decision-making by the PCs, most often by the mechanics of the game mirroring the world they live in. Every mechanic aims to create situations wherein “what will the PC do next?” is a question whose answer can be predicted - it doesn’t need to be ordained by a playbook.

One of my favorite examples of this is, rather than a “Fear Check” forcing the PC to run away if they fail, or “Run Away from Danger” being a “Move” on their character sheet, Eureka opts for the Composure mechanic. The really short version is that one of the main things that lowers a PC’s Composure is encountering scary stuff, and the lower a PC’s Composure, the more likely they are to fail skill checks, and the more likely they are to fail skill checks, well, the less brave they and their player probably feel about them standing up to this scary monster. So if the PC has low Composure, they are more likely to choose to run away. The lower their Composure, the better idea that will seem.

This system really really shines when it comes to monster PCs in Eureka. Most monsters benefit a lot more from having high Composure, but have fewer ways to restore Composure than mundane PCs. Their main way to restore their Composure is by eating people. The rulebook never says “your monster PC has to eat people”, but more likely than not, they’re going to be organically steered towards that by the game and world itself. Sure, they could decide to be “one of the good ones”, and just never eat people, just like you reading this could decide to stop eating food. You technically could, but when your body starts to fail, how long would you? (This is a big part of the themes of Eureka and what it has to say about crime, disability, mental illness, and evil. People don’t just arbitrarily do bad things, it is often their circumstances that leads them down that path until they see little choice for themselves in that matter, and “harmful” people are still just as deserving of life as people who “aren’t harmful”, but that really deserves its own post.)

It has been said that Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually arrives at much the same end as the PbtA game Monsterhearts, and I actually don’t disagree, but it gets there from an entirely different starting point and direction. The monster PCs in Eureka are very likely to eat people and cause drama, but it won’t be because they have “Eat People and Cause Drama” as a “Move” on their character sheet.

Monsters in Eureka have a lot of abilities, which they can use to solve (and create) problems as the emergent story emerges organically.

(Oh and Eureka is about adult investigators investigating mysteries, and sometimes those investigators are monsters, not about monster kids in high school, to be clear. The same “end” that Eureka and Monsterhearts reach is that of the monsters being prone to cause problems and drama due to the fact that they are monsters, though this isn’t the sole point of Eureka, just one element of it.)

You can pick up the free shareware version of this game from the download link on our website, or the full version for $5 from our Patreon.

And don’t forget, Eureka is fundraising on Kickstarter starting on April 10th, 2024! We need your support there most of all, to make sure we hit our goals and can afford to make the best version of Eureka we can make!

Interested in branching out but can’t get your group to play anything but D&D5e? Join us at the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club, where we nominate, vote on, and play indie TTRPGs, all organized by our team with no strict schedule requirement! Here's the invite link! See you there!

We also have merchandise.

[ofjunemoment]

let me teach you how to smash | park jisung

In the list of sports, ranked from most to least sexy, badminton would be found at the very bottom if not ranked last. But why is it that when Jisung plays the with a feathered shuttle your heart flutters? 

 OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills. 

 pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader 

 genre — sports!au, university!au, (one sided) enemies to friends to lovers, slight slow burn 

 wc — 22k (😀 huh)

content — university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst,  idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags — making out, fingering, switch!jisung and reader (there's no strong dynamic tbh), protected sex, pet names (jisung gets called a good boy), lmk if I missed anything!

 a/n — YAYYY i can finally share this with u guys!! i have been cooking this for some time and im actually so excited to release it!! I'm a badminton enthusiast so I went a bit ham on the descriptions and back story sorry (not rlly),, I hope this is a good readdd I read through it so much to fix it up and now Im a bit sick of it oops BUT its a story I've been wanting to write so here you go <3 enjoy!

sfw version here!

You enjoy sports. 

You liked dancing sometimes — which is certainly a type of sport  — and you dabbled with different sports at one point in school, but you don’t actively go out of your way to do any intense exercise. It can be sweaty and painful and maybe it’s a little like hitting the gym, but in most sports you need sportsmanship, and why would you be kind to the person who not only won but is rubbing it in your face? 

You once yelled at Taeyong for kicking the ball in the wrong goal when your group of friends went out of their way to play makeshift soccer to bring back memories. You yelled, at precious Taeyong, who flinches at the sight of a fly

Okay, so you tolerate sports.

But in an effort to have your resume look pretty after finishing your degree, your friend Juda had shed light on this one program that has you do a bunch of extracurricular activities and in turn, you’ll gain extra credit. Seamless and effortless, you didn’t need to pay anything towards the program as most of the work was volunteering; like reading to kids or helping clean up lecture rooms now and then. What Juda failed to mention was the other extracurricular required of you, which was to go to a sporting class set up by the university.

Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.

They were kind enough to provide you with options, but it still wasn't easy to choose whether you wanted two whole hours of HIIT fitness or football, which caused you to almost give up on the whole thing. Until you saw the word ‘badminton’ printed in the faintest ink, almost as if it was a mistake.

So here you are, in the campus’ sports equipment shop with Chenle, looking through what seems like badminton rackets.

“Do you think this is good?” You pick up a racket that has a mix of matte white and mint around the frame, with the string sporting the shade black, testing the weight in your hand. 

“That’s a tennis racket stupid.” He goes to ruffle your hair but instead gets his hand slapped away and a frown etched on his face as you scoff at him. “I knew that,”  You scowl.

“Well then don’t be an asshole about it, asshole.”

“I wasn’t being—” Both of you jump at a sudden sound that pitched in between your shoulders, as your hand flies to your chest in shock while Chenle’s eyebrow hitch up.

“Sorry?” It was Chenle who said that to the person who snuck up behind you two, his arms crossing defensively and landing on his left chest, as he positions himself subtly a little closer to you, almost as if he’s instinctively shielding him.

“Ah, sorry for surprising you; I just came to ask if you guys needed help with anything?” It was when the employee raised her ID card that was hanging on a white lanyard around her neck that Chenle’s defence began to soften as you brought your hand down, replacing the confused look on your faces with one of realisation.

“Ahh, uhm, I was wondering if you could recommend a badminton racket, nothing too fancy, maybe something to last a good two years.”

“Two years?” Chenle was the one that turned to you with a look of disbelief. The employee merely smiled and gestured her hands towards the very other side of the store and quickly turned to guide you.

“Hold on, you’re doing this stupid thing for two years? Half of your courses years? You’re just gonna voluntarily stress yourself with even more work?”

“ . . . Yes? I don’t know what to tell you, that’s my main intention. That’s why I joined this program. You’ve asked me multiple times like I’m going to miraculously change my mind and thank you for it like you’re a rich person, giving me, a homeless person, a piece of bread and then barely look at me as you record the whole thing for your livestream.” You huff while going to lie down on your back on the floor around your newly bought badminton equipment; a set of badminton rackets and some cylinder packets full of shuttlecocks, the feather ones because the plastic ones suck ass, the employee had smiled at you.

You sit up just as quickly as a dull pain shoots up your back. The motherfucking shuttlecocks.

“That’s one way to make up an analogy,” Chenle’s eyes land on the shuttlecock you had freshly crushed, now looking all squashed and disoriented. Poor thing didn’t even last a minute.

“What’s she moping about this time?” Juda’s voice echoed from the door as she places the tote bag she had brought down next to the shoe shelf.

“I’m not moping; I never mope. What do I even look like when I mope?”

“She’s just crying about the fact that she has to do this thing program for another two years.” His words elicit a shout and the gradual flinging of a nearby couch pillow from you. Chenle’s neck cracked as the pillow hit his head downwards.

“Did I kill him yet,” You voiced your disinterest, sitting up on your elbows briefly to analyse Chenle’s face before giving up and laying back down. Chenle stayed in that position for a while before getting up in a fury, ready to avenge you. Juda stopped him with a kick to his leg. 

“Such disrespectful words, is it hard to show some courtesy around here?” You huff and go to lie down once more, not before feeling around the surface for any stray shuttlecock.

“When it comes to you, yes,” Juda throws Chenle a Yakult, and she flings you one straight at your stomach. You attempt not to flinch.

“Here’s to either two more years of moping about this stupid badminton class every week, or two months of hardcore whining from both of you until you break and drop out.” Juda raises her Yakult bottle and clinks it with yours — that’s still on your stomach — and against Chenle’s who was drinking out of it the moment she did so, spilling what little there was of it on his face. Chenle recovers and yells out offensively, causing Juda to squeal as she stands up and goes behind the couch, using it as her shield. 

You inhale and try to tune them out.

Chenle smiles as you giggle at him, the loud music of EDM mixed with Kidz bop playing in the background as the sound of metal basketball hoop clanging echoes just enough for it to have a rhythm. He looks determined to beat the high score of this stupid basketball game, as Juda and you take turns watching him play the game and criticising his moves, even when none of you know much about basketball as he does. It’s been a few weeks since the start of the semester and hence, the beginning of your program. The kids you read to are either sleepy or disinterested as you start early in the morning, and the cleaning of lecture rooms is bearable at most times. 

So things are going great at this point.

That was until Chenle called out to you: “How’s badminton going?” and, you’re not gonna lie, that did dampen your mood just by a bit, but you give your best attempt at masking it and smiling through; you didn’t want them to pick up on the fact that it’s been one lesson and you’re already sick and tired of it (or, at least sick and tired of one certain person). But Juda’s just too smart and catches on too easily with anything that you and Chenle try to brush under the rug. She raises one eyebrow at you before retorting: “What, are you whinging about it already?”

“Am not!”

“Then what is it?” Juda says at the same time that Chenle swears, a little too loud for a kids arcade, but it’s around 8 PM and the only kids that are here probably do some sort of drug or something if they have parents who allow them to be out this late.

“Nothing, okay? The coach is great and the other people who are there are fine too, and I actually learnt a lot —”

“But?” Juda’s lips are pink as she wraps them around a straw poking out from her slushie cup. You lean back in retaliation, back pressed against the basketball machine as you try to find a leeway.

“. . . But.”

You’re late. And you can’t even use the excuse that you woke up late because it’s seven p.m. and you’ve scoffed down your early dinner two hours ago. You simply decided to just procrastinate to the next level in an attempt to gauge if you truly want to continue with this program or not. But now here you are, on a bus that’s severely delayed due to the evening traffic and running frantically to make it to class on time.

Minkyung is a 50-year-old dad who coaches this class; he was also at the office where you had submitted your form for the program, and was over the moon that you had decided to try out his class, hence asking you questions about your knowledge of badminton, and went on this spiel when you had made the mistake of being truthful. 

He now looks at you with a kind and wrinkly smile as your shoes squeak against the floor, one hand to your rib in an attempt to not show how much out of breath you were. “Don’t worry,” his voice was quiet enough for you to register only. “You arrived on time, I just finished the information briefing that you heard from me some time ago.” His smile was tight-lipped but genuine. Trying to even out your breathing, you set down your equipment and quickly join the rest in a circle. A clap echoes throughout the quiet hall as the coach drops his hands and clears his throat while letting out a puff of air, his eyes grazing by everyone’s heads in what you assume to be his way of counting the participants of the class.

“Glad to have everyone here today, I hope with this class you guys would not only learn about badminton but also be able to learn about its sportsmanship and benefits,” His eyes dart around the rather small circle. You expected the hall to be filled with as many students as that one Zumba class you were forced to attend in high school, but it was a rather tame class. 

The coach hums, thinking about something deeply as the other students shuffle around, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence engulfing the court. He looked up and clapped again softer this time. “I’ve decided to treat you like my children’s class.” He concluded, “I want you guys to introduce yourself to each other. Now don’t be shy; everyone's new in this class. Maybe you can find a friend in this class to learn better and more quicker. Okay, let’s start with you.” He pointed towards a guy that was to his left, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked around and smiled sheepishly yet brightly. “My name’s Haechan, and uh, I’m 22?” He finished it off with bound lips as he refers to the person after him to begin. 

And as you all finish introducing yourselves to each other, with a girl named Minji being last, the introductory circle ends, meaning the coach can now start the stretching and warm-up exercises. But he hasn’t. 

“Uh, coach, are we gonna—?” Minji stopped halfway as the coach whips his head to look at the gigantic clock on the wall next to the hall’s equally huge entrance. You crane your head curiously towards the direction of his vision, straining both your ears and vision to see what he was looking for, as everyone around you catches on and seems to do the same. It isn’t long after till the squeaking of shoes against the rubber ground echoes throughout; soon enough, the coach screams ‘fourteen minutes!’ as another person steps into the hall, wide eyes darting around everyone as he swallows in an attempt to simmer down his erratic breathing. As the guy's breathing evens out enough for him to probably mutter an apology, your breathing picks up.

“First day and you’ve already fallen for someone? Very on brand for you,”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You scramble to hit Chenle with his golden pokemon card folder he brought to the arcade. Juda calmly stops you using her right hand, as her left hand picks up her drink to take another sip from. 

“She didn’t even finish her story, Chenle. Go on,” Juda set her slushy down as her grip loosens from around your wrist, signalling to continue the story.

“Thank you, Juda, for you’re my favourite of them all—”

“Are you gonna finish your story?” Her grip tightened.

“A-as I was saying,”

You like to analyse people to some extent, thinking about how body language is cool and how it can depict everyone's different life, contrasting drastically from one another yet sometimes being so similar even with all of our different circumstances. This is why you tried analysing everyone in your class of busy people attempting to hit the shuttlecock in a streak longer than ten, as your eye flitting around the court and landing on your next target, the new guy, simply because that’s in your nature.

(“In your nature? Or was it just the mysterious guy that came into the class so suddenly, panting and out of bre—“

“Shut up? Anyway,” )

“Ah Jisung, this is the latest you’ve been,” The coach nodded innocently towards the guy, as if he hadn’t scared the piss out of all of you when he shouted.

He’s a bit stiff with his walk, and his shoulders seem to harden like a board when his eyes scan around the class and its participants. With wide eyes, he looks like a lost puppy with the way he looks back at the coach in some sort of silent confirmation of something. It’s probably his first time having a general class with coach Minkyung, you realise as you see Jisung bow sheepishly to his teacher.

“Sorry,” his voice was hushed, rumbling as he talked. His eyes scanned briefly once again across the now sparked class doing forehand and backhand practices that the teacher has instructed them to do. You locked eye contact with him from afar and quickly looked away, ears feeling a little bit hotter than it was a second before.

Soojin leans in towards you and Ryujin a bit and whispers, “Do you think he’s new? Like . . . All of us?”

You and Ryujin glance at each other for a quick second, before you smile profusely as Ryujin places her hands on the pole that holds the badminton net, her racket clenched fist supporting her chin as she ponders. “Not at all.” She says rather flatly, a cheeky smile following up after. Solely looking at him doesn’t give you any insights on his level of badminton playing, which is weird, because till now he could pick up on some people's skills; you’ve so far guessed correctly with a few of the participants (including yourself, you think you’re an average player in this class) so you feel a bit stumped. 

He stands stiff as he talks to the coach, keeping his gaze stern on his coach. He seems to be wearing normal trackies and only has a very slim back for his racket. 

“He’s obviously a beginner, his bag is so thin compared to Coach and even Haechan, he also doesn’t look like a long-time player” Jaemin pipes in.

“Who are you to say? You said you’ve been playing for how long and you’re still this bad?” Soojin smiles as she dodges Jaemin’s hand by a fraction. But Ryujin isn’t having any of it as she breathes in with her teeth clenched, hissing out a sound of suspicion.

“Coach seems to know him, which makes me think he’s either been here before, or he’s just the coach's nepotism offspring.”

“Okay!” The coach claps his hand, forcing everyone to act like they were practising. “Gather around; we’re gonna do a basic skills test for this lesson, then I’m gonna split you up into groups and we’ll get to work with the people with the same skills. Cool?” He throws two thumbs up as everyone stays silent, with one of the two people nodding. You watch as he sees the coach's enthusiasm die down a little.

“Cool?” The coach had yelled now, startling everyone else in the second round of heart attacks; everyone else yell back this time, the word ‘cool’ echoing around the grand sports court. You notice that everyone’s responded to the coach's request except for Jisung.

“Oh girl . . .” Juda now has her manicured hand placed on your sulked shoulder of realisation.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Juda.” You look into the distance of the arcade, feigning sorrow; or maybe it’s not much of a feign.

“The fuck,” Chenle turns to see both of you huddled in what looks like a cry fest. “Did someone fucking die?”

“Watch your tongue,” An old woman wearing a neon orange vest belonging to the arcade staff points at Chenle, who bows down as he murmurs ‘sorry’, with you two trying your best not to laugh, following and bowing your heads down too when the seething woman’s eyes meet your figures.

“How dare you anger the poor lady, her blood pressure is probably already high enough,” Juda picks at Chenle, who is now quietly trying to slip in the token to play another round.

“I wouldn’t have if you guys didn’t just suddenly go emo for no reason. What the f—” Chenle’s eyes waver back and see the woman’s eyes (Are they naturally red? Or is it the arcade lighting?) glaring back at him once more. “Frick. What the frick happened.”

“Oh Chenle, we must mourn for her. She’s fallen for another mysterious guy who barely has any personality.” 

“Oh my god,”

“Oh my fucking god, what—”

“Fuck,” Jisung sighed when he missed the shuttlecock by just a hair's width. Everyone was standing in a line-like formation, at the tip of their toes against the line that made the distinction between the playing court and outside. Jisung and the coach were having a match, the first test that the coach had implemented to determine who goes into what group according to their skills, and when no one volunteered, Jisung silently centred himself on the court as the coach's face broke out into a glow. 

Although his face was adorned with wrinkles even when still, and his skin did seem to look just a smidge pruney all the time — the I’m growing old look he had on his face was impossible to miss — the coach’s never looked sharper and younger than he does now, zipping through his side of the court like a bees race. Jisung on the other hand, seems to have a calm demeanour, quietly and tranquilly stepping forward and back, delivering lobs and clears, limbs outstretched to effortlessly hit the shuttlecock back even if it seems that his position doesn’t allow such moves. 

In the cold of Autumn, the stiffness of everyone's bodies was just the tiniest bit evident after a round of stretching, but two right in front of you look as if they’re playing in the heat of the summer, arms and legs effortlessly moving around the court. You try not to look too intently into the thin glisten of sweat forming on Jisung's neck.

Soojin raises her hand without taking her eyes off of the two people playing intensively in front of her, as Jaemin reaches in his pockets to place ten thousand won into her open palm, not letting his gaze wander away from the game either. “Thank you for your service.”

“I can’t believe he’s that good, I should’ve known from his cocky demeanour.” Haechan sighs, his fist resting against his cheek, hoisted up by his other hand. Everyone looks in his direction.

“You would think that it takes one to know one,” Minji almost barely whispers as she looks away from him by her side, looking back at the game with everyone else following. 

“Ah, fine. You won.” Coach drops his racket down from its first stage position, going towards the net with an open palm. Jisung barely takes a step forward before he’s lifting his hand too, shaking hands over the net as everyone claps behind them.

“Okay then, who’s next?”

You spend half the lesson just like that, with everyone playing against the coach followed by him then instructing everyone to get into the key badminton positions. You suspect that this is the core of learning badminton as the coach guides you from the way you hold your racket to the way your feet are positioned, but all you’re really thinking about right now is how badly you just want to go home.

“Okay!” The coach claps, as people gather around him in a semi-breathless state, just from being told to carry out a few sets of actions that badminton has. You don’t know why badminton necessarily needs ladder crossovers, but you barely get to give out a sigh before your eyes catch on Jisung’s seemingly calm composure. He’s done so much and maybe even a round extra, but he’s barely breaking a sweat.

Why does he look so good? Show off.

“Believe it or not, we’re done already! I now have an understanding of what level each one of you is in and will put you into groups.” You keep trying to wipe at your face to keep the sweat away, but an even coat of sweat is now settled on your hand after wiping it many times, so it only feels like you’re spreading it evenly. 

All while mysterious Jisung barely lifts his shoulder to have the cloth of his shirt wipe away the bead at his temple. 

How utterly gross of him. You wonder if he’s single.

“So I will see you all next week and give your level, thanks for joining!” And everyone disperses, spreading around the hall to get to their bags and start packing. You are standing above your bag, packing it and taking your bottle out to take a sip when you see Minji and Soojin whisper shouting, which defeats the whole point of whispering in the first place.

“How much do you wanna guess that he eats and sleeps here?” Soojin is practically bouncing in her place, taking multiple obvious glances at Jisung’s figure, who’s seemingly roaming around in his bag instead of packing it like everyone else, his racket placed neatly on top of his bag instead of inside.

“Nothing, because at this point it almost seems like a fact.” And with that, you shoulder your bag and head for the door, too tired to function.

“And you have no muscle aches? Impressive.” Juda pipes, her eyes glued to the road as she drives them back home.

“Oh no, I do. I just plastered a few KT tapes.” You say from your position in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the rolled-down window with your hand against your forehead, getting a nice breather from the wind outside. Chenle who’s sitting in the middle reaches his hand forward and pulls your sleeve up from behind to reveal your arm and shoulder lined up with tapes of blue and green. 

“A few huh,” Juda smiles and Chenle retorts, as you tch at them both. 

“I didn’t want to risk it, okay?” You say, yanking the cloth back down and slapping at Chenle’s hand, facing forward once again with your hands crossed defensively and gaze set outside again. The car lights up in the yellow of the street lights, as Juda drives through the night. 

“So when’s your next class?”

“And group A has . . . Jisung. Just Jisung”

“No, bad dog. Stop taking your anger out on Chenle’s biceps,” Juda attempted half-assedly to swat at your hands while her eyes were still glued to her phone, as you retell what happens with your next class.

“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”

You were furious. Group C? You knew you were better than that, having played almost every other sport growing up, even if occasionally, you’d gotta be good at badminton. Why is Jisung the only one in group A? Yes, fine, maybe he plays well, but it also means that you’ve been ranked down a group just because he was too perfect. Why does he attend the class if he’s already so good?

Subconsciously, you try to convince yourself to not take this whole grouping thing quite literally, as the coach had said that they’re not ranked or anything; but how can you not take it personally when the people you thought you were on par with were in group B. It takes all of your willpower for your scowl to not be displayed, but you soon find that you don’t have to try too hard as the coach assigns you all to your positions.

“Lighter on the feet,” Coach ordered, the squeak of shoe soles rubbing against the floor echoing throughout the sports hall. You, Soojin, Jaemin and Minji go through what the coach calls fundamental steps; right foot northeast with a forehand flick, right foot northwest with a backhand flick. It helps with the basics of the game, which everyone forgets, but you don’t think half an hour of the same steps helps with remembering either.

While group B, which consists of Haechan and Ryujin, go through the same phases with some extra steps added to strengthen their posture while playing. It’s not that you think your play better than the people in your group or group B, but mainly your irrational annoyance stems from the fact that you’re position in the class is gonna be recorded into your progress report, and you know for a fact that if Jisung wouldn’t be participating this dead class, you would be in group B. Yes, it’s still the last group out of two, but you can say that you’re merely ranked second. Instead, you’re last out of three.

As the steps turn repetitive, you let your eyes wander around mindlessly, your feet carrying you throughout as your hands attempt to do the actions in a somewhat muscle memory process. Your gaze eventually settles on Jisung, whose back is facing you as he smacks the shuttlecock against the wall, which bounces back only for him to smack at it again, repeating this one-man game he seems to have made up for himself. You glare lasers into his back, thinking about how maybe you’re not into this whole mysterious demeanour as you thought you were, seeing him just making up his own moves as the coach merely bounces back between the two of your groups, only checking in on Jisung after a few rounds of lecturing your moves and correcting your mistakes. 

Three consecutive claps echo around the tall indoor court, as everyone drops their rackets at their bags and gather around the coach in a circle, somewhat holding some sort of formation with Ryujin to his right and Jisung to his left, and with you positioned almost opposite of him. “Good job everyone, now it’s time to cool down, exactly how we warmed up,” Clueless, most of you follow the coach’s steps while he urges each person to take turns counting, counting up to eight in a clockwise direction. Your eyes can’t stop fleeting to Jisung, the star of every badminton night, as your petty envy prevents you from minding your own business. Throughout the whole night, you’ve seen him take only warming up and cooling down somewhat seriously, as he crosses his arms and holds up a good posture, compared to the rest of the class who simply just slump over, wanting the session to end and finally catch a break. 

One final clap and you’re all free to go. And you don’t waste a second, grabbing all your essentials and bag and quickly darting for the door, ready to go home and wash up and just not support your whole body weight on your feet. As you bid everyone goodbye and bow your head lightly to the coach, you watch as Jisung strides up to the coach in a meek manner, as his eyes fall on your retreating figure just slightly before softly calling out the coach's name. 

It’s nine p.m. on the dot when you step out of the court and breathe in the cold air.

Juda’s on the couch when you step into the apartment, toeing off your sports shoes as you rest your badminton bag against the shoe shelf, at hand for your next trip to your class. 

With a mouth full of chips, Juda barely takes her eyes off the screen before asking “How was class?”

“Same old,” You shrug.

“Same old? You’ve only been twice. How in tune are you with the coach for it to—” Your groan stops her teasing, as she smirks at your tired form squatting against the floor, hands clutching at the door and your hair in frustration.

“Could you have at least let me get home first before frying my brain?” Your hand falls to your face, and that’s when you feel the residue of your sweat from earlier, having turned into oil. The urge to shower now tenfold, you attempt to raise yourself and pass out in the shower.

“I’m gonna wash up now, and probably go to sleep,” You mutter just loud enough for Juda to hear, to which she hums while you retrieve a towel.

“Oh wait, before you go,” She calls just as you inch towards your room, “Do you know where my umbrella went? I’m going to campus tomorrow and I think it’s gonna rain again. I tried calling you but I don’t think it went through,” 

“Oh yeah, It’s by the door.” You recall taking the umbrella to class today, as the forecast has been filled with rain symbols with the Autumn weather. Digging in your bag, you push past your essentials in order to find your phone which Juda’s called. “That’s weird, my phone is not here.”

“Did you take it with you today?” Juda mumbles as she munches on a few more chips, rubbing her fingers against her pants after every serving. 

“I’m sure I did,” You ponder out loud, as you remove your hands from your bag in favour of patting at your pants and jacket resting on the clothing hanger, in case you somehow shoved it in your pockets without knowing.

“Did you forget it?” As soon as the words leave your roommate's mouth, you are met with a vivid picture of your phone, abandoned on the bench in the badminton court you left in a hurry. You sigh, placing your towel on the bathroom counter briefly before grabbing your house keys while putting your shoes on.

“I’ll be back Juda,”

“Good luck,” She waves.

You’re beyond tired, and a little frustrated at yourself for being impatient and forgetting your phone. You can’t risk losing such a thing, hence you’re glad that the lights were still on when you arrived at the building, giving a wave to the receptionist. 

Stepping onto the court, you immediately zero in on your phone which is perched on the bench, the black shade of the screen a contrast against the silver metal bar. But a squeak of a sole against the floor earns a squeal out of your mid-march, as you clutch your shirt next to your heart and turn towards the perpetrator.

“Oh my god,” Jisung’s gaze is what you’re met with as you let out a sigh of relief, the man in question only turning around as you mutter under your breath. 

“Sorry,” That’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all day, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that calms your heart down just a bit.

“What are you still doing here?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, your forgotten phone laying there, continuing to be overlooked as you question the presence of your classmate.

His eyes squint ever so slightly at your question, as his eyes ghost over you, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “I’m practising,”

Practising? After two hours of badminton class, he didn’t seem like he did much then, but he’s still staying back to practice. You hum in slight adulation, rocking back and forth on your feet as he turns back around and runs through steps you’re unfamiliar with. As you inch towards your phone, you think more about his prominent presence in the court; is he too shy in class? Or maybe he gets private classes from the coach?

But as you scan your eyes around the court, you’re met with a near-empty court, as the only thing in sight is his bottle and slim bag. You’re not sure exactly what you’re waiting for as you hold onto your phone, fidgeting on your spot as your eyes follow Jisung’s swift movements. He seems more tired now than he ever was in the two classes you’ve shared with him, as his shoulders ride up more with an attempt of regaining stability with his breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’ve loitered around, but it must be a long amount of time for Jisung to look at you with disdain and shock.

“. . . Why are you still here?” He seems more reserved — something you didn’t know could happen — as he asks you this question, holding his racket subconsciously closer to his body. Your eyes widen at the prospect of being caught, as you shake your hands vehemently, stumbling back a bit. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” You didn’t know how you were going to explain yourself, but one glance at the door of the court is all you need.

Bowing your head as quickly as you can in a lieu of a goodbye, Jisung could barely apprehend what you did before you’re bolting out of the badminton court.

A week later, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to face Jisung with your awkward encounter, and it is evident that the incident has been plaguing your mind as you stand at the door of the sports centre, both hands gripping the strap do your bag. 

“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo for just standing there and stalking him?” Your wandering mind does nothing to help ease the situation, as more arbitrary scenarios flow after one another. Maybe he told the coach how much of a creep you are and now when you step in, you’ll be banned from class.

“Oh dear god,” You let your head fall forwards, trying to tip over the thought out of your head. Closing your eyes, you try to think of the things you can do once the class is over when a tap on your shoulder brings you out of your reverie. You turn to look behind your shoulder, fearing that it's someone robbing you or worse— Jisung; only to see coach Son, smiling at you with a hint of worry laced on his forehead. 

Your shoulders sag with relief. “Hi coach,” you wince internally at your response, voice coming out high-pitched as you clench your grip on your bag. 

“Let's go in and start some warm-ups, yeah?” And as you follow the coach to the class, you make sure to subtly hide behind him in case you catch s glimpse of Jisung anywhere, not wanting to run into him. As you quietly peek your head over his right shoulder once and his left shoulder next, you feel like a secret agent sneaking up on your target. A clearing of someone's throat snaps you out of your act, as your shoulders bunch up and in shock and you quickly turn, only to be met with the feared man of the night.

It seems like he’s been trying to go up to the coach and maybe say hi, but your lurking figure both stopped and perplexed him, not knowing why you were just peeking your head around like a mole rat.

“Sorry,” You mumble slightly, eyes wide as you back away towards the closest wall, wanting to blend into it and live with the bricks. Maybe you’ll face less embarrassment that way but knowing you, anything is possible.

“It’s okay,” His voice is as unassuming as always, eyes looking anywhere but you now that he’s caught your attention. You think his shyness is quite cute, but not for long as you think back to being scared of him from last week to being jealous of him, also from last week. That’s a lot of emotion for you to process. 

He pulls up his hands, now shaped into a fist and looks past you, but you know he’s talking to you when he mutters, “Fighting,” before fully facing away and walking past you as if the mortification of his action has caught up to him. You barely contain your shocked expression behind your hand.

“Good job today guys, now we all have a basic grasp of the initial steps and our skills when it comes to badminton.” You brace your hands on your knees, just having done a set of wall squats as a way to build stamina, or so you’ve been told. You thought that maybe a month into these classes and you would’ve had some sort of energy stashed away in you when attending class, but it’s week five and you’re fighting for your life three seconds into a plank.

“Now I don’t wanna treat this class academically, but for those of you who truly care, there will be an assessment in the midst of this course to reevaluate your standing and see if you can advance from your group! But other than that, remember that this class can be solely for fun reasons too . . .” The rest of coach's words were white noise to your ears. Reevaluation? Does that mean that you can advance? That you’ll have a shot? 

“Are you okay?” Soojin leans in toward you, whispering while pointing to what you assume would be the shock on your face. You turn to her, drawing a thumbs up to reassure her. And before you know it class is done and you’re pulled to do a series of cool-down moves. You eagerly follow through, now somehow charged with motivation to stay back and go over your moves a few times. You figure that the least you can do to move up a rank is to spend an extra hour going over your moves, even when you sometimes think about the significance of them.

You tread up to the coach and ask in your kindest voice if it was possible for you to stay back. “Of course, are you gonna go through the steps again?” He questions as he shifts his bag from one hand to another. You give a nod and wave goodbye, watching as everyone litters out of the court.

Well, almost everyone.

You can feel, more than anything, Jisung’s gaze piercing your figure through the hood of his jumper, while you give your best attempt at stretching. You’re not sure really what stretches best help with reducing the ache in your muscles the day after, but you figure the endeavour of reaching your toes should do.

Even after a few minutes of trying to appear mellow, Jisung’s presence alone makes you feel on edge as if you’ve stolen his territory. But you figure that nothing will change and that all you can really do right now is, well, practice.

The squeak of your shoes echoes every now and then, followed by a whip sound of the racket you’re flinging in the air. If you do this quickly enough, surely your skills will improve, right? From what your coach Son demonstrated earlier, you realised that as he would start off the steps slowly for your group to get a hang of, he was able to transition the speed to his liking, doing each step quickly and efficiently. 

“Okay, should be easy,” You’re careful not to speak too loud in the almost quiet hall, giving yourself words of encouragement. Hand braced in the first position, then in the second, then a slight step back, and then your hand straight and quickly bend.

You finish the routine with its final step of hitting the imaginary shuttle as fast and as straight as your hand can go with such speed. With one round done, you brace yourself in the initial position to do it again. One, two, three and four.

You only get to pump out four, maybe five rounds of this pattern before a clearing of someone's throat scares the daylights out of you. With a barely contained shout, you’d forgotten — however briefly — that you weren’t alone. You’re looking at Jisung, who seems shocked at accidentally shaking you up so much, before he says something to you.

“What?” Even with the stillness of the court, the man’s words were barely comprehensible, as yours echoed slightly throughout the court. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” Oh, so the first comment he ever mutters to you are words of criticism. You furrow your brows, head tilting slightly out of habit as you encourage him to go on.

“When you’re recoiling from hitting the shuttle, your racket still faces forward instead of down,” He explains, but none of it makes sense to you and it must be evident in your face, with Jisung looking slightly frustrated that the words did not register in your head.

“If you keep your racket facing forward, the ball isn’t going to go down but head straight, which allows your opponent to retaliate better.” He continues, and you somewhat understand where he’s getting at, but he’s not really helping you at all. All he did was point out your mistake, which makes you feel that he’s just trying to show off his knowledge.

“Well, what should I do then?” You can’t help but seem a bit agitated, as you slump your shoulders and let the racket settle by your ankles, your hold on the handle tightening ever so slightly.

“Hit it face down,” He raises his arm and demonstrated the step to you, causing the head of his hoodie to fall, shining the light of the court on his face. You’re briefly stuck looking at his face instead of his step, but were reeled back in when he makes eye contact. You clear your throat as he goes through the step again, which you think were exactly the steps you were doing a second ago.

“But, how was I any different?” You say as you mimic his steps, bracing yourself in the positions without much thinking, and hitting the imaginary shuttle right as when he does.

“No- see, you did it again,” He steps a bit closer as he gestures to the racket in your hand. “You’re hitting it straight on. You’re supposed to go down.” You sigh as he says this, feeling a bit irked that a mere student is trying to tell you what to do. He is in the top rank, so maybe he has a point.

Attempting to set your implicit annoyance aside, you intently look at his hand and the way he moves his wrist at the end of the step, trying your best to imprint this into your head. He looks a bit flustered with how much your gaze is focused on him, but still goes on two more times before nodding his head at you, encouraging you to try once more. 

You look at the position of your hand this time instead of him, going through the initial steps and tweaking your wrist to face more downwards this time than your last few attempts, before your eyes quickly flit towards Jisung, looking for some sort of confirmation with your try. The subdued purse of his lips assures your suspicion, which is that you’re doing it right this time round.

“Good, did you kinda find out what you were doing wrong?” The words come out on reflex, and you don’t think twice this time about him being in the same class as you and yet trying to coach your steps, as you ponder on his question.

“I mean, I found out I was doing something wrong when you pointed it out, but I’m not quite sure what you meant when you said I was hitting it straight on.”

“Wow, you were really into him weren’t you?”

“Shut up Chenle, I was into the badminton technicality.”

Jisung steps forward a little bit and is about to say something before he hesitates. You look at him sceptically, waiting to see what he was gonna say before he shakes his head and seemingly snaps himself out of it. “Can you go back to the third position?” He asks of you, which you raise your hand and assume the position. Your racket and arm are raised pointed straight to the ceiling, while he positions his fisted hand in front of you. Your questioning look doesn’t go unnoticed, as a slight smile appears on Jisungs face before he nods at you, saying, “Okay, now gently go down like you would and stop at my hand.” 

You do as you’re told, with Jisung’s eyes settled on your concentrated face following his orders, as the face of your racket meets his fist, the white of his knuckles colouring for a bit. 

“See, you’re hitting the front of my knuckles, but that will send the shuttle forward.” He demonstrates by pulling his fist back, “That will give the other player a better opportunity of retaliating.” He then readjusts your racket by the throat, having the net hit the top of his fist. “This gives you a better chance.”

“But like, how am I giving them a better shot?” 

You’re not sure what was funny or amusing about your question, but it seems that there must be something there for Jisung to sport a cute small smile, as he picks his racket back up and moves to one of the set-up nets, and funnily enough, you find yourself following him subconsciously. He picks up a shuttlecock on his way to the net and positions himself, as you stand at his side.

“See, let’s say the shuttle is coming at you this way,” He holds the shuttle with one hand as if the opposing player had shot it at him over the net. “If I hit it the way you had— actually, why don’t you try receiving the ball.” And so you shuffle over, standing opposite of his ready stance with your arms crossed, intrigued.

“I’ll throw the shuttle back to you and try seeing if you can hit it back.” You realise that this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the past five weeks that you’ve attended the class together. You bring your hand up and stand in the ready position you remember coach telling you about when initiating a game, and Jisung takes that as a sign that you’re ready and hits the shuttle at a moderate speed. You hit the ball back with ease, as it goes over back to Jisung’s side, who catches it with his other hand. You let out a long ‘ahh’ sound of understanding, hand clutched at your side. 

“You’re right, that was hell easy,” You brood aloud, but not before asking one of your other endless questions. “But then, how would the other way be any different?”

From the looks of it, Jisung seems over the moon that you asked such a question, holding back a smile by biting on his lips lightly and quipping his head to the side. He holds up the shuttle and looks at you, gauging to see if you’re ready to receive the ball once again. As you regain your ready position, you see the ball suspended in the air briefly before Jisung hits it at the ‘better’ angle, which is seemingly from the head of it, but before you can process anything else a zip sounds past you and the ball has landed behind you.

Your gasp resonates through the hall as you look behind you to where the shuttle has landed, with a hand coming to your mouth as you look at Jisung. The latter contains his smug smile behind his own hand, as you point at the ball and look back and forth. “What did you just do?”

“Ah, that’s a technique that's called smash.” You falter slightly.

“That’s a weird fucking name I’m not gonna lie,” You glance at the ball once more with a look of disgust, before shaking yourself out of it. “Oh my god, that was so cool.”

You didn’t think that you would be getting a one-on-one lesson when you decided to stay behind today, but you’re quite surprised with how he was able to spot such a little detail so quickly. And that gives you an idea.

“Jisung,” You call his name for the first time since you met him five weeks ago, which surprises the said man, as you see his eyes startle and a few strands of his hair jerk. “Do you stay after class every week?”

He’s a bit quiet for some time, processing your question thoroughly. He nods his head briefly, but not before a bit of hesitation. 

“Is it . . . Can you help me improve?” You’re a bit shy now that you voice your question out loud, but you’re determined to move up at least one rank and land second place; or even just have a good academic score, even in badminton. 

Seeing the blank face that Jisung is now sporting, you think about the unfair offer you’ve just made to him. Why would he spend his extra time after class to teach you, his potential competitor, without getting anything out of it? You’re not sure what you can offer him, maybe some sort of payment? But before you can ponder even more, you catch a slight nod of his head from the corner of your eye.

“Is that . . .  a yes?” You lock eye contact, as he nods his head once more but with more vigour and confirmation. 

“Why?” It’s your turn to look at him with confusion.

“Are you asking me?” He points to himself, as he slightly tilts his head as if he was going to look as if you were talking to someone else. You shake your head quickly once he asks the question, raising even more questions.

“Actually, no. I take back what I said. You said yes, right? You can’t change your mind. Or, I mean you can but like I would be pretty bummed about it because you already said yes but I’d respect your choice.” You take a deep breath in once you finish, looking at him and clasping your hands together a bit too harshly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you with what you need.” Relief washes over you and you can’t help but smile in thanks.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing too.” Jisung hums for you to continue, as he goes towards his bag and retrieves his bottle to take a sip.

“Can you teach me how to smash?” And maybe you should’ve waited for him to be done with that bottle first.

You think you’re quite good at being subtle and on the low, no matter how much Juda and Chenle counter that argument. You can be sneaky if you put your mind to it, and it's been proven many times in high school when you would sneak your favourite snack during the middle of the class without your strict teacher finding out.

So you’re not sure where you went wrong when you held out a snack bar in Jisungs direction, only for the whole court to look at you weirdly. You merely strutted up to him with maximum placidity and poked out the bar from your hand into his torso, looking away and hoping he would get the memo and take from you as with a mutter of something that sounds really close to the word ‘thanks’.

But it’s been a solid fifteen seconds and not only is the bar still in your hand, but everyone in the class has slowed down their activities in favour of looking at you two. Even coach’s staring as if he’s trying to solve a very complex puzzle.

“Is this . . . for me?” Jisung’s voice comes out as a rumble, not knowing if he should whisper or talk normally, sounding out something in between instead. 

Of course this is for you, idiot. Why am I holding it in your direction??

You ignore his question and shake the bar in your hand with a bit more intensity, hoping that he would finally get the memo. It isn’t until ten more seconds pass that you lose all hope and turn to him, grabbing his hand and placing your gratitude in his open palm, closing his fist around the energy snack.

You stomp your way to start your warm-ups before Jisung could say anything.

“When you aim your hand, you’re not really looking at the shuttle,” Jisung starts after a few rounds of one-on-one games you’ve started after class. “Your eyes are just hovering around it for a few seconds before you look around and put yourself in position. You’re supposed to go in position without looking, it should be intuitive.” You huff at his explanation, dropping your hands by your sides.

“How do I ‘look’ at it more, then?” You’re grateful that Jisung is helping you, but it’s just the tiniest bit unnerving for him to recognise your every move and be able to point out your mishaps. He moves back from the net, creating a decent amount of space in his playing circle. He starts throwing the shuttle up with his badminton racket, the distance from the shuttle and its net growing with each hit.

“Practising this move helps,” He says as he works through what you remember the coach demonstrating the first few classes. As the shuttlecock goes higher and higher with each impact, your eyes catch on the silver of skin poking out as Jisung lifts his hand to meet the shuttle, his shirt rising for a few seconds every time. 

“I think it would be better if you looked at the shuttle?” His words catch you off guard, as you look up and meet his gaze already settled on your, eyes gleaming as he pokes at his cheek with his tongue. 

“Shut up,” You look away, flustered that you got caught, before attempting the moves, refusing to look back at him.

The condensation of the electrolyte drink is addled with the dampness of your hand, as you make your way to class the week after. You see Ryujin talking to the coach as you enter, and Jisung at his bag, seeming to ruffle through it in order to retrieve something. You strut your way up quietly, not wanting to attract any awkward attention by giving gratitude in the form of a drink to your unofficial instructor. As you open your mouth to call Jisungs name, the tall man turns around and gives you the faintest hint of a smile, before his eyes land on your hand.

“Hi, here.” You spout, as you extend your hand straight towards him, some of the condensation dropping on the floor and finding solace in the gaps of your fingers. His hands feel dry and warm as it brushes against yours, retrieving the drink from your grasp.

“You didn’t have to. Thank you; for last time too,” Your cheeks heat up at his words as you avert your gaze away, opting to look at the playing net instead. “Don’t mention it,” Your damp hand wrings against the dry one behind your back, as you slowly let your gaze wander back to Jisung, who’s now looking at the blue bottle in his hand.

“Did you know,” He twists the drink in his hand and looks at what you think is the nutrition information. “Electrolyte doesn’t actually help when you exercise.” Your expression sullens as he continues to look at the drink you gave him. “Your body loses more water than electrolytes when you exercise, and so there is no use consuming more electrolytes. Water helps way more in comparison,” The scowl on your face makes Jisung stop in his tracks as he looks up after finishing his bite-sized lecture.

“Well, if you’re so ungrateful—” You reach your hand out to snatch the bottle from him but are stopped short as his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “No!” He exclaims and a chuckle slips past as your struggle to get the drink, reaching out your other hand before he captures that too, now both of your wrists trapped in his hand. Your eyes widen, with your wrist bound and fighting up a struggle, all impaired with Jisung’s hand wrapped. Before your mind can wander to what other scenarios can result in him bounding up your hands, he continues; “I’m very grateful. You don’t have to give me these things just because I give you a few tips after class.”

You pause your struggle, letting your hands be weighed down. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been helping you at all. Sometimes I even set you back, so it’s the least I can do.” You say truthfully. You do sometimes feel like a burden when Jisung gives you a tip and you don’t adapt immediately, sometimes it takes you maybe two after-class lessons until you can successfully cast back the shuttle over the net with a short distance. The only way you could think about paying him back was through these pick-me-up snacks.

“Okay, how about this,” You miss the warmth and pressure of his hand against your wrist as soon as he lets go to put the drink down behind him and straightens back up, looking away as he slowly grows flustered with what he’s about to say next. “Treat me to ice cream maybe?”

You smile at his antics, happy to have been told how you could repay him. “Deal,” He visibly deflates with relief as you zealously agree, putting your bag down next to his as you both start to unpack. 

You shuffle to the bathroom as soon as practice is over, giving Jisung a quick point towards the direction you’re going to ease his worries about you running away. Once inside, you’re met with the cool breeze and a mirror that reflects your spent figure. Oh god, how were you gonna go out like this? Is this what you looked like this entire time? Shuffling to the sink, you shoulder your bag back as you lean over the sink and lightly dab at your face with some water, before cleaning yourself up and dabbing the paper towel against your face. 

You don’t know why you were so nervous to do this; it’s truly just some ice cream with your temporary and unofficial coach. But you truly wanted him to see your gratitude, and soon enough you’re thinking if ice cream isn’t enough, and budgeting how you can come up with enough money for an all-you-can-eat buffet at this time of the night. But before you could even add up the numbers on your fingers - it was a two in one hand and three in another, not quite sure what they meant - the sound of the door opening echoes in the bathroom, jumping you out of your reverie. 

Turning around, you just catch Minji stepping in, looking taken aback at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to enter this public bathroom. “You okay?” She calls after you, and you can only hope that the smile on your face is convincing enough.

“Yup! Just . . . tired,” You cringe a bit at the overused excuse, but your shoulders slump when she just smiles back at you. 

“It’s okay, maybe your date with Jisung would cheer you up?” You feel something lodge in your throat, coughing out in surprise.

“No!” You retort, hands coming out from behind you as if to stop all ideas from forming. “We’re- It’s not like that. He’s just-” Minji looks at you with amusement, as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms, urging you to continue. The mind blank you’re sporting is not at all helping with a way to express what you truly are doing with Jisung, and so you try: “I just owe him something for smashing his racket.” And that was the best you could do.

Minji’s smile falls, as her arms drop at her sides. “You . . . smashed his racket?” 

You don’t know why her voice was laced with such concern, but you figure that you have to finish what you started. “Yeah, to pieces actually. Sometimes the adrenaline truly gets to you, right?” You chuckle a bit, trying to find a gap in the conversation where you can squeeze back out of the bathroom.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” You clench the strap of your bag and exit the bathroom, ready to dart out of the place. As you turn a sharp right, you are immediately met with a sheet of white, which suspiciously looks like the colour of the shirt Jisung was wearing today. Hands are placed at your shoulder and you’re quickly set back half a step from the wall, or at least enough to recognise that it wasn’t a wall, but rather Jisung’s tall figure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, catching a few veins adorning his forearm. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit. 

The white lights of the LED sign of the ice cream place illuminate most of the dark street, with most businesses having closed earlier in the day save for a few convenience stores littered with tired college students like yourselves. You eye the shop and its extravagant decor, sceptical about being brought to such a high-end ice cream shop.

“You know, when you said ice cream, I thought you had wanted me to buy you some popsicles from some convenience store. Not someplace about exorbitant ice cream with fifty years of craft in making,” You nudge your elbow a bit to Jisung’s side, to which he responds by twisting his head in your direction.

He splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry I forgot that, you know you were gonna pay,” You notice his hands move as he speaks, something you’ve picked up from when you would talk to him or notice him talking to coach; it’s as if his words are spelt with his hands first and then brought out through his lips, now adorning a pout as he tries explaining himself.

“. . . I thought we were just, going out.” Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise at his words. Going out? As in, going out on a date? 

You wonder if your thought bubble is something he can see, as he quickly puts out his hands again, shaking them vehemently. “Not on a date! It’s just, I didn’t know what-”

“Jisung, it’s okay. I was just messing with you,” You decide to put him out of his misery, reassuring him before continuing, “I’ve never been here but I’ve been meaning to try it out, so I’m glad you suggested this place. Let me treat you to something good,” And without thinking, you link your arm through his and push through the door, the cool of the interior washing over both of you. The shop was mostly white, with white tiles placed as half-walls as well as the flooring, the only hint of colour being the green of a few plants and of course the various ice creams. The employee, who seems to be the only person in the shop, straightens up ever so slightly at the sight of the two of you entering, before slumping back down when you head towards the self-serve ice cream booths. Picking up two cups, you hand one to Jisung who’s at your right, before you pick up the scooper from a mini bucket of water, waving it around your choices.

“Tell me which flavour you want me to pick out for you,” You eye the various flavours of ice creams, seeing if you can find your favourite. You look at Jisung to see if he’s doing the same, only to see his eye zeroed in on one bucket which is contrastingly fuller than the different flavours around it.

“Mint chocolate ice cream?” Your question has JIsung nodding his head as he looks at you sheepishly. “I can’t believe you would choose the most controversial ice cream. You’re so original.” You tease, to which Jisung nudges you in retaliation.

“It’s a good flavour, if people stop comparing the mint and the chocolate and instead choose to see how much they complement each other, we would be one step closer to world peace.”

“That’s a bold claim, what’s your source?” Jisung grabs the scoop out of your hands with mock aggressiveness, opting to scoop his serving of the mint chocolate ice cream. “Your references? Where is your citation—” He cuts you off by placing his hand on your mouth after taking a scoop of his ice cream, as his chest meets your arm. 

He shushes you, “Just get your ice cream, yeah? I’ll go get my toppings,” He nods and lets go of your mouth, missing the way your cheeks heat up from his proximity and touch on your face. You bring the back of your hand to your face, prying the heat to go away as you shake your head and pick the scooper back up, reaching for your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Meeting Jisung at the counter, you place your cup of ice cream next to his on the weigh and fish through your bag as you wait for the person behind the counter to calculate your total. However, as soon as you probed your wallet out of your bag, the sound of a completed transaction peals out, making you turn your head up just to see Jisung putting his wallet back into his sweatpants.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” You insist, looking towards Jisung’s direction to generate some sort of guilt for his action. Instead, the man avoids your gaze, picks up two spoons, and places them in your cups, grabbing yours when he spots you not budging from the corner of his eye and turning to head for the door. You grab at his sleeve to force out his reasoning but are slowly pulled with him as he heads out, quickly turning around and bidding goodbye to the staff before he opens the door.

“Well, maybe you can pay next time,” At the mention of another time of you and Jisung hanging out, your initial sorrow washes over by a wave of giddiness. 

“Then give me your number,” You propose, fishing your phone out. “So I can see when you’re next free and make it up to you,” With wide eyes, Jisung’s hands hesitate as they reach out for your phone; before either of you can second-guess yourselves, he takes the phone and smiles shyly, typing in his details. Handing the phone back to you, you take a look at his contact before pocketing your phone as Jisung starts to speak.

You scoop a spoon of your ice cream into your mouth to hide your smile, but from a light chuckle that emits from your left side, you don’t think your efforts amounted to much.

You stretch your arm to reach the end of your leg, warming up your body before the mass class warmup, more so to have something to do instead of staring at Jisung who’s also here early and is also doing his own unique sets of warm-ups. 

Nothing about badminton is sexy; there’s nothing sexy about moving your wrist just in time to deliver some sort of groundbreaking delivery with the shuttlecock. Even the word shuttlecock grosses you out, as you suppress the urge to shiver at this very moment. 

So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung grunts every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. His quick movements allow for his loose clothing today to move around freely, exposing toned skin every now and then. It takes a lot of your willpower to have you not to drool right then and there, as if you were back in high school once more.

One hit, in particular, bounced off high and far from the wall, the sound of the shuttlecock smacking against the wall echoing louder as it heads for Jisung’s left side, a direction that you’re situated in although with a safe amount of distance. The tall player retaliates by turning his body a whole hundred-and-eighty degree, facing away from the wall and essentially towards you as he tries to continue his streak of hits. Briefly, you see his eyes look at you and back at the shuttles descend, but his focus on the said thing falters when he looks at you again, realising that you’ve been watching him play. 

The shame of being caught should’ve arrived by now, as your shoulders stiffen with being onslaught by Jisung’s intense gaze. But before the chagrin could fully settle in, Jisung has completely passed the point of positioning his racket, causing the shuttle to fall and bounce off of his head and onto his feet. Gently clasping your hand at your mouth, you stop your giggles at the warning glare that Jisung sends to you; although his flushed cheeks aren’t making it any better.

“Say something and see what happens,” He points at you with the tip of his racket. You remove your hand and open your mouth, curious to see where this goes.

“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You can’t help it this time when your gaze follows towards the gap in the collar of his shirt, showing the sharp cut of his collarbone peeking through. It’s when your gaze is caught on his chain necklace dangling from his neck that the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here. 

The ball lightly hits Jisung’s calf, who simply picks it up and passes it back to the boy who’s seemingly frozen in place. As soon as the ball arrives at his own feet, he quickly picks it up and dashes out of the place. 

“Do you wanna bet to see who can reach past their toes?” Your question snaps Jisung out of his thought. The boy chuckles and sits down to your right, stretching out his legs and shaking them out as a form of warm-up.

“You’re so on,”

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you strut up to Jisung, who’s at his bag, taking out his needed items. With a tap on his shoulder, he turns to face you, giving you a smile as a greeting before scanning you.

“What are you doing this time?” You gasp in mock offence.

“This time? I haven’t even done anything yet?” 

“But you’re going to,” He points his fingers at your hidden hands. “You’re either gonna scare me or pull the lamest prank ever known to date.” Your smile drops and a scowl replaces it instead. 

When Jisung fully turns to face you, you smile once more and lean your shoulders in. “I actually brought you something to thank you. Again.” You shift the item from your left to your right hand, feeling nervous and embarrassed for saying it all out loud. “Because of you, I can hit a backhand serve and not smack myself.” The boy stands taller with your gratitude, a blush sporting on his face as his eyes look anywhere but at you. You must look like high schoolers confessing to one another with the way you’re both flustered and shy, which isn’t a thought you’re fully opposed to.

He nods his head, still avoiding looking directly at you, as he reaches his hands out, ready to receive what you’ve brought for him. You giggle slightly as he shuts his eyes and shakes his hands in anticipation, “Since you said electrolyte drinks don’t really help, and you like your proteins after class, I thought of a better third option and brought you,” You reach your hands out and place the gift on his palms, urging him to open his eyes.

Cold and dripping with condensation, the plastic water bottle perched on his hands seem small as his hands close around them to keep from falling. His eyes fall as he looks dimly at the bottle in his hands, and you look away briefly to keep from laughing straight in his face.

“Now I know what that kid felt like when he got gifted an avocado for Christmas.”

“Wait,” Chenle plops down next to Juda as he says this, but is quickly shoved to the other end of the couch with a complaint ‘It’s too hot for you to stick your gross body next to me’.

“What’s his deal then?” 

“What?” You turn to look at Juda first as if to check that you’re the only one confused. The furrow of the girls’ eyebrows proves the fact that you aren’t alone, as you both look at Chenle with visible empty thought bubbles surrounding you.

“Well, he’s a badminton prodigy according to you. Seems to have surprased all the basics and is just a step away from being a professional.” The initial shove and retort from Juda barely set him off, as he goes back to his original position and maybe squeezes himself even more to her side and pulls a spoon out, digging into her tub of ice cream.

“Why is he still coming to class if he’s qualified enough to teach you?” Unfortunately, for once Chenle does have a point. You’ve thought about this a few times at the beginning of the semester when you were a little more than irritated by the fact that he joined the class and made you rank down a notch; ever since he agreed to lend you a hand, you’re sometimes even happy when you see him come in.

“He has a point sadly,” Juda waves her spoon towards Chenle’s direction. “If he’s as good as you say he is, why bother coming to class?”

“Maybe you should ask him that on your next date,” The boy wiggles his eyebrows at you, squealing out a laugh when you pull your fist back in a threatening manner. 

“Maybe I will,” you blurt out, attempting an aggressive tone. Before you could let anyone, even yourself, comprehend what you said, you pressed play on the tv and snuggled up to Juda’s arm on her right, with Chenle leaching off of her to her left. 

“The things I put up with,” She huffs as she stabs her spoon into her ice cream tub, feeding you diligently.

[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]

you: you

jwisung: ?

jwisung: what happened to hello

jwisung: ‘how was your day’

jwisung: wheres ur decorum

you: shut up you dont even know what that means

jwisung: :(

you: >.<

you: are you free this saturday at 9

jwisung: you mean

jwisung: the saturday 9pm where we just finish our badminton class?

jwisung: idk i gotta check my schedule to see if i have a badminton class around that time 

jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me 

you: 😐

you: yes but not anymore

you: bye

jwisung: WAIR

jwisung: pleahse im soreu

you: not forgiven <3

you: i know this place that actually has good mint choc ice cream

you: not too minty not too chocolatey 

jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?

you: dont do this to me

jwisung: okay i wont 😁

you: good boy

jwisung: …

you: ?

you: oh! 

jwisung: no

you: ill remember this too 😋

Your bag is bigger this time when you go to class, having packed an extra set of clothes and a towel to have a quick rinse after class before your not-date with Jisung. Arriving just in time for the warm-up session, you’re met with gloomy faces left and right. Plopping your bag down next to Soojin’s, you whisper when you ask, “Why does everyone look like they’ve been kicked?”

She looks up to you with a pout adorning her features. “Coach declared today a ‘cardio’ day. Something about wanting to boost our stamina or whatever the fuck.” She sighs as she shoves her stuff back into her bag, sadly shuffling across the court to do her designated warmups. You grimace as you follow, hoping your travel-size soap is enough.

Turns out Coach’s definition of cardio was way more intense than what you remember your gym friends raving about, as you put your hands on your knees to keep yourself from collapsing. A whistle from the coach signals a shift in your rep, making you change stations and do the next cycle of workout.

“Coach, how much longer are we gonna do this—”

“Until I start sweating, Jaemin. Now keep up!” Coach demands, which is absurd, because he isn’t doing anything but watching you do push-up planks and try not to collapse.

“Okay, stop,” He blows the whistle once more and you fall to your hands and knees, with everyone else modelling a variation of your position. Haechan’s high-pitched groan startles you, but not as much as the coach’s yelling that follows after.

“Don’t sit down guys! Sitting down after exercise is terrible for your stamina,”

“This sounds like some facebook myth my mom would tell me,” Ryujin pants as she shoves her fringe out of her face.

Coach smiles as he claps this time around. “You guys were great today, well done! As a gift, you can only do the stretching cool-down activities and I’ll finish class earlier today,” At that, the class erupts in out-of-breath cheers and barely lasting claps. 

You look to find Jisung, just to see how he’s holding up after this exercise round from hell, and you find yourself more than relieved to see him affected for once. Halfway through class, he’s opted to take off his hoodie, which left him in a white shirt and navy sweatpants, with sleeves bunched up to show his biceps and their carvings. The sight of him adorned with sweat and panting sends a twist to your stomach, and you’re quickly reminded that you’re supposed to go out with him after this.

Shuffling to your bag as quickly as you can with the ache pulsing through your legs, you’re about to head for the courts' public showers when you’re met with Jisung’s figure. 

“You can’t leave that easily, I have to try that ice cream,” He murmurs with a crooked smile. You smack at his shoulder.

“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung falls a bit quiet at your words, as you visibly see him suddenly deep in thought. Before you get to question it, he beats you to it by straightening up and looking directly at you with an idea in mind.

“Why don’t you come to mine?” You blanch at his words but aren’t allowed to react more than that as he continues. “I live really close, and you can just use the shower before heading out. You have your stuff with you and I need a rinse too.” He points at your bag behind you, making you flush and subconsciously move to cover up your efforts. His idea doesn’t seem too bad, and you think this could be another excuse for you to make up to him. Let’s go out one more time because I used up all your hot water. Couldn’t think of a better idea. 

With a nod and a smile, you’re quickly guided out of the building shoulder to shoulder.

Jisung’s apartment really wasn’t far at all, as you arrive at the complex within a five-minute walk from the sports grounds. Living in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who Jisungs said to have gone home this winter season, the place looks relatively clean with the effort of one person living in the area. He directs you to his room, where you place your bags and pick up your clothes before he points towards the bathroom.

“You can use my shampoo and soap, they’re both in some type of white bottle. Don’t use the blue ones because they’re my roommates’ and he has a sixth sense when it comes to these things,” You salute him and shuffle to the bathroom, trying your best to be as quick as possible to not leave him waiting and to not actually use up all his hot water. The bathroom was just slightly messy, with towels stacked on one another in a haphazard manner and shaving bottle caps abandoned and soap remnants staining the sink, you feel warm with the idea of getting to see this side of Jisung. A university student trying his best, not some badminton prodigy.

Rinsing your body one last time, you close the water tap and open the glass door of the shower, reaching out your hand blindly to retrieve your towel. After a few seconds of mindlessly flinging your arm and only coming back with a bang of your knuckle against the metal towel holder, you don’t really recall pulling out the towel from your bag, much less hanging it anywhere near the bathroom.

“Oh my god, why today?” The cold of the world outside the shower cubicle washes shivers over you as you open the door wide enough to fit your head around, scanning to see if there’s any alternative you can use instead. All you’re met with is bundles of toilet paper rolls stacked on top of one another and used toilet paper rolls dumped into a basket haphazardly. Your panic settles a bit quicker as your mind blanks from solutions, but not before a knock is heard through the door with your name being called.

“Yes?” You hide the waver in your voice as best as you can, closing the glass door just a bit more.

“Is everything okay?” Jisung’s voice rumbles through the door. Your hand flies to your body, suddenly feeling exposed with the reminder of Jisung’s presence. Slipping back into the shower, you raise your voice as much as you can to be heard through the door; “Yup! Everything’s fine. Just . . .” It’s just I’m dripping and naked in your house and the only remedy is a towel, which I don’t have.

“I noticed you forgot your towel,” The muffle of his voice cuts you out of your trance, “I can give it to you— I mean of course I won’t look! I can just— maybe I’ll stick my hand in?” You laugh slightly at the fact that he’s just as flustered as you, before replying with an agreement. 

As he opens the door with the smallest gap to fit the towel and then his wrist, the cold air of the outside reminds you again of your stark nakedness, one hand going across your chest as you reach your other to grab at the towel. With a skim of your wet fingers against his warm and dry ones, you retrieve your towel with a shy thanks, as Jisung quickly goes to close the door.

While getting ready as quickly as you could in the bathroom, your mind was filled with thoughts of how you were supposed to face Jisung after that whole incident. You couldn’t think if it was better to joke about it and get it over with or forget about it and have to come back one day for some form of closure. You hoped there was no need for closure.

But before your overthinking could get to you, Jisung regarded you like he would any other day when you stepped out of his bathroom — with a shy look and awkward hands — and you immediately relax, shoulders slumping as you go up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Jisung’s eyes flit towards it, but not for long before he opens the door and lets you lead the way.

The trip to the ice cream store was a short one, requiring only a train ride to the han rivers’ skirts where the shop is situated. The store itself was busy with people sitting all around snacking on its offerings, but once you get your respective ice creams and head out back towards the river, it’s a bit quieter; a breeze slips past you as you wrap an arm around yourself. With spring in the air, the trees’ full bloom flowers scatter around the pavement and are imprinted by the soles of your hoses as you walk by.

Finding a bench by the tree, the two of settle down on it, as you turn and face Jisung in anticipation of his first try.

“It’s really good, trust me. And it’s like a bit thicker with its mint rather than the chocolate bits which is a bit hard to do when you eat mint chocolate ice cream because it’s always the chocolate that's richer and you get si—” a spoonful of your ice cream is stuffed into your mouth, spluttering you to a stop as you glare at Jisung whos laughing at your expression.

“I had to shut you up one way,” You fist your hand at him in faux aggression, pulling out your spoon and placing it back into your cup.

“Just eat it quickly before it melts,” You exclaim with a hurried expression, feet bouncing up at down in anticipation. Jisung glances at you while he picks up his spoon, prodding at his ice cream before he picks up a spoonful of his ice cream, slowly bringing it to his mouth as he looks at your expression. He only laughs and detours his spoon once, bringing the spoon back up to his lips when the expression on your face shifts to a deadpan.

The pink of his lip contrasts with the mint colour of the ice cream dripping slightly from the spoon, as he finally fits the ice cream in and gives it a taste. Looking at his eyes with suspense, Jisung’s default expression of scepticism is what you see first, before it shifts into surprise, into confusion, and finally into the same expression as a kid getting candy. The glint in his eyes shines bright in the dim lighting that you’re in, as Jisung points to the ice cream while he continues consuming the ice cream.

“It’s good,”

“Of course it’s good. I wouldn’t bring you to try good mint chocolate if it wasn’t actually good mint chocolate,” You stifle a giggle when Jisung throws you a glower.

“You know what I mean,” At his positive reaction, you comfortably dug into your own ice cream, a comfortable silence blanketing you two with background noises of cyclers whizzing by and people talking in the distance.

“You’re doing really well,” Jisung starts with his eyes darted away, suddenly shy to look at you as he says, “In badminton, I mean. Your overhead shots are cleaner than mine.” Eyes still averted, he elbows you lightly with his compliment. You preen at his praise, leaning forward subconsciously to him with a thank you.

“It’s all thanks to you. If you weren’t as good as you are I wouldn’t even know that there are two methods of serving the shuttle.” 

Jisung’s laugh sounds less humorous, “Yeah, it must’ve been weird seeing me play alone during class,” There's a heavy pause as you visibly detect the boy sort through his next words. “I didn’t think you guys were . . . fond of me. When we first started,” You feel your stomach go white, colours flush from your face from his words. Did he know? Were you that blatant? You feel bad, remembering how isolated the boy was at that time as everyone distanced themselves since learning his level of expertise. You weren’t any better, the bitter feeling you harboured when you got ranked into the third group now coming back to you after three months of attending practice.

At the glum expression on your face, Jisung quickly goes to wave his hand. “Ah, it was— it wasn’t your fault or anything. I secluded myself too, so of course it would’ve been hard to talk as comfortably.” He rests his hand on yours that’s pressed against the bench, comforting you as if you’re the one whos been wronged, and not the other way around. Frowning at his consolation, you don’t know what comes over you as you flip your hand around, making your palm face his as you clasp his hands in yours.

You avoid looking at his expression as you make your bold move, looking at the river as you start. “If it makes you feel better, Jaemin always talks about how jealous he is of you whenever you do a smash,” Gathering the courage, you squeeze his fingers as you look at him, another question popping up in your head.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course, but—” You cut yourself short when Jisung nods his head at you, looking at you with a calm demeanour.

“Why do you still come to class if you’re already so good? I mean, I swear you’re at national levels at least,” Jisung snorts at your words, growing shy from your praise.

“I’m being serious, don’t laugh!” Even as you say your words with furrowed eyebrows, your efforts barely last as you smile at his bashful posture. Puffing his cheeks, he ponders a bit on how to answer your question; you’re about to tell him to just forget it, not wanting him to answer something so personal, when he straightens his posture and stares ahead with a determined expression.

“The first time I played badminton was at a family gathering for new years, and I might’ve been four or maybe five when my dad put a racket in my hand and swung my arm around to hit at the throws my cousins would send my way. Then when I got older and was forced to play actual sports in school, the only thing that I was willing to play was badminton. I didn’t try hard in the beginning and was there because I heard that the teacher conducting it didn’t really care,” You snort at the picture of young Jisung barely lifting his hand to play, or letting the shuttle zoom right past him while flinching away entirely.

“But when the interschool competitions came around and I was ranked in the last group to play, I had won by pure luck,” He rubs his hands up and down his pants as he reminisces, shoulder rubbing against your subconsciously. “And then everyone started cheering me on because apparently, my accidental win had helped us accelerate to the next round. It made me feel good that I was the cause of such a thing, so I tried a bit harder the next time. Then I asked the higher ranking kids to help me with my serving, and then my mom to admit me to a badminton class, and I ranked up from F to D, and then to B and then A. My class started to admit me to local competitions outside of school hours, and then it had become such a big part of my life that I was determined to get to a national scale.”

“Did you?” Your voice was quiet when you spoke, ending with a bit of a rasp from its lack of use. You were on the edge of your seat if your position meant anything, arms wrapped around your knees, thighs pressed to your chest, making the waistband of your shorts dig a bit higher. Jisung’s smile is a sentimental one, reminiscent of a win resulting from years of effort.

“I was fifteen when I was cast by a racket sports centre, which focused on training people ranging from kids to young adults to get to national competitions and even more. I was over the moon and became one of those kids you barely see in class and when you do, they’re just sleeping through the subject. My first competition was scheduled three months after my admission, which was unheard of; even kids who have been learning at the place for two years would struggle to pass the first rounds for the entry.” Your eyes move along Jisung’s hand, as he comically explains his words through the movement of his fingers, expanding and collapsing joints onto one another.

“I didn’t win the first one, but I won the second, and the third, and built a streak - although short, just four months into training. In the beginning, it was all so exhilarating, the thrill of winning the title of first place with all these people who were just as gifted, if not even more. And so I would win because I was capable, I didn’t win because I was it was expected of me.”

“But,” You murmur as Jisung halts, bringing his hand down as his fingers fiddle with the texture of the bench. 

“But,” His excitement has burnt down to a sort of nostalgia, and you reach your hand down and clasp your hand over his again, before he looks down and turns his hand, palm facing yours as he links your fingers together. “But then, when I was seventeen, I had passed the initial rounds for the national Olympic competition. It was big news; our centre hadn’t had someone do that in decades, and that was when the pressure was tangible.

“My parents would schedule my day down to the minutes, and my coach made my diet strict, telling me what exactly I should eat each day until the competition. I loved the order and agenda that was set for me; I didn’t have to think what’s next? I just had to keep doing what I was good at. But then came the first round of the match, and the people were ruthless. No one was there to watch two teenagers play badminton, but instead fight for their lives. I didn’t think much about it until my third round that day when the kid I was playing against deliberately tried to hit the ball to my face.” 

You couldn’t help it, your laugh had spilt out before you could even think of stopping it, but Jisung’s squeeze against your hand assured you that it was fine, as he chuckled with you.

“Who the fuck practices hitting the ball at someone's face?” Your voice was pitched higher with exasperation. “Do you reckon he had a cardboard cutout of you to practice on? I doubt someone can do the calculations of face-hitting range that quickly under pressure.” Jisung contemplates your idea teasingly, tilting his head and measuring random angels with his free hand. Seeing that, the weight of your hand held against his now weighs tenfold, as the butterfly in your stomach flutters with the subconscious squeeze of his fingers. You bump at his shoulder as you squeeze yourself closer, bringing your linked hands to rest against your stomach, wanting to hold him closer. 

“It was definitely weird, but it didn’t set me off my rhythm, I just thought that it was a way to rile people up. But my coach was the one irritated, and when the boy had almost hit my eye, that was when my coach started to interfere,” You can only imagine the noise surrounding seventeen-year-old Jisung, his coach stepping forward to halt the game and talking to the referee to take some sort of action, pointing accusing fingers at the opponent and their mentors. 

“The place that we were competing at was big, bigger than what I was used to back then, and there were a lot of people and so it was noisy;  but the noise that my coach and the kid were making was something else. When my coach came back to me, all riled up, I couldn’t do much but take in his energy. I remember being very tense, thinking that I should just step my ground a bit more next time ‘round so they wouldn’t think of doing something like aiming the shuttle at my face.

“I think it was either the fifth? Or the sixth round, when I was in the zone of playing ‘professionally’ rather than doing what I was already good at. I would do overhead deliveries and front-hand serves even though I’d rather do a simple back-hand. Then there was an opening for a smash, it was a weak point for the guy— and I was over the moon with the opportunity. I’d only done the smash successfully maybe enough to count off of my fingers, but I knew that if I timed it right I would get it,” Dread fills your stomach at the direction that Jisung is going, You’re sure if you clench your fingers any harder there would be an imprint left of the poor boy's hand, but Jisung either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

Jisung’s chuckle drifts lightly in the air, “I was too enthusiastic, and I bunched up all my energy into hitting the ball that I’d missed the perfect time and instead had delivered a simple overhead. It would’ve been okay otherwise, I mean, I was able to deliver something instead of losing a measly point, but before I could recover, the shuttle had travelled to the back end of the court, and in my attempt of getting it, I’d tripped and landed pretty badly,” While telling the story, Jisung’s free hand had been wandering over his clothed knee, fingers fiddling with the fabric and one another. Bunching up the fabric at the end of his pant, he pushes up the lax fabric up and over his knee, where a pink and slightly faded surgical scar paints the inner side of his knee. Your hand clasps over your mouth once met with the scar, and your heart fills with admiration as you see him trace his healed gash with sentimentality. Bringing your linked hands to rest on your knee, you prop your cheek against it while looking at him, sparkling eyes encouraging him to continue.

“I couldn’t play anymore after that, not with the same vigour I had before. Suddenly I had to go back to class regularly and didn’t have to do any sort of reps just so I don’t fall behind on my weekly plan. My schedule had more free time than anything, and so I had enough time to get to thinking; what if I hadn’t misstepped? Would I have won? But I knew that all of that thinking wouldn’t do me any good. So when I was watching the Olympics months later, I remember seeing the camera pan onto the coaches, and how happy they were to see their student playing. I missed the joy of playing for the thrill and adrenaline of moving around, and so I thought, why not become a coach?” Understanding fills you as you realise why Jisung is going through all this effort of attending a class that he’s exponentially overqualified for. His cheeks go red as he realises your gaze settling over his figure, now looking away from you and onto the still water. 

You can’t help it, you find it simply so endearing that he’s set his time into achieving something to allow people to have fun with badminton. Feeling overwhelmed with affection from his story and words and actions, you lean over and place a peck on to his cheek. 

The contact was brief, as your lips barely took in the smoothness of his skin before you’re coming back with a start. “Oh my god, Jisung. That’s so cute, you’re generous and you’re going out of your way to do such good things, and you didn't deserve to go through that at such a young age—” Your words were smushed together as you barely reach the end of your sentence, the cause being Jisung’s big hands gently attacking your cheeks at once. His wide eyes stare straight at yours as his colder hands warm against the puff of your cheeks; and you are seconds away from voicing your confusion before you see his gaze settling on your pouted lips, glistening and redder from the ice cream. 

You couldn’t even smile teasingly at him, as his hands refrain you from doing so. The nervous adrenaline running in your vein might be another reason too, but you don’t get to ponder on that for long before you see Jisung’s tilted head leaning closer, hooded eyes glancing at your eyes before focusing back on your lips, wanting to imprint it’s cute pouted shape.

The warmth of his lips lands on your cold ones, sending a wave of warmth to wash over you. You can feel his desire through the pressure of his lips against you, his soft lips fitting over yours lovingly. You mourn the loss as soon as Jisung pulls back, but not for long before he presses another close-mouthed kiss, this time with his hand tilting your head the other way, fingers slipping and cupping your jaw gently. Your stomach warms as you feel the fervour within Jisung, from the tip of his cold fingers on your heated cheeks to the push of his body towards you, wanting to get closer with each passing second. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are clouded with the haze of your kiss and a bit of timidity. Your giggle bubbles between you, causing him to smile along with you, his shyness catching up. Not wanting his hand to stray far as they fall from your face, you clasp at his palm and lace your fingers, pulling down to get his face closer to yours, placing a peck at his nose first, scrunched from being bashful, and then one on his lips. And another, and another, then it’s him who’s leaning in and slotting his lips against yours, and you’re pulling your linked hands behind your back and let go, opting to slot your hand behind his neck.

After two, three, and four more kisses to the cheek, forehead and lips, you tuck your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, feeling shy from doing all of this in public. Jisung’s laugh is sweet to your ears, hands rubbing up and down your back before brushing at the ends of your hair. 

“Give a warning next time round, will you?” You tease as you pull back, hand falling on his forearms, eyes looking everywhere but at his.

“Sorry, you just looked too cute. I felt this sudden urge to either bite you or kiss you,”

You pull back even more, hands coming up to shield yourself in mock reservation. “I don’t know if I should be thankful you chose the second option or fear for when the first option will happen,”

Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”

Your pinkies are linked as you walk along the river, basking in each other's presence as you talk, shoulders brushing every now and then. It’s when you’re both childishly debating about who had fallen first when Jisung suddenly points his finger at you accusingly.

“Is that why you forgot your towel?” His question comes out more genuine than anything, as he tilts his head quickly in thought. With a light gasp, you smack at his shoulder before your arm falls back and crosses on your shoulders, scandalised. “I didn’t!”

“Was that how you were gonna seduce me? By forgetting your towel and having me bring it to you? What was next, you wanted me to lotion your legs for you too?” You can tell he’s teasing this time around, as his tongue pokes at his cheek ever so slightly to withhold the grin that was blooming across his features.

You point your finger at him, catching on. “You probably distracted me with your whole ‘which bottle of shampoo’ debacle just to make me forget it.” Poking at his chest with eyes squinted in suspicion, “You wanted to see me naked on the first date? That’s not very decorum of you.”

Jisung scoffs and rolls his eyes at your accusation, shoulders squaring to better defend himself. “I don’t need to go through all of that just to get to you,” He throws you a quick glance from the corner of his eye, a rush of giddiness washing over him with the look of your flustered expression.

“You’re right,” This time, you’re looking at his lips as you say this, catching Jisung off-guard with your compliance. Moving closer, you rest your hands on his arms, pushing yourself up and closer to his body, chests brushing. Your voice, barely above a whisper, brushes against his ear, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get to me, baby.” 

You know the smile on your face is menacing if Jisung’s gaze on you is anything to go by, partly annoyed and part timid. Ghosting one of your hands down his arm, you slip your fingers in between his and give them a squeeze, giggling as you swing your arm back a forth a bit like a school couple.

Jisung’s next sentence takes a bit of effort to say if his demeanour is anything to go by. With his gaze settled on your intertwined hands and a slightly open mouth— as if to say something, you give his hand another gentle squeeze to encourage him. 

The gleam in his eyes looks more assured as he straightens his posture and looks directly into your eyes, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Leaning in, you give another peck on his cheek, his scent pleasantly wafting through your nose. “I’d love to,”

You can feel the tension grow with the sound of the door closing and sounding its locking chime, toeing off your shoes as you look up at Jisung. He reaches out a hand towards you once you straighten up, pulling you close and guiding you towards the door of his bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, Jisung’s room is clean but still spotted with signs of use, with his desk having papers and laptop wires strewn around while a plethora of empty hangers are placed at the foot of his closet. As he sits on the bed, with his hand still holding yours, he tugs you forward, his free hand going to your thigh, clasping above your knee. 

His eyes glisten as he looks up at you, “This okay?” his touch ghosts on you as he asks this. You nod your head, wanting him to touch you, needing him to touch you more. His fingers grow bolder and heavier in weight, as his hand clasps at the back of your thigh, bending your leg and resting it next to his thigh. Understanding his movements, you follow suit, settling yourself on his thighs with your linked hands resting on his stomach. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against you, easing in with feathery light touches. The slot of your mouths against each other starts a small fire in your stomach, as you push yourself onto him more, needing him to know that you crave more. 

He sighs against your lips as you settle down more, the pressure not far from where he wants it the most. He kisses you feverishly, the smack of your lips growing louder with each plant of his lips. His touches grow heavier as his fingers go from grazing against your knees to tracing lines up your thighs, barely a touch away from settling under the seem of your skirt. Knitting your fingers in his hair, his hand flies to your love handles, squeezing them in an attempt to ground himself. A sigh leaves his lips when you separate just the slightest bit, taking a breather as you kiss the corner of his lips, hands falling from the ends of his hair down to his collarbones and at the bottom of his shirt. Your spread your fingers on the skin of his stomach, nails skimming ever so slightly making Jisung’s breath hitch, his stomach tensing under your touch, eyes still closed as he takes in your touch, his stomach knotting from finally being able to do this with you.

With his grip already tight on your waist, he maneuvers you off his lap and sits you on his bed, crawling between your legs, making you open them and welcome him in as you lie down on his bed. He kisses you again, his hands now staking claim everywhere he can, pushing your shirt up to your ribs, fingers grazing against your bud form under your bra before he brings his hands down and kneads at your thighs.

“Jisung,” You sigh when he swipes his tongue against your lips. He takes your tongue in his mouth, humming against it at your call, its vibration sending hot waves down your body. His touches on your body take you higher, but you need more.

And so you say just as much, “More, give me more.”

“Fuck,” He sighs against your lip, “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give you more, anything for you,” Pressing one last peck against your lip, you see his body slide down your figure, his fingers going to unhook your bra as you arch your back. He groans at the sight of your breasts free from your bra. “I love your tits, so much,”  His hands are big against you, but they fit perfectly against the cup of your breasts, squeezing them together as he smothers himself against your cleavage. He licks a stripe of each bud, before focusing on your left one with his mouth, tongue lapping around the swell as he sucks, opting to circle his fingers on your other tit before pinching it harshly, making you keen against him.

You rake your fingers in his hair, petting him. “Such a good boy, you make me feel so good,” Your words make him whine against your breast, making his hip stutter against the mattress,  for some sort of friction. He releases one hand from cupping your breasts, opting to use one hand while his now free hand dances its way down your torso, unzipping your skirt and taking it off, before meeting the seam of your panties. With his pointer finger, he hovers a line ever so slightly on your slit, eyes wide as he glances at the pleasure breaking out on your face and the wetness of your underwear spreading.

He keeps his touch light, drawing circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear, frustrating you. You huff when he uses the point of his fingers and presses the slightest amount into your hole, the fabric refraining you from feeling his direct touch. You pull at his hair that’s winded through your fingers, urging him on; he moans at the pull, getting the memo once he looks up at your face with an eye squeezed closed from pain or pleasure. Or both.

He licks at your entrance briefly through your panties, the heat and wetness making you moan, before his fingers finally fit themselves into the seam, sliding them down your legs. You feel more than see his gaze on your core, hooded eyes watching it squeeze around nothing as his fingers tease around it. He comes back up to you and presses his lips against yours, lips slotting together briefly before you feel his thumb rub against your sensitive nub, his middle finger prodding at your hole, eyes watching your face as he pushes the pad of his finger against you. You keen when his finger fills you, as he pushes his finger back and forth, his thumb following by pressing into your clit and pulling away rhythmically. He brings his head against your neck, licking a stripe against you before his teeth catch on your skin, lips wrapping themselves around you straight after, sucking into you before parting and finding another part of your skin to taint. He quickens his pace with his one finger, but it’s not enough, you can barely get enough of him.

Hugging his head that’s still tucked at your neck, you scratch at his scalp soothingly before pulling at strands of his hair. “Jisung,” You pant, “Another one, fill me up, please,”

“You want more?” He bites at your jaw lightly, before he pecks your lips lovingly, as if he isn’t trying to have you come undone with his fingers alone. You nod your head, “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You beg as your cup the side of his face, your eyes looking at his blown-out pupils, probably no different than yours.

Jisung gronas at your words. “You’ve been so good, such a good girl.” He pulls his finger out so just the tip of it hangs onto your gaping hole, before he joins in another finger, two fingers now filling you. You whimper out a thank you, hands clutching at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, hand now slapping against your cunt, fingers curling inside your sopping pussy. Your body feels like it’s floating and coiling into itself all at once, with Jisung’s unrelenting fingers contrasting his gentle pecks and scrape of teeth against your skin. Every few thrusts and squeeze against his fingers have his hips grind down, sometimes grazing against your leg, making you feel his hard-on.

You bring your hand down from his shoulder, curling it at the bottom of his shirt before tugging at it, mumbling the word off. He pulls back slightly and pulls his shirt off with his free hand while you help with getting it over his head. You scratch your nails against the lines of his stomach, eliciting a hiss out of his before you palm at the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. “You listen so well, don't you? Always doing your best,” You pant out, testing the waters as you tuck the tips of your finger under his waistband. His moan comes out higher in pitch with your words, hips jutting forward and into your touch.

“Good for you,” he breathes against your cheek, eyes squeezed shut at the brush of your fingers against his clothed cock, muttering another fuck under his breath, rutting into your palm for more. 

You’re losing your patience, as Jisung speeds up his hand even more, the pleasure bordering with pain from his pace and harsher bites Jisung plants on you, too far gone with pleasuring you to be mindful of his strength. 

You can feel your orgasm reaching, breath hitching and your stomachs coil tightening further and further. You wrap your hand around Jisung’s wrist, slowing him down slowly before prodding them out of you. You whine at the emptiness briefly but are soothed when Jisung plants wet kisses against your collarbone. You push yourself up onto your shoulders, making Jisung shuffle back slightly in order to not lose touch with you, Reaching over, you dig through your bag and pull out a condom, shaking it between your bodies to bring Jisung’s attention to it.

The sound of the plastic wrapper catches his gaze, “You’re gonna let me put it in?” He grabs the packet from your hand before gently pushing you back down. He kisses you again, seeming to not get enough, as he pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, his tip smacking against the soft lines of his stomach and leaving a glisten. The rip of the packet sounds before he rolls it on, and you shift closer when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your pussy.

The sheets ruffle around you as Jisung comes down and places a kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes. “Ready?” He asks, and with a nod of your head, you feel him slowly ease himself into you. The stretch feels amazing, as you both moan into each other mouths, your hands squeezing and wandering everywhere around Jisung’s shoulders, back, torso. 

Jisung sighs, “Fuck,” His grip on your waist tightens, the pressure turning you on even more, squeezing around his cock. “You feel so good, so tight,”

“Fuck, Jisung,” You groan out as he quickens his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against your skin picking up. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Stretching me out so good,” Jisung throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut at the pulse of your pussy around his member. He looks back down, wanting to see the join of your bodies, pulling out till his tip, before ramming himself back in, losing himself to the blissful feeling.

The knot in your stomach tightens. “Jisung, I’m close—” You’re cut off by your own moan as Jisung starts rubbing at your clit again, building a rhythm to his thrusts into you. 

“Yeah? Fuck, let go baby,” He grunts as he bends down, his cock twitching inside of you as he kisses your lips before tucking his head back into your neck, lapping at your skin as he keeps up his speed with his fingers on your clit and his thrusts inside you. Your body curls up as your orgasm crashes into you, hands hugging at Jisung’s shoulders tighter as your thighs squeeze around his hips, keeping him in your pulsing core. Panting, you release your grip from his hip, bringing your leg down and patting Jisung’s head, wanting to kiss him again. 

As he pulls away from you, you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips, chest bursting with the affection you feel while coming down. Jisung pulls his cock out from you, going slow as to not overwhelm you. He pulls off his condom, not having cum yet as his cock smacks against his stomach, the precum from the tip joining the light sheen of sweat covering his body. He fists his hand around his cock, tugging and pumping himself to a finish. You’re too spent to give him a helping hand, but you decide you haven’t spent your mouth enough.

“Pretty boy, you’re doing so well,” He hunches over your body at your words. “Looks so good fisting your own cock like that,”

“Fuck,” He groans, “If you keep going I’m gonna—”

“Cum baby, make a mess on me,” You run your hand up his thigh, before pulling up and grabbing at his hair and combing through the strands. His moan comes out high pitched as his hips stutter into his fist, before a spurt of come shoots out and lands on your stomach. He twists his fist around the head of his cock as he milks it out, before heaving a sigh and slumping down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before he lies by your side, cupping his body into yours. You continue running your hand in his hair as he settles on your shoulder, his cheek poking out which makes you poke at it. A giggle is shared as the giddiness of you two being together in the moment settles in, and when you go to place a kiss at his forehead, you’re reminded of the wetness of sweat all over your body and the slowly drying cum on your stomach.

“Oh, let me go get something,” He gets up and goes to his bathroom, coming back with a few paper towels and a wet cloth. Rubbing down your spent body, he pats you dry with the paper towel before putting them away and plopping down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and tucking himself close.

“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type,” You say as you hug at his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down as a faux massage.

“Well, I mean, I can let go?” Jisung’s nervous front grows again, as he goes to put some distance between the two of you. But before he could get far, you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder as you hook your leg around his, stopping him from pulling away.

“I never said it was bad; I like this girlfriend bonus.” Jisung’s hair bounces as he pops his head up to look at you.

“Girlfriend bonus? Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

“Only if you agree to my boyfriend bonuses,” You shrug. He laughs as he places his head back on your shoulder. “What are these so-called ‘boyfriend bonuses’ of yours?” You tap at your chin mockingly as you think.

“You can fuck my boobs next time?” You shrug again. His head whips up faster this time ‘round.

“Are you serious? Don’t joke about it, because if you are I won’t be—” You smack your hands on his cheeks, squeezing his lips into a pout. His shoulders slump at your attempt of shutting him up, eyebrows drooping as he gazes at you, making you laugh at his expression as you squish his cheeks repeatedly.

“Okay, good job guys, take a water break.” Coach Son claps, as everyone shuffles to their bags and grab at their bottles. Jisung’s elbow brushes against yours as he grabs his bottle from his bag next to yours, taking a few light sips before he places it down, looking at you with his cheeks full of water. It takes all his might to not spit the water out as you elbow him back and raise your fingers tauntingly, moving closer as if you’re about to tickle him.

Before you can successfully begin your quest, Coach lets out a sound as to gather you guys back ‘round, clapping his hands twice before waving you guys in.

“Since we’re coming to the end of the semester and you guys have proved to work really hard, I’m gonna conduct one last test to see how much your levels have changed since the beginning of the semester!”

“Oh my god,” You whisper out to Jisung as your hand cups your mouth, wide eyes looking at his as his eyebrows raise in surprise. This could finally be the moment that you can prove yourself, advancing onto a higher level to have an overall better ranking.

“Who wants to go first?” Jaemin steps up and raises his hand, confidently wanting to prove his skills. 

He plays a round with the coach, showing signs of trying his best and knowing how to play, but his reaction speed comes a bit too late as he misses the shuttles by a step. Sometimes two. Sometimes he mixes up his left from his right, but that’s just occasionally. Minji and Ryujin play a round each, and show good improvement throughout the semester.

“You should go next,” Jisung leans into as he whispers, both of your gazes settled on the coach and Ryujin going back and forth with clears being delivered. Your blood rushes quicker at the thought of playing an official round, thinking of all the mistakes you can make that would cost you. 

Sensing your nerves, Jisung places his hand on yours, grabbing it before giving the palm of your hand soothing rubs. “To help with the nerves,” He says when you look at your joint hands questioningly.

“Alright, next player?” Giving your hand a light squeeze, Jisung lets go and ushers you forward onto the court, as you raise your hand slightly, grabbing at your racket once Coach nods you in.

Arranging yourself, you pick up the shuttle left at your side and get into your serve position. You hit the shuttle and serve, commencing the game. You are able to reciprocate most of coach’s deliveries, stepping left and right when needed and angling your racket to optimise your own delivery, but it’s when you’re halfway through the game with Coach Son’s and your score being eleven and ten respectively, coach starts playing with a more advanced method. The drops become more frequent, catching you off guard as you have to run from the back to the front of the court in order to make it to the shuttle, as well as the clears going in different angles making you almost trip a few times as you attempt to make it to them.

Jisung has his fist at his mouth as he watches you from the side, with everyone else in awe at how quickly you’re moving compared to the last time they played officially.

“How did she get so good?” Haechan questions with his hand pressed on his racket. The whole class shifts their head from left to right at the sidelines as they watch you battling it out with their coach, the shuttle relentlessly being delivered with neither of you wanting to lose touch of it.

“It’s the perks she gets for having an almost professional-level badminton player of a boyfriend.” Ryujin’s smile is devoid of any callousness, patting at Jisung’s shoulder as she says this. Jisung can feel his cheeks grow red as he splutters into his sleeve, hiding his flustered expression as the rest of them shout out their reactions.

“All credit goes to her, she’s just a diligent student.” 

“I can be diligent too,” Jaemin bats his lashes as he leans in from Jisung’s other side, but flinches and clutches at his shoulder when Soojin smacks him.

Back on the court, you’re starting to lose your breath when Coach delivers another serve to the back of the court, shuttle going straight as you attempt to create enough distance to successfully hit back. As he does a clear delivery, you position yourself at the back fo the court in order to meet his hit, before quickly centring yourself, preparing for his next move. From a steady pattern of his serves growing in your head, you were more than ready to reciprocate his short hit of the shuttle near the net, as you step forward and hit back.

Usually, you would’ve stumbled to hit the shuttle back at maximum velocity, sending it flying up and giving Coach more than enough time to think of his next move. But from your extra hours of playing with Jisung, you’re picked up the knack of delivering a short end with another short end, making the shuttle travel only the slightest bit over the net and plummeting down into the court. Coach Son is caught off guard when you do this, but his reflexes from years of practise kicks in, and before he could process his actions, he delivers a lob, sending the shuttle high in the air. Jisung gasps from the sidelines, making everyone alert.

He calls out your name, “Smash! Do a smash!” 

With your eye settled on the descending shuttle, you think back to the one class you had with Jisung.

“You hit a clear when the shuttle can meet your hand at twelve o’clock. You have to wait for it to drop to the same level that you’re hand would be at a ten o’clock position to be able to deliver a smash; but remember that you have to keep going with your delivery until your hand reaches six o’clock.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You’re still not sure what he meant, but with the fall of the shuttle, you’re not really at the privilege of recalling things for a long amount of time. 

Positioning your hand at the first base, you wait for the shuttle to be at least a few inches from your head before you reach out, smacking at the shuttle and aiming at the bottom of the court. Coach, who was ready for you to hit the shuttle to the back of the court like you usually do, was not ready for the shuttle which was arriving at a quick pace. In a blink, the shuttle lands just past his ankles, and you’ve officially scored a point.

“Jisung!” You scream once the shuttle lands, looking at your boyfriend who was staring intently at your match. A look of victory glows across his face as his mouth drops in disbelief, eyebrows raised and fists clenched, over the moon at what you had just accomplished.

“I smashed! I did it! I smashed so hard oh my god, I think my arms gonna fall off,” The game is far from done for you to be celebrating like this, but you’re without care when the rest of the class cheers for you, Minji running up to you to give you a hug. You both start jumping with giddy while the rest join in, all while the coach looks at your huddled bunch with a smile on his face.

“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”

“Why’d you talk about me as if I was a dog?”

“Because you are,” Juda shrugs before she plucks out a Yakult bottle from the packet in her hand, swingin it above Chenle’s face. “Who wants a treat? You do! Who’s a good boy?”

“Nice to . . . meet you guys too?” Jisung’s wave hangs mid air as he looks at Chenle slowly shift from a expressionless face to enthusiastically nodding his head up and down, wanting the drink.

“What did I tell you? You’ll fit just right in with us,” You link your arm through Jisung’s elbow, pulling him into your shared house with Juda before sitting him down on the couch. Juda and Chenle follow after, with the latter having his own bottle open and already emptied halfway. Juda offers Jisung yakult bottle, and goes to pick up the remote, going through the movies to put something on. You quickly grab a few snacks from the kitchen and come back, settling yourself right next to Jisung, leaving no space between the both of you.

“Wait,” Chenle turns to look at you from his positon on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight of you two cuddled up, before continuing. “What happened with the new ranking then?” Your smile is shy when you look at him and Juda looking back at you expectantly. 

“I got into group B.”

“YES!” Chenle whoops, grabbing Juda and shaking her by the shoulders. “No more whining and complaining and whinging about the class!” You chuckle as you cheer alongside him, with Jisung looking at your interactions with raised eyebrows. 

Laughing, you tuck yourself into his side, linking your arms again as you rest your head on his shoulder. With Juda and Chenle bickering about settling on what movie to watch, you press a quick kiss on his cheek in appreciation.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” You smile at him, to which he grins shyly at. “Even though I lost, the smash pulled me through. Your smashing abilities were so flawless that even I, a young duckling was able to smash through,”

“Okay, thank you for the compliment but maybe don’t say how good my smashing abilities are—”

“You just smash so hard and so well—”

“Please—”

“Jisung the smash master!”

if you liked this, dont be afraid to tell me !

[beomcoups]

Caller #17

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: basketball player!Soonyoung x college dj reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, 90s au

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: PG-13

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, talks of tough family dynamics, bit of heavy angst, kissing

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.8k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You could easily name 10 things that you hate about him. But when you bond over music and families, you realize there's more to him than meets the surface.

𝐀𝐍: This was not an easy fic. It took me way longer than I planned to write, and the story I had mapped out went in a different direction. I still feel proud of this one, my longest fic yet, and I hope that you will enjoy it too 🥹 This is a part of my very own Now That's 90's collab hosted by me and @mingsolo. Thank you to @wooahaeproductions for reading this over and @hobeemin for making a banner for me at the last minute 💙

“Thank you for calling into C.A.R.A.T radio! What’s your song of the week?” “Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve!” “You got it! Thanks for calling into C.A.R.A.T radio at 526 AM.” Hitting play on the record, the orchestra's melody hits your ears, sending you into an out-of-body experience, your soul floating to cloud nine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand every time the song is played, and you imagine yourself playing the violin, getting lost in the beautiful and complicated sinfonia.  Working at the college radio station was your life. It’s the only place to lose yourself to TLC, Nirvana, and Weezer for hours without judgment. You are in your 3rd year of college, getting your bachelor’s in music theory so you can be one of the most prominent songwriters in the world. While everyone in high school didn’t know what they would be doing with their life, you always imagined yourself getting a Grammy for Song of the Year on stage. That is your real passion: creating musical poetry for the masses.

You slowly take the headphones off and set them down, looking at the big clock plastered on the wall. You let out a heavy sigh, sad that your time at the station is ending. You are allotted two hours a day on Saturday as a part of credit for your program. If you had it your way, you would be here daily, listening to your favorite records and writing songs between commercial breaks.

“Hey,” your professor Kim calls out from her office. “Come in here before you leave.”

You gather your things to leave, looking at the station one last time before entering the smaller space. This isn’t her regular office, but it has everything you think you would need: a desk, a comfortable chair, and bookshelves full of books and ornaments for decoration. You have spent a lot of time in here, pitching new ideas for the station and getting turned down every single time.

“What's up?” You sit in the chair opposite of her.

“So we will be introducing a new segment to the radio where callers can call in and ask for advice about anything, and then you can recommend a song based on what they are calling in about.:” She pauses to take a sip of water. “I want you to be a part of it.”

You don’t answer right away. You are peeved that Professor Kim wants you to head any segment. You have never shown any initiative to want to talk to anyone who calls in besides listening to music. It’s just not your thing. You are a loner at heart, and that’s how you plan to stay.

“Why me?” You finally speak up. “There are other people who are better at this than I am. Hell, ask Emily. She has been foaming at the mouth to talk about anything other than music.”

“Because you are who I want,” she shrugs. “I see how you look when you talk about your favorite releases. You go deep with the lyrics and how you can relate that to any part of your life. You are more than the person behind the voice, and it’s time other people see that.” “Well, I am not trying to be the next Oprah or Ricki Lake,” you scoff. I just want to play music, write my songs, and do whatever I need to do for the class.”

“No one said you would be the next talk show anything,” Professor Kim retorted. “This will be considered a project, and it’s worth 20% of your grade. Plus, when you are in the industry and have sessions with the artists about the song's lyrics, don’t you need to talk to them about their life and what they need? Think about that.” You nod, feeling defeated because you know you can’t talk your way out of this. You know she is right, but you will never admit it. “Plus, it’ll be a good idea to get out of your shell and work on those social skills,” she says. “We will start in a couple of weeks, so get your mind ready because before you know it, you will be there.” You nod and leave the office, your stomach grumbling loudly as you put your headphones on and listen to the latest Backstreet Boys release. It’s a quarter past seven, and dusk officially sets in the sky as you walk across campus. Working at the radio station is the highlight of your week, as you can’t play music loud at your dorm without others complaining. Fortunately, your dorm is set where you have your own space, but the walls are thin, and you can hear everything. You considered buying noise-canceling foam to cover your door but were told it was “against” the rules. Whatever. Your stomach rumbles again, and you are determined to get a burger and fries in your stomach and drink an Oreo milkshake. You cross the street, open your bag, and grab your wallet before being met with a screeching halt from a car in front of you, its headlights blaring in your eyes. “What the fuck?” You mouth at the driver. The driver pokes his head out the window, and you instantly recognize him as Soonyoung, the star point guard of the basketball team. His black Jeep is crowded, full of guys and girls, with Usher blasting through the speakers. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” he waves. “Yeah, no shit,” you retort, walking to the end before the car pulls off. Jeers and boos could be heard, but you could care less. People like that always get in your way no matter what. You avoid people like that as much as people, as you don’t want to be mixed in with that crowd. Soonyoung will eventually go pro and live the NBA life, whereas you will be on the stage accepting awards, with millions of people cheering your name.

The segment started as planned, and you sat and listened to every caller asking for advice. Most of them wanted advice on how to ask someone out for a date, makeup, and things you didn’t care about. The only thing that made it worth it was you got to pick the music to go with the advice, which allowed you to show off your taste in music, from Britney Spears to Mandy Moore, Usher, Sugar Ray, etc. It made the time go by faster as well. You look through the glass, and Professor Kim gives you a thumbs up to take the last call. Letting out a sigh of relief, you let the call ring a few times before you answer. “Welcome to C.A.R.A.T radio. You are lucky caller number 17. What’s on your mind?” “H-hello?” a tenured male voice booms through the speakers. You groan, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’ve reached C.A.R.A.T radio! What’s on your mind?”

“Hey. You can use this line to ask for advice, right?”

“Yep,” you say, a bit annoyed. “Whatcha got?”

There is a lengthy pause, your fingers tapping dramatically on the soundboard. You raise an eyebrow at the professor, who shrugs and walks out of your view. You hear shuffling in the background, followed by what sounds like something being sipped from a cup.

“S-sorry, I am a bit nervous,” he apologizes. “It’s my first time calling in.”

“It’s alright,” you reassure him. “I know how it is. How can I help?”

“So I already have this path carved out for me by my family and everyone who cares about me. Sports is all I have known all my life, and I have worked very hard to get here.” He stops for a brief second. “Everyone expects me to act like this all-star college boy, and no one ever talks to me about anything else than sports, and I am starting to hate it.”

“Do you mind telling me what kind of sports you’re in?”

“I play ball.”

“Okay, that's good. Well, what is it that you want?”

“I’m tired of being what everyone wants me to be: this golden retriever everyone loves. I just want to be me.” You understood how he felt. Maybe not in sports, but people pushing you to be something you’re not. You come from a family of doctors and lawyers who expected you to be the same. “Get good grades so you can get into an Ivy League school” is all you heard growing up. When you were seven, you expressed interest in music, sitting in front of the family piano on Christmas and playing Jingle Bells, which you learned on your own. Your parents cared for a while, putting you in piano lessons and taking you all over the state for recitals. They figured if you kept this up until high school, it would look good on college applications, but nothing that they took you seriously for. It wasn’t until you learned how to play the guitar in secret that you fell in love with how the strings strummed against your fingers that you realized that your passion is music. Thanks to your choir teacher, you had a good voice and kept it in tune while practicing writing music. You soon sang in front of the school, getting high praise from people all over for your voice and how you would “make it big one day.” Your parents insisted that it was just a phase and that eventually you would become a doctor and make a “real” living. You were determined to prove them wrong by applying to one of the best music schools and getting in on a full ride. You did that, but it came with a cost: being cut off by everyone in your family but your grandparents. They believed in you from the beginning and made sure you were okay. You will pay them back in tenfold one day. “Hello?” the deep voice cut through your thoughts. “Y-yeah, sorry,” you snap back into focus. “Do you want my advice?” “Yeah, I do,” you hear him clear your throat. ‘I think you should be who you want to be. It may feel a little different at first, but eventually, you will be happier being yourself.” “I mean…” he pauses for another second. “How do I go about that? How do I show people the real me?” “Hmm,” you think out loud. “Why don’t you try easing into it? Start a random conversation about something you are interested in that no one knows about. Gauge their reactions, and if they treat you weirdly, then start making new friends. It might be a little harder with your family, but they will come around. But either way, it’s exhausting having to hide yourself at the time. It’s the 90s and a new era!” “Yeah,” he says slowly. I’ll try that.Thanks.” “No problem!” You say. “Check out this song that’ll hopefully speak to your heart. This is me signing off on CARAT Radio, 800am.” You played “You Gotta Be” by Des’ree, a personal favorite, closing out the end of your segment. Admittedly, it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. Sure, some questions were annoying, but it allowed you to pass on music to people and help them get over whatever. You can’t call that a total loss. You push the mic to the side and leave the room, checking in with your professor before leaving. “Great job,” she leaned back into her seat. “You were well-spoken and composed, and the music selections were excellent. Have you thought about being a radio DJ?” “NO,” you snort. “I want to be more behind the scenes, writing songs and getting Grammys.” “Okay, okay,” Professor Kim chuckles. “But don’t rule it out. You are a natural at it.” You nod and head out the door with a small smile. Getting complimented about your work feels good, but you rule out being a radio DJ. You deal with people if you have to, but you prefer to have time for yourself a lot of times. You’re just introverted like that. However, that last call was in the back of your mind. You just want to live and succeed at your dream job. It was nice knowing someone out there felt the same way you did. 

Before you knew it, a few weeks had passed, and you had secretly liked doing the segment every Saturday, talking to people from different backgrounds and listening to their troubles. You had a song for every call, and you bragged to your professor at the end of your shift that you had impeccable taste. The analytics showed that more people were tuning in during your segment than at any other time on the radio. Not gonna lie; it stroked your ego quite a bit.

The mystery guy called in on Saturdays, ironically being caller #17 every time. He would call and ask for advice about getting his grades up, coming out of his comfort zone, trying new things, etc. You got to know him a little, see how he solves problems, and see his sense of humor. You have no idea what he looked like, but you imagined he was just your type, like a Keanu Reeves, Theo Mizuhara, or Merlin Santana. Is it crazy that you sometimes daydream about a man you never met?

Today was the last day of the advice segment, and everyone called in with their usual advice and well wishes. Like clockwork, the mystery guy was caller #17. His breathing was labored when you answered, followed by a clunk of metal hitting the floor. “Welcome to C.A.R.A.T radio. You are lucky caller number 17. What’s your damage?”

“H-hey.” You know it was him; the sound of his voice was familiar to you. You shift in your seat, sitting straight and placing your elbows on the desk. You try to keep a poker face, your professor watching you with curious eyes. “Hey there,” you clear your throat. “How can I help?” “I heard today is the last day to ask for advice,” he says. “I can’t say I won’t miss calling and hearing your voice every Saturday.” “Oh yeah?” you chuckle. “ That’s good to know. Well, what is the last piece of advice that I can give you?” “So, there is this girl,” he starts. “I really like her. She’s cute, a bit of a hard ass, and I really like her mind. She’s not like anyone that I’ve met. How do I ask her out?” “Does she know you exist?” “Yeah. I almost ran into her once, but we talked a lot.” “Ah. Do you think she might like you?” “I-I’m not sure,” he stutters. “We get along and everything and we have some things in common. I just don’t know if she would be into me.” “Okay, well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask her out? The worst that can happen is that she says no; at least you’d know.” “Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m nervous as hell, that’s all. Have you dated anyone before?” You are taken aback, your professor raising her eyebrows through the glass. You nod, licking your lips before responding. “I’ve dated here and there,” you say slyly. “It wasn't anything serious. What about you?” ‘Um, yeah, I have,” he snorts.

“Well, there you go then, tiger.” You’re clearly entertained by this conversation. “Remember how you felt when you asked the other girls out, and apply that same confidence to this girl. You never know. She might say yes.” “Okay, I will take your word for it. Thank you.” “Not a problem!” You beam. “Here is the last song I leave you with: ’ 4-page letter’ by Aaliyah. Have a good night, ya’ll.”

You play the final track of the night, setting down the headphones while Professor Kim claps her hands in applause. You roll your eyes playfully, pushing your chair onto the desk and exiting the booth. You feel light as a feather, dopamine taking over your body as you meet your professor in her office. “Great job,” she smiles. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” “Maybe,” you plop down on a chair. “It was fun giving out music suggestions.” “Mhmm,” she nods. “Well, get out there and enjoy your Saturday. I will see you in class on Friday.” You grab your things and leave the station, your stomach rumbling and your mouth parched. It’s after 8, and the nearest thing open is the local pizza joint with the best pepperoni pizza with the cheesiest cheese you’ve ever had. You go there often, and the owners, Dante and Gabriella, get your order ready before you sit down. “The usual?” they always ask, knowing that you are a creature of habit. Aside from your grandparents, they were the closest thing to family to you, always making sure your pizza was hot and crispy with a tall cup of Coke to go with it. They asked about your studies, and Gabriella always asked when you’d get a boyfriend. 

“Ah, stop it, amore mio,” Dante jokingly shushes her. “She has all her life to find the love of her life.”

More people started coming in, and they left you to your food and your walkman. You gleefully put Parmesan cheese over your pizza, taking the first bite and feeling instant gratification. A slice of heaven, literally. You take your headphones on, listening to Kurt Cobain croon on Nirvana’s Something In The Way. The “Nevermind” album got you through some tough times, especially when your family cut off communication with you. It hurt you and made you feel isolated and misunderstood. On the outside, your mom and dad put on this persona of being open-minded and willing to do anything for the family. Why were you the exception? You feel the tears well up, and you get yourself together before people start to notice, eating the rest of your pizza before you call it a night. You look around, seeing people on dates or hanging out with their friends, and you miss that. You had friends back home, but you all split up before you went to college. Who knows what their lives are like now. It’s not like you are visiting home anyway. You clean up your mess and walk into the bathroom, relieving yourself and washing your hands before returning to your dorm. You looked at yourself in the mirror: your jean jacket covered your black button-up shirt, shorts, and stockings underneath. Your eyes were slightly red, a contrast from your fresh face. Stifling a yawn, you leave and wave goodbye to Dante, opening the side door and bumping into someone in the process. You look up, facing Soonyoung, his cheerful eyes meeting yours. “We gotta stop meeting like this,” you mutter, backing up and adjusting your jacket. “Yeah, we shouldn’t,” he responds, opening the door to let you out. Your head snaps up, half expecting him to not hear you.  You rake your fingers through your hair, walking out of the restaurant. He’s a handsome guy, you can admit that, with his fresh, faded haircut and trendy clothes. You get why he is popular with everyone. “I’m sorry for almost hitting you with my car the other day,” he calls out. “It’s alright,” you turn around. “Just don’t make it a habit.” “Alright.” He chuckles and goes inside, and you speed walk to your dorm. Did I just flirt with him? You think to yourself. What the fuck was that? You aren’t even interested in Soonyoung in that way. You two are the two opposites of each other. You’re clearly losing your mind.

The cool air calms you down, and the slight breeze underneath the moonlight keeps you at bay until you get to your building. It’s Saturday night, and everyone’s out; the only sound being heard is your boots hitting the tiled floor as you walk down the hallway to your dorm. Unlocking your door, you notice an envelope tucked underneath it. You sit on the bed, open it, and pull out a letter. I know this isn't a four-page letter, but I like you. You’re funny, have good jams, and are down to earth. Did I say that you’re cute? I like talking to you every Saturday and don’t want it to stop. 

 I want to take you out to a concert on Friday. I’ll pick you up at 4 at your dorm. I know you've said yes if you’re there when I arrive. —Caller #17

“What do you think of this?” Your former roommate and good friend, Nikki Prince, holds up a black leather jacket in your size. You asked her to go shopping with you for an outfit for tomorrow's impending date, and you needed another set of eyes. She majors in architecture and design but models on the side thanks to her striking looks. A tall, tanned skin and green-eyed beauty, she now lives with her much older chef boyfriend, Caelan, but whenever you need her, she’s always there. She’s French, stylish, and brutally honest. You loved that about her. “I dig that,” you take it from her and try it on. It fits you just right. It would be chilly, so you bought new boots, a white shirt, and black jean shorts to wear with black stockings underneath. You wanted to be comfortable as you would be on your feet all night. 

“Are you sure about this date?” Nikki’s foreign accent comes through. “How do you know this guy isn’t some serial killer? We’ve all seen Scream.” “Gee, thanks, mom,” you roll your eyes. “If he tries anything with me, I’ll just show him the moves I learned from the YMCA.” 

“I’m serious. This is risque for you, no?” You shrug, slowly taking off the jacket and heading to the cashier. “I get your point, and if anything happens, I can defend myself. But I have a feeling that it won’t happen.” You greet the cashier and pay for the jacket. “I’ll call you before I leave and tell you about it the next day. Deal?” Nikki nods, and you both walk out of the store, satisfied with what you bought. The mall is busy for a Thursday night, with young adults frolicking at stores like Rave and Wet Seal, looking for the latest fashion trends. The mall isn’t really your scene, as you prefer to thrift shop for your clothes. You have been lucky to find some hidden gems there, especially since you are on a limited budget. Nikki, however, said it was a special occasion, and you quote, “You are not going on a date in someone else’s vêtements.”

You stop at Auntie Anne’s, buying a massive pretzel with cheese on the side, while Nikki opts for a small lemonade. You offer her a piece, which she declines, saying her boyfriend, Caelan, will make her dinner later. “How is that going, by the way?” You sit down at a table. “It’s going good,” she enthuses, raking her fingers through her long black tresses. “He’s so mature and sophisticated. Imagine not having to cook and clean after a man and have good sex.” “Well, yeah, he’s about six years older,” you remark. He better know a thing or two if he wants to keep his model.” Nikki gloats as you finish your pretzel, talking about the elaborate French dishes her boyfriend makes for her and how he worships the ground she walks on. Since you’ve known her, she has always been opinionated and refused to associate with people within your age group. Whenever you see her in the hallways, she always talks with teachers or ignores the lustful looks of college boys. You two got on well because you were roommates, and both were Scorpio risings. You understood each other. “Oh shoot, I better head back to the flat,” Nikki says, looking at her watch. Caelan is going to be home soon, and he is making steak frites tonight.” 

“Yeah, I gotta head to the dorm anyway. Early class tomorrow.”

You walk out of the mall into the chilly night air. She offers you a ride home, and you decline at first, saying that you will walk as it's pretty close. But a slight wind blows, bringing chills down your spine.

“Wait,” you shout after her. “I’ll take that ride.”

The ride was short and quiet, your mind occupied with your date with this mystery stranger. Nikki was right, you don’t know him, and he could be this crazy guy. But you’re also excited; the butterflies haven’t left your stomach since Saturday. You feel like you know him, and you don’t even know his name. He is just caller #17.

She pulls up to your building, and you hug her, preparing to run inside and shower. You know Nikki is still worried and means well, even if she sometimes acts like an overbearing old sister.

“Come over tomorrow at two if you can,” you announce. “You can help me get ready and meet my date in case anything goes crazy.”

“Alright,” Nikki seems relieved. “I’ll be there.”

You shut the door and shout your goodbyes before sprinting inside.

“Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah!”

The next day went fast, like a blur. You slept past your alarm and woke up after twelve, making you two hours late.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” you shout as you scrambled out of bed and tripped over a blanket. You throw on a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater from the University, your hair in a wild ponytail as you brush your teeth and high-tailed it out the door. You ran to class, forming an apology along the way, your heart beating out of your chest. You are met, however, with a closed door and a white paper plastered on the door:

NO CLASS TODAY. ENJOY YOUR WEEKEND.

“Really?” You huffed, leaning against the wall. It’s not like you are late for class; your alarm was

set despite you being up late last night. But whatever, fuck it. You aren’t about to let this ruin your day.

The leaves flow softly with the wind as you walk back to your dorm, the sun playing hide and seek in the clouds. All you can think about is tonight and what concert you are going to. Maybe it’s a huge concert, and that’s why he is picking you up early… or perhaps it’s a local indie band at a bar. Your mind runs with endless possibilities, excitement pumping through your veins. You aren’t a hopeless romantic or a love-at-first-sight kind of person, but something about this person makes you feel good… like you finally have someone who can relate to you on some level. Granted, you have only talked with him on the phone, but you have a gut feeling and are rarely wrong about these things. You finally return to your dorm and take a well-needed shower, washing and detangling your hair with much-needed privacy. Your dorm has shared showers; you usually take them when everyone is asleep at night. Fortunately, there were only a few people, allowing you to have time for yourself. You allow yourself to think of the water running down your body as him, his hands caressing your body, his lips maybe touching yours— “Is anyone in here?” You snap out of your daydream quickly, and the water turns cold right on queue. “Y-yeah?” “I am here to clean the showers,” a woman’s voice calls from the door. “O-okay, give me a second.” Cursing silently, you quickly step out and dry yourself, throwing on your robe and grabbing your shower caddy before exiting the bathroom. You are met by an older woman wearing a shirt representing your college and sweats, with cleaning supplies in tow. “You were in there for a while,” she remarks as she sets out the wet floor sign. Do you have a hot date tonight?” “Something like that,” you shrug. You walk back to your room, and to your surprise, Nikki is outside your door. “You’re early,” you remark, unlocking the door. “Yes, I know,” she said. “But we will need more than two hours to get yourself right.” “You act like I can’t dress myself,” you scoff. “I just wanted your company, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah? Mon ami, when was the last time you changed your makeup?” You open your mouth to rebuttal but close it immediately. You hate to say it, but Nikki’s right. It’s not like you are going anywhere besides school, the music store, and the pizzeria. “Exactly,” Nikki says, setting her stuff down on her bed. “I went and got you makeup close to your teint, just in case.” She pulls out brand-new makeup from Revlon from mascaras, concealers, powders, and assortments of lipsticks of my choosing. She also bought nail polishes, saying it was time to add some color to your life. As much as you want to roll your eyes at her, she is right. As harsh as Nikki seems sometimes, she has a big heart and always looks out for you when you least expect it. You know a thing or two about style, but she takes it to a whole different level and isn’t shy about giving advice on it. You appreciate her so much. Being honest with yourself, you are nervous as hell. You have had crushes before, but you have never been pursued like this, where someone likes you enough to ask you out formerly, even if it was via a note. This person cares about your mind or seems to. You aren’t sure how to feel; you want to be excited and have a good time, but you have a wall up for a reason. You don’t want to be disappointed again like your family has. You figured if the people you love the most can abandon you like that, there is no hope for you out there. You lived with that hard truth for a long time, and you were content with that. But god, this guy has you curious. “What’s on your mind?” Nikki finishes with your makeup and hair, gazing at you through the mirror. “Butterflies in my stomach are killing me,” you grimace. “I can’t believe I am even doing this.” “Oh, relax,” she blows a raspberry. “You always do this thing where you talk yourself out of things you deserve. Stop that. D'accord? “Yes, mother,” you tease. She sucks her teeth, and you get dressed, putting on the new clothes you bought and your black leather boots. Checking out your appearance, you are satisfied with your look, and Nikki gives you a thumbs up while she cleans up. Knock, Knock! You look at the door, the butterflies fluttering deeper in your stomach. You look in the mirror one last time as Nikki opens the door, a brief silence followed by a heart chuckle. “Mon ami, your date is here.”

You see him, and you're stunned. It dawns on you why he’s here, and you feel your heart drop all the way to your ass. This has to be some kind of joke. “Soonyoung? What are you doing here?” He walks more into your view, wearing a grey jean jacket with matching pants. His right hand is in his pocket, and he has a small bouquet of irises in his other hand. “I’m here to take you to the concert?” Nikki is behind him, trying to keep her composure and mask her giggles. Of all the people you thought would show up, Soonyoung was the LAST person on your mind. This is the person who was calling in every Friday and wanting to talk to you? Yeah fucking right. “What happened?” you accost him. “Did you lose some bet, and you had to ask me out? Or do you feel bad for almost hitting me with your car?” “No?!” he scoffs, clearly offended. “I mean, yes, I feel bad about almost hitting, but no one dared me to do anything. Do you think I am that kind of person?” “Well, yes.” You wish you could take back what you said, but it was too late. You knew you hurt his feelings, the crestfallen look on his face saying it all. “This was a mistake,” he sighs dejectedly. “Sorry, I wasted your time.” He handed Nikki the flowers and walked away, the air feeling thick and awkward. You couldn’t even look at her in the eyes. You knew you fucked up. “Well, that was awkward,” you huff. “And shitty.” You raise an eyebrow at her, and she stares you down. You don’t want to feel worse than you already do, and Nikki isn’t helping. “Honestly, I think the guy was telling the truth,” Nikki surmises. “He looked like a sad puppy.” You think about this caller #17 guy who would call in every week and share his thoughts with you about everything, with you having to do very little. You think about how scared he felt about being his true, authentic self and how much courage it probably took to ask you out. You know you are a tough cookie to crack and understand better than anyone how it feels to go against the grain and be who you are. “I fucked up Nik,” you slump on your bed. “Yeah, you did.” God, you hate her bluntness sometimes, but she’s right. You need to go find him and make this right. “Do you think he’s still here?” you ask, sitting up and grabbing your purse. “He couldn’t have left that fast.” “Only way to find out is to get off your ass and find him,” she says, pulling your arm. “Go find your guy.” You both rush out of your dorm, jogging down the hallway and out of the building, looking for a silhouette of him. You were scared you missed him and felt defeated, not seeing any sight of him anywhere. Surveying the area one last time, you noticed a black Jeep peeling out of the parking lot. It stops at the stop sign, the second to last car to go. This is your only chance. “WAIT!”

You sprint towards the car, barely meeting him as he is about to turn.

“STOP,” you exhale, relieved that you caught him. “Don’t go.” Soonyoung steps out as you rest your hands on the hood of his car, trying to catch your breath. He touches your arm, his hands soft as silk, sending shocks throughout your body.

“Are you okay?” He asks, taking a good look at you.

“Aside from me about to pass out, I’m good.” You take a deep breath. “Listen. I’m sorry. I was a jerk and an asshole and—”

“MOVING YOUR FUCKING CAR!”

A middle-aged woman leans out of the window and gives you the bird, followed by a slew of car horns beeping in annoyance behind you and Soonyoung.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung curses, realizing the amount of cars behind him. “Get in the car.”

You both get in the car and drive off from the angry drivers, pulling into the nearest gas station. You sit with your hands in your lap, this weight of regret sitting on your chest and guilt eating you from the inside. You look at him, and he seems surprisingly relaxed as if you didn’t reject him

not even thirty minutes ago.

“I’m going to get some gas,” he announces. “Wait here.” 

You watch him walk inside to pay and let out the deepest, most agonizing sigh. He should be calling you every name in the book, and rightfully so, as you insulted him. Why is he being so nice? Does he really like you that much?

He returns a few minutes later, shoving his pockets with change left over, and you both lock eyes with each other. In another situation, you would’ve been able to appreciate his good looks, trendy clothes, and tiger-like appearance. But instead, you feel sick to your stomach, disappointed in how you acted. You look down, twiddling your thumbs until he finishes pumping his gas and returning to the car. This is not like you at all. “Hey,” he says. “Hi,” you stammer. “I’m sorry again. I feel like a terrible person, and I shouldn’t have bit your head off like that.” “I know you were intense, but Jesus Christ,” he exhaled. “Why do you think I wouldn’t be interested in you? You made it seem like I lost a bet to ask you out. You made me feel like crap.” Every word felt like a punch in the gut, and you deserved it. Despite your parents' many flaws, they always taught you not to judge a book by its cover, and that’s precisely what you did. You were pretentious and stuck up about him. In some ways, you aren’t any different from them. “I guess…” your voice trails off. “I just saw you as the athlete that everyone is in love with. Your friends, I know the type, and we’ve never really crossed paths with each other unless I was bumping into you or almost getting hit by your car.” “So… you saw me as the very thing I told you I didn’t want to be seen as.” You didn’t have to answer back. You both knew the answer, and it was eating you up inside. “I’m sorry, I am just gonna go.” Before he could stop you, you exited the Jeep and started walking back toward your dorm. You are embarrassed and can never face him again. This is why you don’t don’t talk to anyone. This is awkward; it feels weird. You lose yourself in your thoughts until you reach the street light, waiting for your turn to go. The air is slightly chilly than usual, the smell of the ocean taking over your senses that you would enjoy any other time. Yeah, a walk to the beach sounds nice, you say to yourself just as the street signal turns green. You feel someone’s hand pulling you away, and you twirl around, facing Soonyoung’s back as he takes you back to his car.

“You’re dramatic as hell, you know that, right?” He shouts over his shoulder. “You didn’t even let me respond; you just hopped out like you were on the run.” 

You stayed silent. What more could you say? He was right. He opens the passenger side, letting you slide in and shutting the door behind you. A few seconds later, he is on your other side, turning on the ignition. 

“You not a terrible person,” he breathes. “A terrible person wouldn’t come sprinting out of their doom in boots and a nice outfit trying to apologize. You said you’re sorry, and it’s fine.” “Is it?” 

“I mean, I’ll get over it,” he shrugs. “I wouldn’t have pulled you back here if I didn’t want to be around you. Now, do you still want to go back and forth about this, or do you want to make it up to me by going to this concert?” It’s a brief moment of silence as you seriously consider your options. You can tell Soonyoung is still bothered by what you did, but his small smile clarifies your decision. “Lead the way, tiger.”

He chuckles as he pulls out of the lot, pulling into a line of cars headed in the same direction. The sun starts to set, the golden hour hitting the horizon at the sea. You fold your arms, confused as to why he is being so nice to you, despite you being a bitch to him earlier. You haven’t felt forgiveness in a long time, which feels foreign. Uncomfortable. You hope this feeling will go away as the night goes on.

You mainly rode in silence aside from the music on the radio, and the hour trip to the venue seemed to be double that. You pull up to Bayfront Amphitheater, packed to the brim with people screaming their hearts out to the band onstage. Your heart skips in excitement, realizing what concert Soonyoung took you to. 

“The Foo Fighters?” you grin, unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’ve been wanting to see them forever.: “Yeah, I remember you were talking about it on the radio, so I figured why not,” his voice trails off. 

Your heart feels like it is going to burst at the seams. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you, and you had the nerve to be a bitch to him earlier. 

“Hey,” you clear your throat. “I’m sorry again. I feel really shitty about it.”

“I know,” he says. “Look, let’s just enjoy this concert, and I’ll forget about it, okay?” You nod, walking towards the loud music. The rhythm of the drums and guitar blended together, hyping the crowd. You let Soonyoung lead the way, checking your tickets and guiding you to your seats. The crowd is thick, with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol flowing freely, and everyone is caught in their own zone. You wouldn’t say you are claustrophobic, but being packed like sardines isn’t your definition of a good time. Soonyoung notices your discomfort and grabs your hand, holding tight until he finds your assigned seats. You felt safe with him, a tiny spark in you that made you swoon. 

“Are you okay?” He shouts over the noise. “Do you want a beer or anything?” “Nah, I’m good,” you shake your head. 

The opening act finishes their set, the crowd politely cheering as the members walk off the stage. There is a small intermission, with people disbursing from their seats to grab drinks or making quick trips to the bathroom. You can feel Soonyoung looking at you, his eyes burning into the left side of your face. You lick your lips and pull strands of your hair to the back of your ear, a blatant attempt at flirting. 

“Are you gonna stare at me all night?” You feel bold, turning your body towards him. “I might,” he purrs. “I have a beautiful, mysterious girl sitting beside me.”

“I’m not that mysterious. We’ve been talking for weeks.” ‘Yeah, in front of thousands of people on the radio. Now I have you all to myself, and I want to get to know the real you.”

“Uh huh,” you nod. “Well, I’m always the same on and off air. You’ll see.” “I hope so.” He smiles at you, and gotta admit the man can flirt. Soonyoung is devastatingly handsome, and he’s quick with his words. It excites you. You like being around people you can banter with and not take shit personally. It takes a load off your shoulders, not having to hold yourself back every time. You just want to be you and be free. It feels like Soonyoung is chasing the same thing. 

“I wouldn’t have predicted you’d be into rock bands like the Foo Fighters. What made you want to go to their concert aside from me?”

“Well, you might be surprised to hear this, but I actually like the band,” he laughs. “I’ve been following them since their debut.”

“Really?” you say. “That’s cool.” “What?” Soonyoung leans closer, your shoulder barely touching his. “Do I not seem like the Foo Fighters type?” “Aht aht,” you playfully wave your finger at him. “I’m not getting tripped up on that question.” You fell into a rhythm of laughter that felt natural as if you had been doing this all your life. Despite your fuck up, he makes you feel cozy and open. The sun makes one final appearance, shining its glorious light on his beautiful, tanned skin. You can fully admit to yourself that he’s handsome as fuck, taking him all in before the sun dips below the horizon. “No, but seriously, I don’t seem like the type to be into them?” You pause before responding, being careful with your answer. “On the surface, no. But I am learning that there is more to a person than meets the eye.” There is a comfortable silence between you two, the sweet-smelling breeze keeping you at bay as you sit and enjoy each other’s company. You have so much you want to say but don’t simultaneously. You savor this tiny bit of peace with him. “I think I am gonna grab a drink,” Soonyoung gets up suddenly. “Do you want anything?” “Yeah, like a juice or something.” You watch him leave, checking out his ass as he stands in the concessions line. Nice and firm, definitely a football player’s ass. You look away before being caught, watching the crew prepare for the next act. You feel like a young girl who just realized you have a crush on a boy. You’re giddy inside, hypersensitive to everything around you and how you look. You hope he finds you as attractive as he says he does, or if not, keep up the lie a little longer. You’ve been dealt many disappointments in your life, and you can’t let this be one of them. 

“Here. I got you a lemonade.”

You gaze up at Soonyoung, carefully grabbing the cup from his hand. He has a cup of beer in the other, sipping before making a face. You laugh in your cup, tasting your sweet drink with some tart. You feel refreshed and a little bit alive, thanks to him. “Ladies and gentlemen, who’s ready for the FOO FIGHTERS?”

The crowd erupts into a roar as the band joins the stage, getting their placements to perform. Jolts of electric excitement course throughout your body, screaming your heart out before the first string is played on the guitar. You’ve always wanted to see them in concert, being a huge fan of Nirvana and following Dave Grohl after. Despite everything, he seems like a rad guy, and

if you ever had the opportunity, you would want to pick his brain and jam out with him. “ARE YOU MUTHAFUCKERS READY?” Dave Grohl shouts into the mic. 

 You both scream as the first song is played, the drums scratching the excellent part of your brain while the guitars take you to another level. You look at Soonyoung, his attention on the band with his arms folded, in awe of the performance being given. He looks adorable, and all you can do is smile, satisfied that you are in this space and can experience this moment. The band keeps playing hit after hit, the energy around you making you want to levitate in the clouds. You haven’t been this happy in a long time. You reach the last song of the night, and the key changes, the guitars riffing into a song you know all too well. “I want everyone to sing this song with us— this is for the regular heroes out there.” 

You feel the emotion and intensity in Dave Grohl’s voice, making you emotional. The song is about the ordinary person and their potential; you wish your family saw your potential. You wish you could share your music with them and see you thrive in the elements you’re most comfortable in. But instead, you’ve been cast out, and as much as you worked hard to get over it, it hurts you deeply. “Are you okay?” Soonyoung looks at you wide-eyed; you’re unaware of the tears trickling down your face. All you want to do is be held and told everything will be okay. As if he read your mind, he holds your hand, his thumb rubbing your palm softly, keeping you anchored in your emotional storm. Nothing else needed to be said between you two; the song lyrics moved your spirit. Kudos, my hero

Leavin' all the mess

You know my hero

The one that's on

There goes my hero

Watch him as he goes

There goes my hero

He's ordinary

“Thank you for taking me to the concert. I had a really good time.”

You sit with Soonyoung in his car, sitting outside of your dorm. You talked about music all the

way back home, singling your hearts out to whatever is on the radio. Soonyoung is surprisingly a good singer, hitting some notes even better than you can. You wonder if he had any training. “I’m glad I was able to make it up to you,” he grins. “Oh, please,” you wave him off. I’m the one who started us on the wrong foot.” “True. But I think you more than made up for it tonight.” “Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes playfully. “Can I ask you something?” “Sure.” 

“Why were you crying during the concert?” You knew this question would come eventually, but you still felt unprepared. You hadn’t really talked about your family life with anyone besides Nikki, but you were determined to keep it to yourself. But he makes you want to open up. “The song really hits me,” you point at your chest. “I feel every word and every percussion note as it plays. It reminds me of my mom and dad, and I wish they saw me as a normal person with their own aspirations rather than the person they want me to be. It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Soonyoung nodded his head, understanding what you were saying. 

“My parents wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer, and I just don’t see myself doing that. I fell in love with music and singing, and when I shared that I wanted to do songwriting full-time, they made me feel so low. Like I am stupid and naive for wanting a career, I would actually be happy.” You huff, wiping fresh tears off of your face. “I just wanted them to support me, but they couldn’t even do that. Aside from my grandparents, they cut me off completely.” “That’s not cool,” Soonyoung scoffs. “So they just went cold turkey and quit talking to you?” You nod, bitterly reliving the last conversation you had with them before you made no contact. “Why can’t our parents just let us live the lives we want? It’s like they want to live vicariously through us.” “Right?!” You exclaim. “See, you get it!”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he mumbled. You turn your body to look at him, studying his face and the possible thoughts he is having. You may see more eye to eye than you realize. ‘So, what’s your damage?” You poke at him. “It’s the same as yours,” he revealed. “They just want me to keep playing basketball so I can go into the big leagues and take care of everyone. I am essentially everyone’s meal ticket.” “Well, you don’t have to be,” you say. “You could just say fuck ‘em and live for yourself.” “Easier said than done,” he sighs. “I’m the first person in my family to attend college, and I actually like playing basketball. I believe in it, bleed it, all that… but whenever I am around my folks or friends, that’s all they want me to be about it. It’s like I’m not real. I am a person with complex interests and feelings, too.” 

“I know exactly what you mean, tiger.” 

You smile reassuringly; you understand that last sentence all too well. Your family would rather consider you the family fuck up, the black sheep, instead of understanding that you wanted different things. Why is that so fucking complicated? You stifle a yawn, looking at your watch and seeing how late it was.

“I really like talking to you and being around you,” Soonyoung confesses. I hope we can do it more.” “Yeah,” you gaze into his eyes. “ I would love that.” He walks you to your dorm, opens the doors, and holds your waist as you walk up the steps. His hands bring jitters and butterflies in your stomach that you hope you can experience more. You know you have a hard, cold exterior on the outside, but deep down, you want to feel love and adoration from someone. You hope Soonyoung can bring that. 

You never want this feeling to go away.

“Thank you for walking me in,” you say, unlocking the keys to your room. “I know I was being a bitch early, but thank you for showing me a good time anyway.” 

“It was worth it, seeing a smile on your face.” 

“Was it?” 

“Yeah,” he leans in closer. “I want to see it more.”

His lips touch yours, your chest bursting like fireworks as he deepens the kiss. Your arms rest on his shoulders, feeling natural and comfortable like a glove. He is gentle and kind, not doing too much but making you feel safe and like you can depend on him. It's crazy how one kiss can have you seeing your future. 

“We should do that more often,” you joke, leaving one last peck. He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “We will. I’ll make sure to do it more often.” 

“Okay,” you say, walking into your dorm. “I’ll hold you to it.”

[dovkss]

bakugou using your mouth in the library during a weekly study date with your friends…

word count: 2.2k

warning: 18+; manhandling; blowjob (m receiving); degradation; slapping; public sex; possessive & controlling katsuki; choking & gagging; cum eating; yandere themes; poor eijiro once again :((

all characters are aged up !!

a/n: quick first drabble from my first story “dumb bitch” since a lot of you asked for a part two but I don’t want to do one, I’ll continue more drabbles from the story if asked ! enjoy ! (^_^)

You and the girls gathered at your usual study spot in the library on a quiet Saturday afternoon. You all were preparing for an exam and knew that studying together would help big time.

Kirishima was also there, like he always was. But he barely spoke. Ever since he discovered you and Bakugou on his bed, sprawled out like heathens, things were awkward to say the least.

You, the girl he’d cared deeply for, had chosen Bakugou over him, and it felt like a dagger was plunged into his soul.

He would think back to before everything went to shit. When classes for the day ended, he would see you leaning on his car when he'd go to the parking lot. You would greet him and lock your arm with his and you both made your way to the other side so he would open the passenger door for you.

You'd beg to go get ice cream or ask if he could take you home so you wouldn't have to take the bus. He would never say no to you, only nod like a dummy. It was like you knew the scent of your perfume made you irresistible to him.

When he would go to open the driver door, the handle would be warm from your ass. The day after the next, you would be back again to do the same thing.

You wanted to apologize to him, but was shut down by Bakugou. His nostrils flared and he rolled his eyes. "He'll get over it, stay away from him. Why? Because I told you to! Don't question me, you're fucking mine."

You respected his wishes, but you felt it was wrong.

You guys settled down at the spacious table, surrounded by shelves stacked with books, each section thoughtfully curated. They housed literary classics, contemporary bestsellers, niche genres, and even rare manuscripts. The atmosphere in the studying section was calm and serene. Soft whispers and the sound of turning pages filled the air.

You opened your rented textbook, and laptop, setting down your regular coffee next to them, ready to dive in.

"God, my head is killing me," Mina whined. Dramatically, she slumped over in her chair and rubbed her temple with two fingers.

"Still? It's been like a week," Momo asked.

"I don't know what's happening to me! Maybe... I'm dying..."

"Don't say that, death isn't funny."

"I never said it was, I'm being serious!"

"You're not gonna die from a headache, Mina. Stop being a baby. Maybe learn how to swallow a pill, it'll help."

Mina groaned and shook her head. "You know I can't do that!"

"Then stop complaining!" Momo snapped back.

You shook your head in disbelief. It seemed that the girls would always find something mundane to argue about. But that was just their dynamic. If there were a day they weren't bickering, you'd be worried.

You glanced up at Kirishima who sat across from you. His head was in his notebook; he was taking notes. You watched him, observing how he studied. His handwriting was a little sloppy, as he seemed to be writing fast. His tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth a little.

He was adorable when he was focused.

He looked up, meeting your gaze. You didn't look away. His red eyes glistened in the sunlight that came through the windows. You smiled at him, being sure to show off your pearly whites.

He sighed and went back to jotting down whatever he was writing. You frowned and opened your mouth to speak up, but you were suddenly yanked up by your arm.

You gasped and dropped the pen that was in your hand. You knew that tight grip of his, it never failed to make you shutter.

"Been tryna reach you for hours, y'know?"

You giggled. "Well I can't be available all the time."

Bakugou wasn't amused. His ears flushed in anger and his jaw clenched.

He dragged you out of the library, you winced when he tightened his grip on you. He was tall, his long strides made it almost impossible for your legs to keep up at a normal pace. Looking back, you were surprised.

Momo sat silently, taking a deep breath. Mina watched in confusion as to where he was taking you and wondered if you’d be back. Kirishima just stared. He seemed calm, like he wasn't worried.

He wasn't.

“Be right back you guys- ow!” You flinched. Bakugou had yanked you by your ear, forcing you in front of him so you couldn’t look anywhere else but ahead.

Leaving the study area, Bakugou took you to an empty part of the library, all the way on the other side. Furthest away from your friends.

He shoved you into one of the shelves and stood in front of you. He towered over you, his wide chest almost caging you in that one spot.

“You wanna embarrass me?” He asked, how voice low and intimidating.

You shook your head. “No… of course not, Katsuki! What did I do?”

His infuriated state didn’t subside. Your innocent question only intensified it.

“You should know better than to ignore me,” he said.

You shook your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’m sorry, okay?”

“You always have your phone on you, I’m not stupid.”

You looked up at him and wrapped your arms around his neck. “My phone is in my bag, we needed to focus for this exam and I didn’t want to get distracted. I didn’t mean to worry you… forgive me?”

He scoffed at your sudden change in demeanor. You looked at him with those eyes. The very same eyes you gave him whenever you wanted him to take care of you in more ways than one.

“What a fucking whore you are.” He spat at you, his hands running down the sides of your waist.

“You know me so well—after I study, you can come over. I’ll make it up to you!” You smile softly, biting your lip.

Bakugou didn’t react, he just looked at you. It was hard to read him. You were never able to tell what he was thinking. That’s what made him stand out to you in the first place.

“Why are you studying with Kirishima?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Well, that’s how it’s always been. I can’t really control if he’s there or not either…”

“Fucking figure it out. I don’t want you around him, if that means you have to kick those sluts to the curb as well, then so be it.”

He was serious. Of course he was, there was never a moment where he wasn’t. But he didn’t actually expect you to let go of Momo and Mina did he? Your best friends since… forever!

You frowned at his words and your arms dropped from his neck. You fiddled with the hem of your sweater and looked away from him.

When you didn’t give an answer, he brought his hand up to your chin, forcing you to look at him. “So what’s it gonna be?”

You were unsure of how to answer. Obviously, you weren’t gonna stop being friends with them. They were there first, it would be unfair.

“Why do you hate him so much?”

The grin on his face became more prominent. Slowly, teasingly, his hand smoothed down your hair before he pressed against the back of your neck. “Because he wants what’s mine.”

He pressed down hard, pushing you down to your knees. Your heart sped up when you realize what’s happening.

You blinked up at him, unsure of what he wanted you to do. You were also too scared. Your hands shook a little at the thought of getting caught. That would be a nightmare.

He tilted his head at you. “You don’t expect me to do everything, do you?”

You looked to both sides of you worryingly. “What if someone comes, and we get in trouble, or worse- suspended. Or even worse! Expelled! Oh my god, I’d be in so much trouble, my parents would kill me and I would be a disgrace and they’d disown me and they’d take away everything I have, everything I love, oh my god I’m gonna have a heart attack,”

Bakugou rolled his eyes at your nervous rambling, unzipping his pants and pulling out his hard cock. He slammed your head back on the shelf which shut you up immediately, his cock in his hand, he tapped your lips with it.

“Are you done? Needa’ use your mouth for something more productive right now.”

You closed your eyes, letting out jagged breaths, and nod submissively. He chuckled then forced his cock between your lips, putting his entire length down your throat.

Your squeals are muffled when he thrusts into your mouth. He explores your tongue and feels the inside of your cheeks. It made him crave you even more.

“Looks at me baby- aah, shit. Look at me when your mouth is full.” He exhaled.

You did as he said without question. One thing about Bakugou, his moans were gorgeous. They never failed to make you feel special.

It always sent shivers down your spine whenever his breaths let you know how much of a good girl you were being. Your nipples became hard, almost being visible through your thick sweater. The pain at the back of your head became a distant feeling.

The only thing you focused on was him. How good he was making you feel, and how you were doing the same to him.

His breath hitched as his thrusts into your throat became more powerful. His balls slapped against your chin and saliva spilled from the corners of your lips.

“Wider,” he panted. “Open wider… deeper…”

You tried your best to widen your lips more to his liking. But you were as wide as you could go, his cock was already forcing your mouth wide open. It was hard to breathe through your mouth and your jaw started to cramp.

He leaned over you, his arms and forehead resting on the bookshelf. You could tell he was focused, his expression was serious.

You felt yourself growing more wet when you began to gag on his cock. The lewd noises were a little loud, the thought of being caught scared you but you didn’t care about that now.

He moaned more, cursing at you under his breath. It was so faint, you couldn’t hear what he was saying. But you were willing to bet it was so hot.

Hs shoved his hand to the back of your head and began forcing you down on his cock. Your eyes shot close when you started choking on him even more.

His grip on your hair tightened and you could tell he was close. You tried to be good for him and just take it. But the roughness was too much to handle.

You whined and whimpered, but he ignored you. The only thing on his mind was chasing his high. You felt his cock twitch in your mouth and you moaned.

That set him off. His body jerked ever so slightly as he released down your throat. His gasps were soft and mixed with shits and fucks.

When he pulled out of you, a long string of his thick cum mixed in with your saliva connected between his cock and your mouth. He lifted it off his end and placed it in your mouth.

You prepared your throat to swallow before he caught it and flung his hand across your cheek, your head snapping to the side. You whimper and bring your hand to your slapped cheek.

“Don’t swallow until I tell you to.” He hissed.

You nodded and stood slowly, resting your head on his chest. He cleaned himself up a bit, putting his cock back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans.

He led you back to your friends and left without a word. You sat down quietly, grabbing your phone from your bag and rested your head on the table.

13 missed calls and 22 unanswered texts.

“What happened back there? Are you alright?” Mina asked. You looked up at her. She was worried, like usual. You only smile and nod.

“Are you sure? You look exhausted,” Kirishima added. You nod again, your tongue playing with the cum still in your mouth.

You felt your eyes ready to close so you can get some rest until you felt your phone buzz. You lifted it from your lap and unlocked it.

It was from Bakugou.

“Send me a pic of my seed in you. Then I’ll allow you to swallow.”

You cringed. What if your friends saw? What would they think of you if they knew what just happened?

But you couldn’t ignore him. You’d end up in bigger trouble later if you did.

You opened the camera app and turned the camera around. Kirishima was right, you did look exhausted. Your eyes were barely able to stay open, it looked like you had been crying.

You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. You snapped a photo of your expression and examined it before sending.

It was clear as day, the cum in your mouth. It was awfully abundant and salty. Having it in your mouth for longer than three minutes would surely make your breath stink like crazy.

You sent the picture to him and awaited a response. It wasn’t long before you got a reply.

“Disgusting whore.”

[freekicks]

I suppose I’m not sure what you want me to do here. I could explain what a kink is or do some psychosexual analysis on why some men are into “daddies,” but I think all that would accomplish is bringing us both five minutes closer to our last breaths on earth. If it’s not something you’re into, and it’s between two consenting adults, then I don’t see why it’s our business. I’m also unsure how, as someone who is reading erotic stories in their spare time, “daddies” is the subject that compelled you to write a letter to your local advice columnist. I have read things in the realm of smut that would make the common “daddy fetish” story look like “Goodnight Moon.” Come back to me when you reach the cold, hard bottom of the slash fic iceberg. You also seem to be conflating real-world relationships with erotica. These are not the same. Sure, there can be overlap, but to go from “this fictional character crossed a line in a fictional story” to “and that’s why I’m uncomfortable with people who remind me of that character” suggests, to me, that you took a wrong turn or two navigating this ethical corn maze. It’s not even a script limited to gays. I mean, mainstream pop culture is littered with what I would consider “daddy trope” dynamics. There’s a whole genre of beauties falling for beasts. There’s a popular children’s movie about it with a singing teapot and a fruity candelabra. What is a beast, if not a daddy by another name? You be the judge. I’m certainly in no place to dictate what makes you uncomfortable. I can see how you might look at, say, a large age gap between two adults in a sexual dynamic and think, “weird!” I’ve had thoughts like that as well. But I think discomfort in and of itself is not always a surefire sign that something immoral is afoot. Discomfort can be caused by any number of factors—personal experiences, biases, preferences, and so on. [...] Sadly, it’s all too common to see people exploit power dynamics—experience, money, fame, access, etc.—for personal gain. But this isn’t exclusive to age. All three times that I’ve been violated by men, the men have been around my age. Abuse can happen in any dynamic, and while I, too, find comfort in the notion that abuse can be easily sniffed out ahead of time, that there will reliably be telltale red flags, that’s just not how things typically work. I’m also reluctant to abide by the increasingly popular belief that “power dynamics” are inherently manipulative. The reality is, there are power dynamics in every relationship. If you are involved with another person, then you have entered an uneven playing field or two. No two people will be exactly the same age, same economic class, same appearance (I hope????), and so on, and so forth. This is not violence. This is dating. These are things that have to be worked through and navigated with mutual respect. There is risk involved, yes, but risk cannot be entirely avoided in life. I hope I’m not coming across as harsh, Confused! I think, or at least hope, that you’re coming from a place of genuine concern for others and, to be sure, I’d never want to outright dismiss anyone on a subject as serious and prevalent as abuse. But on the other hand, I find myself a member of a community presently under attack by accusations of “grooming” and predation. It’s made me particularly sensitive to insinuations from any political stripe that the gays are sex monsters trolling for their next victim, or that we’re all just victims in waiting, idling around until one of those nasty older gays creeps up and takes advantage of our vulnerabilities. I’m not saying that’s what you’re doing here, but again, what two consenting adults (ADULTS) do is not my business. I can make my own judgments, but I don’t have to give my rubber stamp of approval on it. I don’t have to formally condone or condemn it. If harm hasn’t been explicitly stated, then I won’t read harm into it just because I’m uncomfortable. I am not entitled to a perpetual state of comfort.

-Advice Columnist Hola Papi (aka John Paul Brammer) responding to a letter writer who was uncomfortable about the prevalence of daddy kink in gay erotic fiction.

just thought this might be relevant to a certain fandom right now...

[maislovebot]

200 followers event: atsushi x reader

Here’s the m.list for my 200 followers event!!

I hope you enjoy it, goat!! I really don’t like how it turned out, idk why:( smh I think I have to practice writing fanfic more because I’ve been writing a actual book (like multiple chapter long story filled with lore) for my creative writing class and I think it’s making my ff writing suffer😭

Contains: afab + no prns, Atsu calls you ‘pretty’ and ‘dear’, fluff+smut, cuddling:3, slow and sensual, he acts like a little house cat, kinda switch dynamics, Atsu is mostly the dom though, reader calls him ‘Atsu’’, you tease him a lil, reader is wearing shorts, nipple stim, he marks you up (hickies, little nibbles, etc), mentions of you marking him but it doesn’t explicitly happen, brief oral (reader receiving)/cunnilingus, ‘gotta stay quiet’ trope, but not like voyeurism or anything, y’all just live in an apartment and it’s late, accidental teasing/orgasm denial, fingering (reader receiving), implied praise (reader receiving), against the wall, creampie, breeding kink if you really squint, overstim, multiple orgasms, aftercare, pillow talk

11:53 pm. It was 11:53 pm, and Atsushi knew that because it was so late that he should be sleeping, but he couldn’t help but keep chatting away with you.

You were facing one another, talking about miscellaneous things, with no real pattern. Atsushi was looking at you with pure adoration on his face, smiling whenever he saw your eyes staring right into his. Your smile was so comforting, he pulled you close to look at it a little closer. You giggled at this, bringing yourself over top of him to lay on his chest. You laid your head next to his, scratching his scalp. He curled into your touch, laying his hand on your waist to keep you in place. Your knee dug between his thighs, grinding against him slightly, making his eyes shut tight. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing it until Atsushi had started making noises in your ear, noises that sounded like a strange mix of whines and purrs?

“It’s so cute when you purr, Atsu.” You mumbled, breathing into his neck. You dug your knee deeper into his crotch and his arms trembled slightly while he brought his hands down to your sides.

“Ha—stop teasing me..” Atsushi groaned. You giggled again, trailing your hand down to his thighs to lightly caress them. Atsushi trailed his hand under your shirt, slowly snaking up your back. His hands were cold, as they always were. His body was always warm, bubbling, almost. But his hands and feet were always freezing. The cool contrast against your burning skin felt nice.

As he traced along your back, rubbing and scratching it, you slowly stopped your teasing, focusing more on his hands on you. He trailed his free hand down, pulling your pajama shorts and underwear to the side. You gasped, gripping his shoulders tight when he grazed his finger over your clit with the slightest of pressure.

“Bold move, Atsu.” You giggled.

Atsushi tilted his head up to face you, “sorry, dear. It’s too tempting.” Atsushi grinned.

He began applying more pressure to your clit, trailing his other hand down to rest in the waistband of your shorts. He slowly pulled your shorts down, and you lifted yourself up to aid it. Your shorts were collecting at your knees, and he grinned when you gripped the waistband of his pants as well.

“You want me quite a bit, don’t you?” He asked. You nodded, “it’s late. We’ve been talking all night. Kyouka isn’t here. It seems like the perfect time.”

Atsushi nodded, “I agree, don’t worry.”

He cupped the undersides of your knees, pulling you up to meet his face. You ruffled a hand in his hair, kissing him deep. You were straddling Atsushi, laying over top of him while the both of you progressively slid your pants off.

By the time you two were done kissing, you were out of breath, and you’d both managed to kick your pants off of your legs, leaving them somewhere under your covers that neither of you cared to search for.

Atsushi lifted you off of the bed, gripping the underside of your knees tight again. You were surprised that he’d picked you up, as the bed was so warm, but you didn’t question it. You knew you’d both be warm soon.

He pushed you against a wall, kissing you yet again.

You mumbled something through Atsushi’s lips about his body being warm, but he didn’t hear. He was preoccupied. He wrapped his arms around your waist, as did you, holding the both of you in place.

Atsushi was breathing heavily now, touching the tip of your tongue with his. His cheeks were flushed and he was almost putting his full body weight against you to keep you against the wall, before he grabbed both of your hands and held them against the wall. Atsushi held your hands on either side of your hips, slowly dragging them up the wall and over his shoulders, with one hand tangling in his hair. Atsushi was satisfied with that, letting go of your hands and gripping one of your legs yet again and lifting it up.

Atsushi finally paused to take a look at the scene he created, and he turned red when he looked into your eyes and saw how desperate you were. Your eyes were half lidded and almost steamy looking. His eyes slowly trailed down, and he ran his thumb over your chest.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” you joked. He chuckled, leaning down. “Sorry, I can’t help but stare.” He bent his arm to keep holding your thigh, although the position was a bit awkward because he was leaning down and tracing over your clothed chest at eye level. You reached down and took off your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, then your hand took purchase in Atsushi’s hair again. Atsushi nodded appreciatively, kissing your side quickly.

“Thank you,”

He mumbled your name under his breath while he kissed across your chest, before taking your nipple in his mouth. Your grip tightened on his hair, pulling him closer to your chest.

“Hnn..Atsu,” you tilted your head back, his hands tracing your hips and sides making you shiver. Partially from his cold his hands were, and partially because of the sensations. His hands were all over you, trying to touch as much of you as he could.

He slowly trailed over to the other side of your chest, taking the other through his slim fingers. You noticed the small red splotches along your chest where he was licking, and you sighed playfully. At least they were hidden. You really did want him to mark you, there was no better feeling, but it was always embarrassing to explain it to your friends the next day.

Atsushi seemed to be lost in thought, all of his thoughts were focused on your body. He may not admit it, but there’s a part of him that wants to mark you up. There was a part of him that was proud when people noticed his marks. Sure, Dazai teasing him endlessly was always shameful, but the fact that people knew how good he made you feel from the nibbles and licks left on your body made him feel cocky, an emotion he was not used to feeling.

He also took pride in the marks you left on him. The scratches that were vaguely visible on his arms and the back of his neck. The ruffles in his hair after Atsushi had left his apartment in the morning, leaving everyone wondering if he didn’t brush his hair or if you had given him a rather special goodbye. The small marks that you’d given him on his neck from the night before. It was all too much.

He wasn’t thinking about what was going to be on you or him tomorrow though, right now he was focusing on you. On you and the kisses he was leaving all over you as he trailed down your stomach. He heard the small noises that left your throat as you ruffled his hair, and he nibbled on your thighs to get a reaction out of you. You gasped when he lifted your leg up slightly, just enough to gently bite between your thighs. He wasn’t exactly biting hard, but it was certainly visible. Especially because he had little fangs, presumably from his ability. He trailed across your thighs, then he placed his hand between your thighs to gently rest on you. He licked small stripes up your cunt, moaning quietly at the flavor.

“Is this okay?”

“Mhm..” you mumbled.

Atsushi held your thigh up just enough to slightly hinder your movement, taking notice of your small whines and gentle moans. You were trying to be quiet because it was so late, especially because the wall Atsushi had decided to pin you up against was the wall connected to Dazai’s room, and if he figured out what was going on, you both would never hear the end of it. It was hard though. So hard. Especially when Atsushi had started licking small circles to your clit, collecting spit on his tongue to make it feel even better.

“Feel good?” Atsushi whispered.

“Y-yes, Atsu. Keep—keep going.”

Atsushi nodded into your cunt, lifting your leg up slightly higher so he could get a better angle. He was more or less under you now, pulling you down onto his face by the hips while he ate you out. The sudden movement made you whine out, and Atsushi listened to his surroundings intently to make sure no one was overhearing the both of you. Atsushi didn’t seem to notice anything, so he kept going.

His movements were slow, a vast contrast compared to his normally fast paced and relentless speed he liked to set. You could tell he was tired and it was hindering his movements, but he was also in a different mood tonight. He wanted to savor every second with you. Maybe it was because he had a mission in a week, so he wanted to spend as much time with you as possible, or maybe it was just what that night was calling for. Either way, he was taking things slow and you loved it.

Atsushi’s tongue was making you feel so good that you began to subconsciously grind against his face, taking him by the hair, trying to pull him closer. Atsushi was gripping your hips tight, leaving small finger-sized bruises where they were. He normally grabbed your hips even harder, but his tired and exhausted body was making him sufficiently less strong than he’d normally be.

Atsushi’s face was sticky and wet by the time he pulled away. You were so close to the edge that you groaned maybe a little too loud when he pulled away.

“Sorry, dear. I’ll make it up to you.” Atsushi grinned from the floor, looking up at you with bright, tired eyes. You nodded, looking at him wipe his face with his fingers, before using what was originally on his face as lube. The mix of your precum and his spit turned out to be a good substitute. He prodded at your entrance, before slowly pushing two of his fingers inside of you. You gasped at the feeling, as did he. His mind couldn’t help but wander to thoughts of what you’ll feel like on him.

He started off with slowly letting you get used to the feeling, before pumping his fingers inside of you. He spread his fingers apart, watching as you tossed your head back and gripped his hair tighter. As Atsushi stretched you out, he brought his head forward and began to leave small kisses to your hips. He would occasionally accentuate the kiss by staying there for a few extra moments, sucking on the skin softly and leaving small red marks.

Atsushi mumbled something you couldn’t hear, but you could make out one word, that being ‘pretty’.

You couldn’t tell if Atsushi was complimenting you or trying to get your attention because he would call you pretty as a nickname, and also just in general. The idea of not knowing which one he was doing made you chuckle.

“So pretty,” Atsushi mumbled.

You smiled fondly, playing with his hair before tossing your head back again as he curled his fingers up into that spot. That one spot that made your breath hitch and your vision go white. He began to rub circles into your clit with his thumb as well. You could feel yourself getting close again, and it was even faster when approaching this time. You clenched your thighs around his hand, before quickly coming undone. Atsushi slowly pumped his fingers in and out of you, helping to aid you through your orgasm.

“Hah..Atsushi, that was really good.”

“Really?” Atsushi pushed farther, needing more praise, craving more praise, per usual.

“Really. Just your hands were able to make my thighs shake,” you pointed down to your thighs comically. “Imagine what else you can do.”

Atsushi nodded enthusiastically, jumping up off the floor and standing in front of you, kissing you yet again. He trailed down your neck, and you jumped slightly when he nibbled on your neck, a very obvious spot, but you were too tired at this point. He was making you feel good, and that was all that mattered right now. You could deal with all that other stuff later.

Atsushi ran his hand down your side, purring again when you scratched his head. It wasn’t necessarily loud purring like you’d hear from a real house cat, but it was certainly audible. He buried his head in your neck again, grinding against you as you pet his hair. With his head still buried in the crook of your neck, he gripped your right thigh again to hold you up. You were open and exposed to him at this angle, and it made you shiver. You could feel him pressing against your skin, his skin was rough, but strange enough, you liked the feeling. He lifted you up a little bit by grabbing your hips, but not high enough for you to make a large impact if you fell.

You reached your hand forward, collecting his precum in the palm of your hand and jerking him off slightly, just enough to get him nice and wet. Atsushi whimpered slightly at the feeling, digging his head further into your shoulder, biting it slightly. The bite hurt a little, making you whine as well.

“A-Atsu, that hurts..”

He nodded, no longer biting you.

“Sorry, your hand just feels really, really good.”

You chuckled a little, quickly being cut off as Atsushi pistoned towards your cunt, looking you in the eyes for validation, before seeing you nod and bring your hand down to his hips to push him forward. He aligned his tip with your entrance, slowly pushing inside.

“So—tight,” Atsushi slurred his words a little.

“Mhm..”

You both stood there for a few moments as Atsushi slowly bottomed out inside of you, before finally reaching the hilt.

“Good?” Atsushi asked.

“Yeah..please move, Atsu.”

Atsushi always loved when you called him Atsu. How it rolled off your tongue, how sweet you were when you called him it, how intimate it was. He loved it all.

He throbbed a little at the nickname, following your orders and briefly starting off slow, before progressively gaining speed. Whenever his hips met yours you saw stars.

You lost your breath as he gained speed, and Atsushi held your hips forward so your hips wouldn’t hit the wall and make noise, but it made the penetration even deeper than you would’ve expected. The feeling made you whine into Atsushi’s ear, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Does it feel good?”

You didn’t respond, just grabbing Atsushi’s hair to hold him in your neck.

“Well?”

“Mhm..s-so good, ‘Tsu.”

Atsushi grinned, gripping your hips tighter while sliding down your thigh and onto your knee for easier access. You brought your hand down to rub small circles on your clit, and Atsushi throbbed when he looked down and saw the sight. You looked so desperate. So desperate to cum. The stimulation to your clit made you tighten around him, and he moaned slightly at the feeling.

“F-fuck..trying so hard to keep quiet right now..!”

With everything going on, you could feel yourself getting close. It was so much. So much was going on, you could feel your body heating up and trembling. The beads of sweat forming on your forehead were making you look even more delectable in Atsushi’s eyes and he could see that you were close too from your heavy breathing and trembling thighs. You clamped your leg that was suspended in the air around Atsushi’s waist, and Atsushi held it there. Keeping it in place.

He kept at the same speed, although the vigor in his movements was going up. He was struggling to hold your hips in place, but he had to. He couldn’t let your hips hit the wall.

You moaned maybe a little too loud as your orgasm reached its peak, then you slumped back against the wall as gently as you could. You tried to catch your breath for a few moments, but Atsushi didn’t give you a break. He kept going in a desperate attempt to come, before he finally reached his peak as well. He came inside of you, letting your leg down and wrapping his arms around your waist as his legs shook. Atsushi sat there for a few moments, watching as his cum dripped down your thighs and he almost immediately picked up speed again at the sight.

“Hnn—Atsu—too much!”

“Please, just one more..!” Atsushi begged, writhing in your ear. “After this I’ll be done, I promise.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to hold him close. You were slowly making your way up the wall, and Atsushi held your hips in place with his own.

He kept going at it, he couldn’t stop even if he tried. He was addicted. Feeling you clench around him desperately and bury your face in his neck drove him crazy. He couldn’t last long, the previous orgasm already building up again.

“Ahh—‘m close again..!” Atsushi blurted out.

You nodded, whining as Atsushi brought his hand down to play with your clit. You were avoiding giving it any stimulation in hopes of avoiding too much overstimulation, but it seems like Atsushi had other ideas.

It honestly wasn’t anything new. Atsushi would always get so desperate from feeling you come around him, and from looking at you shut your eyes tight as you rode out your orgasm. The way your face would change and contort as you reached the peak of your orgasm drove him crazy. This would make it so he could almost never stop after just one round. He had to see all of these different factors on your face as much as he possibly could. Especially because the faces you’d make would only get more intense the more overstimulated you got.

“You can take it, right? You can take me?”

“Mhm!” You whined out, gripping his shoulders tighter and scratching at his skin.

Atsushi nodded, increasing speed and taking your clit between his fingers, watching you squirm. Your thighs started to shake again, and Atsushi gripped one of your thighs to keep it in place.

You mumbled something about being close in Atsushi’s ear, but he hardly processed it. He kept the same speed, barely keeping your hips from banging into the wall with each thrust.

You finally got close, and your thighs tightened around Atsushi’s hips as you tried to stabilize yourself. Atsushi froze for a split second when he felt how tight you were around him, but he didn’t pause for long before he was back at it and he was cumming again with a quiet cry. His hips completely slowed, but he kept rubbing circles on your clit to drive you over the edge.

You finally came undone, your muscles tensing for a few moments before your entire body slouched. You probably could’ve handled more under different circumstances, but the fact you had to remain quiet and you were already exhausted from the long day you had, you had to tap out. It made every orgasm you had even more intense. Not to mention if you stayed up much later you and Atsushi would most certainly regret it in the morning.

Atsushi got the message, slowly pulling out of you, watching as his cum dripped down your thighs yet again. He knew he couldn’t, but he had to resist every urge to kneel down between your thighs and clean you right up. He held you close, walking you backwards and onto the bed. He watched you breathe heavily as you sat down on the bed, catching your breath. He laid down next to you, pulling you close to him as he wrapped his arms around you.

“You did good,” Atsushi mumbled.

You turned over and wrapped your legs around his frame, pressing your face into his neck.

“So did you.”

You and Atsushi laid there for a few minutes, and he heard your breathing get heavier, indicating you had fallen asleep. He didn’t want to wake you up, but he couldn’t sit in this sticky mess for much longer. He shook you gently, and you rustled the sheets slightly before waking up again.

“Ah sorry..it’s just late.” You said.

Atsushi looked over and checked the clock. 12:50. It really was late. He was definitely going to be groggy tomorrow.

Atsushi smiled at you, sitting up as he placed his hand on your back so you could sit up with him. The brief moment where he was sitting up and you were still lying down is where he really noticed how many marks he had left on you. He blushed out of embarrassment when he saw how your neck was littered with love bites.

You didn’t seem to mind though.

You and Atsushi made your way to the shower, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake anyone up. The shower was rather quick, but Atsushi enjoyed every second of it. Once you two were out, you laid down on your bed and wrapped yourself up in all of your blankets, Atsushi laying right next to you.

You two both fell asleep in moments, but not before Atsushi whispered into your ear.

“Goodnight.”

Wc - 3.5k

Atsushi 100% has little fangs because of his special ability

[writingwithfolklore]

When to Reject Feedback

              Last post I talked about taking suggestions from editors, so today I'm talking about when not to take their (or other readers') suggestions. While your readers may have a lot of experience and wisdom, ultimately you know your story best and you know what you want it to be.

This is also the first step, know your work, know exactly what you want it to be before you reach out for feedback. This way, you know what suggestions are helpful, and which are leading your story to a place you don't like.

                I’ll start with a story. I wrote a short creative non-fiction in one of my creative writing classes about grappling with my family dynamic before and after my Grandma (and our matriarch) was hospitalized. I intentionally left parts of it vague—how was I supposed to distill all my thoughts and feelings and the history of my family in a simple enough way for others outside of my family to understand, when I was in my family and hardly understood it? I thought the vagueness gave room for a conflict of love and rejection. Alienation and belonging. I didn’t want to force the reader to feel anything concrete or specific about my grandma, I hardly knew how I felt about her.

                I took this piece to my prof, and she advised me that it would benefit from more specific details. Some things she suggested adding were histories I wasn’t privy to—either I hadn’t been born yet, or I hinted to knowing but only really from context; I wasn’t in the room.

                I took her advice and rewrote it with these more specific details. I had to make up some stuff, which I didn’t really like, but she loved it.

                Next semester, I took the same (edited) piece to a different creative writing prof in a different class. She read it, told me she liked it, but that it could benefit from a bit more room for interpretation—from some vagueness.

                I laughed and told her that I agreed, and pulled up my original draft. She was in far favour of the original.

                TL;DR, this is all to say that I don’t believe in taking all advice as gospel. Some people will absolutely love the way you’ve written it, others will think it needs changing. These two profs were both incredibly experienced, published authors who had won awards, gone through masters degrees, etc. etc. They were both very credible people to go to for advice.

                But they had slightly different sensibilities when it came to writing, and while I didn’t agree with everything my second prof said, I did err more towards her way of writing than the first. Emphasis on the ‘not agreeing on everything’, that little part of me that disagreed is my unique writing sensibility.

                So seriously, reach out to people for feedback and advice, but that by no stretch means you have to take all of it. If there’s a part of your writing that you really love, that you did intentionally, and that you feel is integral to your work you’re allowed to keep it. There will be readers who like it as it is.

[boul3vvard]

Bring your child to work day･*.:+

Sanemi AU x GN! Reader DRABBLE!

S/n = sons name

I started writing this story back in nov 2022 I abandoned it and came back to it March 2023 erased the ending and rushed it so sorry if this isn’t up to par I’m just trying to get this out of my drafts lol. Now a few pointers

★ Sanemi is OOC I just think that it would be really cute to picture him in this sorta dynamic.

★I tried to keep it gender neutral as possible this is also my first time writing a gn story so feel free to give me any possible feedback

★also as I always say this isn’t proof read AT ALL!! so there might be a ton of grammatical errors idrc HAPPY READING

There are only 3 characters who are color coded

Y/n sanemi and s/n

“Are you sure you’ll be fine taking him with you I mean he’s only 4, He won’t be too much of a distraction for you?”

y/n said while doing their sons hair making his curls pop out a little more.

“He’ll be fine we’re not doing too much in class today anyways” sanemi sighed as he was getting dressed for work. “You’ll be good for daddy right?” y/n asked s/n while looking at him in the mirror. “MMHM” s/n said happily. Y/n was a little nervous at first about this whole ordeal when sanemi brought it up but all the doubt disappeared when y/n saw how giddy their son was to spend time with sanemi this was also the first time their son is going to be around a bunch of people at once, let alone a bunch of teenagers. how will he react? “he’ll be fine plus I’m there if anything does happen, which nothing will so stop worrying, You act like we’re going to war or something” sanemi chuckled as he patted his partners shoulders. “I know I know I guess I’m just a little worried” they sighed “for nothing, we’re gonna head out inna bit I have to get to work early. where is the little guy so I can put his shoes on?” “IM RIGHT HERE DADDY” his son squealed excitedly “LOOK”. sanemi sighed, a soft smile appearing on his face. “your shoes are on the wrong feet you dork c’mere” Y/n packed everything sanemi needed for Haruto in his book bag so he wouldn’t get bored. “are you all set and ready to go?” sanemi said while picking his son up into his arms. “Have fun you two” y/n waved at the two before they left.

Sanemi got to class 1 hour early so he could prepare his classroom for the day. students started rolling in and filling in their seats, two of his students ran into his classroom one slapping the other repeatedly. “INOSUKE STOP HITTING TANJIRO FOR THE LAST TIME I WILL NOT REPEAT MYSELF” Inosuke gruffed as he plopped into his desk. “hey sir, who is that child sitting in your chair? if you don’t mind me asking” Tanjiro asked pointing to the child as his classmates started to quiet down since they all wanted an explanation. “He’s my son. I decided to bring him in with me today he won’t be too much of a distraction” sanemi said as he started gathering all of the papers on his desk into a neat pile. The class all became strangely quiet so he looked up to see what was wrong “yes?” He said as he quirked his eyebrow. “YOU HAVE A CHILD??” they all yelled in Unison. “FORGET ABOUT THE CHILD YOU’RE MARRIED??” Zenitsu yelled freaking out. “Is that a problem?” sanemi started to get angry. “I just feel bad for the sorry sack who decided to tie the knot with you” Inosuke said bluntly. Sanemi threw an eraser at the boys forehead. “Before we get started on today’s plan how about I let him introduce himself to you all” just before the boy was about to speak everyone zoomed in on him making him feel so small, he hid behind his daddies leg. “it’s okay remember how we practiced in the car do it exactly like that okay don’t be shy” sanemi said as he pushed him up front, everyone weirded out about how soft he got for a sec-. “h-hello my name is s/n and I’m 4 years old” he showed everyone on his fingers. All of the girls in the classroom started cooing at the young boy. “AWWW HES SO CUTE” they shouted. “thank you” s/n said blushing at his shoes, he ran back to his dad and hugged him. “You did good, now go sit down for a little bit alright daddy has to do his job okay” “okay” s/n said shyly as he ran back to sanemi’s seat.

The rest of the day went smoothly as s/n opened up throughout the day and became more talkative. During passing periods Haruto would run to the other teachers classrooms to greet them. He ran up to the first classroom and walked in. “Uhhhh mr Iguro Theres a Child standing in the door way” one of his students said confused. Iguro was about to tell the child off before he raised his eyebrows in confusion. “s/n?? What are you doing here?” “I’m with daddy today he let me come to work with him today” he basically shouted happily “I see, well im in the middle of teaching right now how about you come back later okay? “Okay see you later” on his way back to his fathers class he stopped by Uzui’s class, they were all circled around a bowl of fruit quietly drawing it on their own. “I LOVE DRAWING CAN I DRAW TOO?!” The entire class was startled by the broken silence. “s/n??, What are you doing here kid? And what a flashy way of entering a room” Tengen said smiling at the kid ear to ear “I’m here with daddy” “of course you are but where is he? “In his classroom” “well I’m kinda in the middle of a class kiddo so how about you run back to your father and I’ll catch up with you later, how does that sound” “OKAY BYE BYE” just as he was about to run off again sanemi scooped him up “there ya are punk, you can’t go running off like that especially not at my job,what if principle Ubuyashiki caught you before I did huh?” “Sorry daddy I went to go see uncle Oguro” “let’s go eat lunch y/n packed you something delicious” sanemi said “YAYYYY”.

overall he enjoyed being at work with his father and seeing what he did daily. Some of the kids would chat with him which he loved of course and even colored with him. The class fell in love with him very much only knowing him for such a short while. I liked today Do you think I can come to work with you tomorrow daddy?” “Of course you can.” Now let’s go home I’m sure y/n can’t wait to hear all about your day today”

©Boul3vvard. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. SO ANY FORM OF PLAGIARISM OF MY CONTENT WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.

[dragengyrr]

"No one just wakes up here an Overlord. We’ve all dragged our feet on the scorched earth, learning how to stand up, confused, terrified, disbelieving. I think, at some point, everyone realised that it never mattered who was the richest bitch at the graveyard. Some lucky bastards would realise that even before they died.

Except. There was this one fucker who made me question that. If anyone ever witnessed his first wobbly steps in hell, he made well sure they’d be too horrified to ever speak about it. And in a blink of an eye, he was out there, grabbing half of the city by the throat, sassy and smiling like it was nothing special. Call me a madman, but I feel in my guts that he somehow did bring something from the grave with himself. Some ace up his sleeve. Either that, or he’d already had such hell on Earth that waking up down here felt like a lazy Sunday stroll – he’d already lost his senses and his humanity, how could any horror impress him? I don’t know which theory frightens me more.

Anyway, they now call him the Radio Demon."

In the silence that followed his companion’s little monologue, Husk finally leaned back in his chair, having realised that he’s been too intrigued to play it cool and internally cussing himself for it. But then, you had to let go of your poker face at some point, even as the Overlord of gambling.

He contemplated for a moment, eventually pinning a sneer on his face.

"All that talk just to call him a dirty cheater? You know how to make an intro, I’ll give you that. And… you know what? If some day this bored fucker makes his way into my casino, I’ll be happy to see him try and play that ace. I got my ways to deal with tricksters."

– And then it ended poorly.

Sorry for the weird intro, I’m executing half a dozen different ideas at once, some in the drawing and some in the snipped of non-existent (yet???) fanfic that would focus on Alastor/Husk dynamic. I’ve devoured some delicious stories about Alastor getting his fears, doubts and emotions handed to him on a silver platter, but I also want to see the fall of Husk. I want to see the man’s confidence bite him in the ass, and make him obsessed with one question in mind – "did he or did he not cheat that day".

And then turn it into a question for the class – was Alastor ever a cheater?

The free time I have to write this is none, but we’ll see what the future brings.

Also: I was wondering whether or not to do this, but, fuck it: even though it is not technically art for the fic itself, I’m deeming Dr @prince-liest partially responsible for the direction it took after reading a line Alastor said in Once Bitten… that went more or less "I wasn’t wearing my Sunday best when I died". And then I figured I could spice up his leg anatomy even more, to the point where it’s a miracle he’s able to walk at all (my brain definitely glitched a few times trying to draw this).

[aflame4goinghome]

Illicit Affairs

d.r.w x reader

chapter iii

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!!! swearing, flirting, some fluff, jealousy, power dynamic; SMUT: fingering, touching, sexually implicit language, dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex, choking, spanking, degradation, praise kink, orgasm denial, edging if you squint, biting, possessiveness, hint of dom/sub dynamic

A/N: This story is in collaboration with my wonderful, talented friends @gretavanstink & @childinthegardenn!! Go give them a follow and give @gretavanstink’s fics some love! Thanks for reading! We’re so glad you like the story so far :) Enjoy!

Listen to the official playlist on Spotify here!

chapter ii

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

The last couple of weeks have been a total whirlwind for you. Between keeping up with your other classes and meeting up with Daniel whenever you could, you’ve been keeping yourself very busy. Before you know it, it’s time to turn in your first paper for your art history class. Luckily for you, despite the distractions, you were able to dedicate a good amount of time to it. 

Considering your personal interest in Ancient Greek history and Greek mythology, you wrote your paper about Ancient Greek paintings and statues and their significance to the culture at the time. Greek mythology always fascinated you, so you thought it would be beneficial to bring your interests into your coursework to make it more personal to you. You hoped that this would come out in your favor.

Today’s the day that you have to turn the paper in at the start of class. Daniel asked you all to print out your papers and turn them in physically, which you find to be a bit old-fashioned, but whatever. After your philosophy class ends, you head to the library to print out your paper. You walk in and stop at a desk by the printers to pull out your laptop and send the document over. 

After sending your paper to the printer, you collect your things and go wait for it to finish. Someone else is printing something before you, so you have to wait for theirs to finish printing first. After getting a closer look, you realize that you recognize him from your art history class. He looks up from the other side of the printer and meets your gaze when he notices you looking at him.

“Hey,” he says, giving you a shy smile. “You’re in Wagner’s class, right? Are you here to print your paper?” You walk toward him, not wanting to speak too loudly in the semi-quiet library. 

“Yeah, I am,” you answer with a nod. He gathers the rest of his papers, taking the stapler from the table next to you and stapling them together. 

“My name’s Stephen. I don’t think we’ve met before. I have a bad habit of always running late, so I usually sit in the back,” he says, reaching his hand out to shake yours with a chuckle. You smile at him, shaking his hand and laughing with him. “Y/N.”

“What did you think of the paper, Y/N? It took me forever to write, I was so not expecting him to give us an eight-page minimum. He’s tough,” he says. You struggle to stifle the laugh that threatens to come out of you at that moment. Tough… Stephen, you have no idea. Your papers start spitting out of the printer, so you turn your focus to the printer to avoid his gaze. 

“Oh, it wasn’t too bad for me. I’m a philosophy major, so an eight-page paper is a cakewalk compared to most of my assignments. I think I ended up writing ten pages, actually,” you answer, smiling to yourself as you gather your papers and turn to staple them. A smirk grows across his face as he leans his back against the table, crossing his arms. 

“Wow, looks like we’ve got a genius on our hands. I’ll have to keep you around, Y/N,” he jokes. You smile and look up at him for a second, finally getting a good look at him. He certainly wasn’t bad to look at, that’s for sure. His perfect white teeth show confidently as he smiles at you, which you have to admit is rather charming. 

He’s tall, at least six feet, with wavy, dirty-blond hair that he swoops to one side. He looks like he’s probably in a frat, or maybe plays a sport like lacrosse or rugby. You’re actually pretty surprised he approached you at all, since you don’t really scream “I want to talk to her” vibes with your earbuds in and typically cold demeanor– but you can’t help it that you have a resting bitch face. Despite his motives, you don’t hate having someone to talk to.

“Wanna walk over together?” he asks, slinging his backpack on. You nod, gathering your things and then following Stephen out of the library toward the building that your lecture hall is in. You suppose it doesn’t hurt to make a friend in the class, especially with exams coming up soon. You usually tend to keep to yourself in class, so it’s a nice change. You’re not sure how Daniel will react, though, but you don’t care. He doesn’t get a say in who you hang out with anyway.

Stephen opens the classroom door and you walk inside, heading down to your unassigned-assigned seat in the third row from the front. Much to your surprise, Stephen follows you, sitting in the seat next to you. 

“Maybe if I stick by you, I’ll understand the lessons better,” he says with a laugh, taking out his laptop and placing it on his desk. You smile shyly at him, then turn away to dig through your bag to find a pen and then take out your notebook. 

As you look back up from your backpack, you find Daniel’s eyes piercing through you. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly as he looks from you to Stephen sitting next to you and then crosses his arms on his desk. You roll your eyes at him, not in the mood for whatever he might have to say about your new friend. You didn’t care enough to bother with his dramatics. He then stands up and clears his throat before addressing the class.

“Good morning. You can all come up and place your first paper in a pile at the front of my desk, and then we can get started with the lecture,” he says, leaning his back against the chalkboard with his arms crossed. Everyone gets up and turns in their assignments, then takes their seats again.

Daniel starts his lecture, today’s being about the Hellenistic period, which is primarily what your paper was about. You knew you’d be able to impress him with your knowledge of the subject, which was perfect to scratch your itch for academic praise for the day. 

“So,” he starts, using his remote to switch to his first slide. “What’s the significance of Venus de Milo?” A smile sneaks across your face as your hand shoots up to answer his question. His eyes fall to you and you see his lips turn upward slightly into a smirk. “Y/N?”

“Venus de Milo is one of the most well–known Hellenistic statues and its origin still remains to be a bit of a mystery. Considering it’s a statue of Aphrodite, it represents beauty incarnate. She’s the physical representation of beauty to the Ancient Greeks, so constructing statues of her was often motivated by hopes to gain her favor.” Daniel walks over to the first step, leaning against a chair in the front row as he crosses his arms and listens to you talk. As you watch him lick his lip subtly, you can tell that he’s enjoying it, which gives you even more of a reason to continue.

“It’s also speculated that the statue originally depicted her holding what could have been the Apple of Discord. In the myths, the apple was said to be engraved with the message ‘for the most beautiful,’ which led to it starting a vanity-fueled dispute amongst a handful of the goddesses, Aphrodite included. The possibility of Venus de Milo having been meant to represent Aphrodite’s vanity as well as her beauty is a fascinating piece of the puzzle, while not being entirely confirmed, though there are some recent discoveries that can support the theory.”

You take a deep breath after having just rambled on, definitely answering much more than you needed to. Daniel smiles as he turns to walk back to the front of the class and switches to the next slide, which shows his own notes on the statue. “Thank you, Y/N. If you keep it up, you might end up teaching this course instead of me,” he says with a chuckle, the rest of the class laughing to themselves as well. Your cheeks flush as you look down at your notebook, writing down what he has written on the slide.

“I knew I stuck around for a reason,” Stephen whispers next to you with a grin. You smile at him, then turn back to take your notes throughout the rest of the class. The rest of the lecture goes by quickly and you raise your hand a few more times to add your input to the discussion, which you can tell gets Daniel’s attention.

“Okay, that’s all I’ve got for you today. I’ll hand back your graded papers Friday morning. You can come and see me during my office hours after that if you have any questions or concerns. You’re dismissed,” he says, sitting down at his desk. You have some homework to work on, so you say goodbye to Stephen quickly before heading to the library to study for a while.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

On Friday, you walk into class and take your usual seat, waiting for the lecture to begin. You look up as Stephen comes to sit next to you again, surprisingly showing up to class on time, just like he did on Wednesday. Interesting.

Not long after, you hear the clack of Daniel’s heels as he walks down the stairs toward the front of the room. You watch closely as he takes out a large stack of papers from his large accordion folder and places them on the front of the desk. 

“Hello, everyone. Your first papers are graded, you can pick them up at the end of class on your way out. If you have any questions, please feel free to come up to my office after class is over, in room 321,” he says as he connects his computer to the projector. 

“Now, I want to touch on one more period before we take our first exam next week.” He stands up and walks to the left side of the room, leaning against the board and crossing one ankle in front of the other.

“The Italian Renaissance. Who can tell me a prominent artist from that time?” He crosses his arms and his eyes move around the room, looking for volunteers. Your hand shoots up, of course, and he sees that you’re the only one with your hand up. “Yes, Y/N?”

“Sandro Botticelli, known for The Birth of Venus,” you answer proudly. 

“Yes, good choice. Anyone else?” he asks, starting to walk up the stairs on the other side of the room from you. When no one else volunteers, you raise your hand again.

“Anyone besides Y/N want to answer? Or is she the only one who did the reading assignment for today?” He raises his eyebrows at the rest of the class as your cheeks start to flush. As you hear a girl in the back start to talk about Michaelangelo, your mind starts to wander. 

His specific attention toward you during class always manages to get you flustered, which you know you need to try and control. You don’t want anyone to catch on, but you can’t help the satisfying feeling you get when you impress him with your art knowledge. It’s something you know you’ll need to work on, but for now, the chase was fun.

As class ends, everyone goes up to the front of the room to get their graded papers. You’re one of the last to collect your things and grab your paper, but you finally approach his desk and find your name. A+, Great job!

You smile to yourself as you look up from the paper to Daniel, who’s still sitting at the desk. “Dr. Wagner, do you have time to talk about my paper in your office?” you ask with a cheeky smile. He looks up from his computer and looks you up and down for a moment, trying to subtly check you out but failing at the subtlety. 

“Why, do you have some concerns, Miss Y/L/N?” he answers, a smirk starting to form across his lips. You turn over your shoulder to see only a handful of people still lingering in the back, and then turn back to answer him. “Yeah, something like that.” 

He licks his lips and then pushes his hands off the desk to stand up and closes his laptop. He puts his things into his bag and slings it on his arm. “After you,” he says.

The two of you walk to the elevator and get in, allowing the doors to shut behind you before closing the gap between you. Daniel puts an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him as the elevator starts to rise, then places a soft kiss on your lips before pulling away, leaving only a few inches between you. 

“Been waiting for this all week,” he says, kissing your cheek before he continues. “Haven’t been able to touch you like I want to. It’s been killin’ me…” He places a kiss on your jaw, then another on your neck. You lean your head back slightly as you hold his arms tightly to steady yourself.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning your head against the back wall of the elevator. “I’ve just been a bit busy with my schoolwork. You should know, you’re the one who assigned it,” you say with a twinge of sarcasm. He lets out a condescending laugh against your skin then pulls back to look at you, rolling his eyes. 

“More like you were busy with ‘Rocks for Brains,’” he mumbles as the elevator stops and the doors open to the third floor. He immediately exits the elevator and turns toward his office, with you trying to keep up behind him. 

“Who, Stephen?” you ask, following behind him. He takes out his key and opens his office door, facing the door as he responds to you.

“I don’t care what his name is, he’s an idiot,” he answers matter-of-factly, walking toward his desk and setting his bag down on the floor next to it. 

“You can’t be serious,” you say, starting to feel a bit exasperated. You close the door behind you and walk a bit further into the room. He turns to face you, crossing his arms as he leans against the front of his desk. “Whatever. This isn’t why I wanted to come up here with you.” He raises an eyebrow at you as you approach him.

“Oh yeah? And why did you want to come up here, sweetheart?” His lips turn into a smirk as he steps closer and wraps his arms around your waist.

“You know why…” you say, putting your arms around his neck to close the gap even more. “A+, huh?” He smiles as he leans down to kiss your lips, lowering you down onto the chair in front of his desk. He hovers over you, keeping his left knee planted on the edge of the chair in between your legs as he attacks your lips. 

“Yes, an A+,” he mumbles against your lips, “You’re my best student.” His hand holds steady on the back of your neck as he rubs his thumb softly on the side of your neck, giving you goosebumps. “Oh, am I?” you tease, holding onto the collar of his shirt as you pull him in for another kiss. 

“Of course you are…” he whispers, his other hand grazing the side of your breast, making you let out a short breath as his mouth finds yours again. You let your tongue slip into his mouth and he welcomes it, groaning against your lips as you pick up the pace, pulling him down closer to you. He allows it for a few minutes before glancing at his watch and pulling his lips away. 

“As much as I’d like to keep going, I have to go teach a class in ten minutes,” he says, rubbing his thumb along your cheek and then backing away to grab his bag. 

“But… if you want to wait here, I’ll be back in about an hour and a half or so,” he says, looking down at you with a sincere smile. As your lips start to turn into a pout, he walks closer, placing his fingers under your chin to make you look at him. “Don’t be like that. I’ll make it worth your while.” You sigh and nod your head disappointedly.

“Okay, fine. I’ll wait,” you mutter, taking your phone out of your back pocket and unlocking it. He plants a kiss on your cheek, then walks to exit the office, closing the door behind him. 

You sit there for what feels like ages, just scrolling on your socials waiting for him to finally come back. After finally getting bored of looking at your phone, you decide to stand up and take a look around his office. 

You walk over to the bookshelves on the other side of the room and start combing through the books that sit there. Many of them are books you have in your own collection at home, which doesn’t surprise you. It was clear that the two of you have very similar interests when it comes to history, and this just proves it. 

Amongst his array of historical biographies, you find something that piques your interest. You take out a copy of Brave New World from the shelf and examine it, noticing its wear and tear. This book was well-loved, that much you could tell. You open it and look at the inside of the cover, finding a hand-written message on the inside. 

Dear Daniel,

Congratulations on your academic success at the University of Michigan. I couldn’t be more proud to call you my grandson. You’re going to go on to do great things. Never forget where you came from.

-Grandpop

That’s sweet. You smile to yourself as you put the book back on the shelf and your eyes find the wall behind his desk, where all of his degrees rest. You decide to walk over and look closer, curiosity getting the better of you. University of Michigan, Bachelor of Arts, Art History. Fancy. This much you assumed. Next to it, though, you see a second degree: Wayne State University, Master of Arts, Education. That one you didn’t exactly expect, but his teaching skills are pretty exceptional, so it shouldn’t surprise you. Finally, on the far right: Wayne State University, Doctorate of Architecture. Woah. You didn’t even know he was teaching those types of classes too. He seems to have a lot more to him than he lets on and you feel determined to figure him out, whatever it takes.

You walk back over to the shelves, taking a closer look at his replica of Duomo di Siena. Next to it, you notice a picture frame, with a photo of Daniel, though he looks a bit younger. You pick it up off of the shelf to get a better look. It’s a picture of him taken in front of the church with a wide smile on his face. 

His hair is much longer then, significantly past his shoulders, with a few blonde highlights peeking through. The light is hitting him just right– it seems like it was taken in the summer. He’s wearing a loose linen button-down and khaki shorts, with some large-rimmed sunglasses. He looks happy, really happy.

“Look at that– you are capable of following directions,” you hear Daniel’s voice behind you as he opens the door, shutting it behind him. “Snooping around, I see.” Your cheeks turn a shade of pink as you quickly put the frame back in its place on the shelf and approach him.

“I wasn’t snooping… just trying to pass the time is all,” you say, trying to look as innocent as possible to avoid any scolding on his part. 

“Right,” he answers, walking closer to you and wrapping one arm around your waist. “Find anything interesting?” 

“That’s a nice picture, there on the shelf. That’s in Italy, right?” you ask. He walks over to the shelf, picking the frame up and holding it in his hands. He looks down at the photo with a closed-lip smile.

“Yeah, this is in Siena. I visited it once during my year studying abroad in Florence, Siena isn’t far from there by train,” he answers, looking up at you as he puts the picture back on the shelf. It makes you happy to see him remembering the memory so fondly, it was clearly a memorable experience for him.

“Oh, that’s great! I never got around to studying abroad, but I’ve thought about it,” you say. He walks closer to you, putting his arms around your waist. “You should go, if you can. You study philosophy, right? You could go to Greece or something like that. Might be a good learning experience.” 

Your expression sinks a little bit at the idea. Of course you want to study abroad and travel, but you’d never be able to afford something like that. You’re already lucky to be going to WSU on a full ride, your mom would never be able to pull off paying for a semester abroad. You don’t want to ruin the mood by telling him that, though. So you just nod and hope he changes the subject. 

You stand up on your tip-toes and place a soft kiss on his lips, feeling him smile against you. “Thanks for waiting, I know you were probably bored,” he says, kissing you again and rubbing his thumb softly along your cheekbone. “Wanna get out of here?”

“God, yeah. I’m starving,” you admit, having not eaten since breakfast before your classes this morning. You pick up your bag and head toward the door, with him following after you with his things.

“There’s this place across the street I like, just some classic diner food,” you say as he presses the button for the elevator. You realize that it sounded way too much like a date, so you start to panic. “Unless you don’t want to eat together, of course. That’s totally fine too.”

He lets out a chuckle as you both step onto the elevator. “Relax. I want to eat with you,” he says, and you take a deep breath. You don’t want him to think you’re breaking any rules, but he did ask you to wait in the office for him, so it isn’t wrong to assume that he wanted to spend time together. 

The two of you walk across campus and then cross the street toward the diner. As you approach the door, he opens it for you, letting you walk in ahead of him. Your cheeks flush a bit as you pass him and enter the restaurant. You weren’t used to his sweet side, but you have to admit that it’s growing on you. 

“Two, please,” he says to the hostess before you even have the chance to say anything. She collects your menus and walks you over to a booth in the corner. You loved the vibes of the place– retro and bright. There were mini-jukeboxes at each table, which let you enter songs to play throughout all the other jukeboxes in the restaurant. The queue would grow so long though, so it was very rare that you’d even hear the song you requested, but it’s all part of the charm.

You take a look at the menu for a moment, though you already know what you want to eat. Then, you place it down at the front of the table, turn toward the jukebox, and start turning the pages to pick out some songs. 

“What’s all this?” you hear Daniel ask, scooching over on his side of the booth to get a closer look. You smile wide and look over at him.

“It’s a jukebox! You can pick out songs and eventually, they’ll play out of the speakers,” you say, turning back to search through the songs. Finally, you find just the right song. I Feel the Earth Move by Carole King, G7. You enter the letter then the number and then move back to face him.

“Carole King, huh? Good choice,” he says as he combs through the songs. You smile and then lean over the table to watch him pick one out. He stops at one of the pages and looks harder at it, then picks one himself: B4. You look closer to see what the song is. Till There Was You, The Beatles. Your smile turns even wider.

“I love that one!” you exclaim. “I hope it actually plays. The songs I request never actually play.” You hear him laugh deeply, and you look over to meet his eyes. He’s smiling as well, and while his lips are closed, the deep craters of his dimples tell you all his secrets. He’s not always as serious as he might appear. 

“Hopefully it does,” he says. Before he can say anything else, the waiter comes over to your table to take your orders. Daniel raises his eyebrow at you, hinting for you to go first.

“Can I have a Dr. Pepper, and then a cheeseburger and fries, please?” you say to the waiter, handing him your menu. “And for you?” the waiter asks, turning to Daniel.

“I’ll take an iced tea, and a BLT and fries,” he says. The waiter nods, taking your menus and walking back toward the kitchen.

“So, Y/N,” Daniel starts, folding his fingers together and placing them on top of the table. “You’re from around here, right?” You look up at him and raise your eyebrow, not entirely sure how to respond at first. He’s never asked you very many personal questions, besides what you’re studying.

“Oh, uhh, yeah. Sort of,” you start, as he looks at you attentively. “I’m from a small town just outside of Saginaw, you probably don’t know it.” You watch as his eyes light up and a smirk forms on his lips. “Try me,” he says.

“It’s called Birch Run… like I said, it’s real small,” you say, prepared for him to respond in a confused way, but he surprises you. 

“Get out of here, I’m from Frankenmuth. We’re practically neighbors,” he says, his closed-lip smile turning into a wide one. Your eyes go wide.

“Oh! Wow, okay. That’s crazy,” you say, smiling back at him. “We used to go to Frankenmuth every December for the Christmas market when I was a kid. It’s been years since I’ve been back there, though.” 

What you don’t want to mention is that it was your dad’s favorite place to go. Once he left home when you were in middle school and never came back, your mom couldn’t bear to go anymore. Your home life always tends to put a damper on things, so you always opt to not talk about it at all. Maybe one day.

“Small world,” he says. “My dad would always take us too. He’s a teacher, just like me. Sometimes his students or their families would be selling things there, or they’d be performing, so he always wanted to go support them when he could. He was the school favorite, clearly.” It’s sweet the way he smiles as he’s telling you about his father. It seems like he loves him a lot, which you both love and envy. 

“That sounds lovely. The music was always my favorite part, you know. I’d sit there in the front for so long that my mom would have to pick me up by force so we could go home,” you say, laughing at the memory. Some things never change, and your love for music has been a constant for you. 

“It was my favorite too. Still is,” he says. “I’m looking forward to going back this year.”

It felt somewhat bizarre, knowing things about him in this way. Not just because he was your professor, of course, but also because he’s always been such a mystery to you. It’s making him so much more real, somehow, and you welcomed it.

The food arrives soon after that. You make some small talk here and there, he asks about your other classes briefly, and you ask him about the other classes he’s teaching too. He tells you that he teaches architecture courses as well as art history, which you’re starting to take quite an interest in. 

Soon enough, you finish eating and it’s time to pay the check. You watch as Daniel hands the waiter his credit card before you have time to protest. “Daniel, you really don’t have to do that. I’m capable of paying for my own dinner,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“I know you are, sweetheart. But I’m taking care of it,�� he says with a smirk. He signs the check and then stands up, and you follow suit. “Can I drive you home? It’s the least I can do, it’s dark out.”

“Yeah, thank you,” you say, following him out of the restaurant.

You both walk back across campus together to the parking garage in comfortable silence. Finally, you arrive at his car and he opens your door for you before going around to the driver’s side. You put your address into the GPS on his phone and he pulls out of the spot toward the exit of the garage. As he starts to drive you home, you can’t take your eyes off of him. This new side that he showed you tonight has turned you on more than you’d like to admit. You weren’t expecting it, and his charm isn’t lost on you. It reminded you a lot of why you became interested in him in the first place. His charm is what brought you in, and now it’s what keeps you around. 

Not to mention, he looked so good tonight. He wore a navy blue button-down, with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. His arms always looked so good, but they did now especially. When he notices you looking at him, you see a smirk form across his lips.

Daniel’s right hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your thigh, gripping it tightly before rubbing his thumb softly along it. The sensation is enough to nearly take the air from your lungs, causing you to lean your head back against the headrest. 

His hand inches up further on your thigh and you take another deep breath, looking over at him. He bites his lip as he turns onto your street, finding a spot a few spaces down from the front of your building. You watch as he puts the car in reverse and turns over his shoulder to look out the rear window, still not taking his right hand off of your thigh. The whole display was ridiculously impressive, and you couldn’t hide your arousal even if you tried. Every move he made just made you more and more enamored with him.

He takes his hand off of your thigh to put the car in park then reaches up to push a piece of hair out of your face. “How do you do it?” he asks, rubbing his thumb smoothly along your cheek as his hand rests on the back of your neck.

“Do what?” you answer, looking up at him through your eyelashes as his face inches closer to yours. “Look so beautiful without even trying,” he says, using his grip on your neck to pull your face closer and finally close the gap between you. You breathe out a sigh into his lips as they begin to overtake you, the pace escalating quickly from soft and sweet to hungry and needy. 

All of a sudden, you watch as he pulls away from you and reaches down to the left of his seat to recline it backward. He uses the extra space to quickly move to the backseat, then reaches forward again to put the seat back in its original position. You turn over your shoulder to look over at him behind you, a smirk starting to form on your face. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says, his voice deep and musky with arousal. You almost let out a quiet whimper as you scramble to crawl over the center console to meet him in the backseat. You straddle his hips, placing your hands on both sides of his neck as your lips hurriedly meet his again. 

His hands wrap firmly around your waist, holding you in place. As your tongue sneaks into his mouth, he lets out a low groan, thrusting up toward you. The grip he has on your waist is so tight that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark tomorrow. You can feel his hardened cock straining against your core, making you grind back against him in his lap as the kiss deepens. 

“Be a good girl and lay back for me,” he says, taking his lips off of you and loosening his grip on your hips. You move backward in the seat, leaning your back against the door and letting your legs fall open. “There you go, baby,” he praises, kneeling on the floor of the backseat.

His hands find the waistline of your jeans, moving to undo the button, then lowering the zipper. He wastes no time, lifting your hips then pulling your jeans down completely and letting them rest on the floor. His eyes move up to find your black lace thong and your cheeks flush as his lips turn upward into a smirk. 

Daniel tucks his fingers into the sides of the thong, sliding it down your thighs and allowing it to fall and sit with your jeans.  He leans upward and his palms move to spread your legs further apart for him. He places a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh, just inches away from where you crave him the most. “You are just… unbelievable,” he mumbles against your skin, moving his lips up toward your core. 

He sucks sharply on the skin of your inner thigh, leaving a deep mark. You let out a high-pitched whine, and he removes his lips to run his tongue along the spot to soothe it. He finally reaches your core and places a kiss right above your clit. “So fucking perfect for me,” he says before lowering his mouth onto you.

He immediately starts a painfully quick pace, gliding his tongue through your folds for a few moments before attaching his lips to your clit. You lean your head back in ecstasy, hitting your head against the window as you let out a stifled moan. 

Then, much to your dismay, he removes his lips from you and you look down at him with a frustrated groan. “Uh-uh,” he scolds, “Open your eyes and look at me, or you get nothing.” You nod feverishly, and he smirks as he brings his mouth back down to continue his attack on your clit.

With his fast pace, you’re already nearing the edge. His eyes are glued to yours, looking up at you as he sucks on your clit. You fight the urge for your eyes to roll back in your head, not wanting to disobey his orders. “Fuck, Daniel, I– I’m close,” you mutter, gripping the seat tightly.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he mumbles against you. You feel him groan against your clit and he quickens his tongue’s movements, making your head start to spin. You let out a loud moan as he inserts two fingers into you, curling them upward to hit that spot deep inside you. That was enough to bring you over the edge– your hand reaches to grab his curls tightly and hold him against you tightly as you thrust against his mouth and ride out your high. His mouth continues to work you as you come down, slowing down gradually until you release your grip on his hair, allowing him to remove his mouth from you.

“You taste heavenly,” he says, coming up to slot himself between your legs and crashing his lips on yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, making you groan into his mouth as his tongue swirls against yours. Suddenly, your phone starts buzzing rapidly from its place in your jeans pocket on the floor. He moves to sit next to you and you scurry to find it, picking it up to see Rose’s name on the screen. You sigh deeply and then slide your finger across the screen to answer the call, putting it on speaker.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? You said you were on your way back home like, half an hour ago! I was getting worried that you got kidnapped!” she yells, loud enough to echo against the car walls. You glance over at Daniel awkwardly, trying not to laugh out loud. He has a wide smile on his face, bringing his hand to his mouth to stifle his own laugh to avoid getting caught.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you say, “Daniel was driving me home, we just lost track of time.” A laugh finally erupts out of his mouth, making you let yours out as well, and you hear Rose scoff over the phone. “Right. You lost track of time,” she says sarcastically. “Get your clothes on and come up here before I kill you.” She hangs up the call before you can respond, and you and Daniel break out into uncontrollable laughter.

“Sorry that I got you in trouble,” he says as you slide your underwear and jeans back on. You lean over and place a kiss on his lips with a smile. “It was worth it,” you say, reaching behind him to open the car door. He steps out and extends his hand to take yours and help you out onto the street. 

“I’ll see you later,” you say, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then walking past him toward your apartment building. “See you later, sweetheart,” he says, smiling to himself as he gets into the driver’s seat, turning the ignition. He doesn’t pull off until you walk through the doors, making you smile like an idiot as you wait in the elevator and approach your apartment.

You turn the key and open the door to your apartment, closing and locking it behind you. “Sorry I’m late, Mom!” you yell sarcastically, walking into your bedroom and setting your bag down on the floor. “Whatever,” Rose says, poking her head past your doorframe. “You better tell me all the details.”

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

The weekend goes by pretty quickly, spent mostly by reading over your art history textbook and binge-watching Naked Attraction with Rose. Monday soon came, and you’re finishing up your notes in art history class at the end of the lesson. You look up from your notebook as Daniel says, “Okay guys, I think that’s everything you’ll need for the exam next time we meet.”

He dismisses class early and walks back to his desk to pack up, watching you passively as you slip your notebook into your bag. You raise your desk and stand, slinging your bag onto your shoulders as Stephen stands with you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, catching you as you start to walk up the aisle. “How do you feel about the exam? Confident?”

“Oh, yeah,” you answer, shrugging your bag higher on your shoulders. “I could take it now.”

He smiles and nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, art history genius. I forgot” he jokes, tapping his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I feel pretty good about it too, I’ll still probably study a little bit though.” Stephen pauses for a moment, studying your face before continuing. “Y’know, I could use someone as smart as you to study with.”

His smile is charming, and you can’t deny the enjoyment of hearing about your own intelligence. A soft smile finds its way onto your lips as a slight blush creeps onto your cheeks. You shift and turn to face him, seeing Daniel watching you out of the corner of your eye. Your eyes flick between Stephen’s face and Daniel’s as you chew on your lip absently, considering your answer. 

“Oh um,” you laugh nervously, unsure of how to turn him down without an excuse. “Yeah, sure. A friendly face to study with could be nice.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow at you and clears his throat, turning his attention back to his laptop. Your cheeks flush and you look at the ground for a moment before turning your eyes back to Stephen.

“Sweet,” he says, pushing his phone towards you to get your number. “We can plan a time later.”

“Sounds good,” you say, adding yourself to his contacts and shooting yourself a text from his phone before handing it back to him with a smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Stephen smiles and walks away, leaving with the rest of the class as you look over at Daniel as he shoves his laptop into his bag with a little more force than necessary. You feel your face get hot and you slowly make your way to the front.

“My office,” Daniel says, not looking at you as he stands and starts walking up the aisle. “Now.”

You follow after him quickly, jogging a bit to catch up with him. “Did I do something?” You ask, adjusting your bag on your shoulders as you follow him to the elevator.

He pushes the “up” button, ignoring your question, and waits silently until the doors slide open. When they do, he steps through them and hits the button for the third floor. He leans against the back wall as you step through the doors, turning your back to him as the doors slide closed. You ride silently, your arms folded across your chest, and when the doors open Daniel pushes past you, leaving you to follow him into his office.

“Are you going to fill me in on whatever it is I did?” you ask as you pull the door closed behind you, crossing your arms.

“No, I don’t think I am,” he says, closing the distance between you and pinning you against the door. Your breath hitches in your throat as he nudges his knee between your legs and brings his hand up to brush your neck lightly. “I just want you to know that I don’t share.”

Your head rolls to the side at his touch but snaps back up at his words. “Wait,” you say, holding a hand up to Daniel’s chest. “This is about Stephen?” 

He hums and nods, bringing his hand up to your face and stroking his thumb across your cheekbone. “I heard you planning a little study date,” he says, his hand falling to rest on the side of your neck.

“Are you jealous, professor?” You ask, your voice saccharinely sweet as your lips turn up into a smirk. Your chin lifts as Daniel runs his thumb along your throat before he tightens his grip. He studies your face intensely as your cheeks flare pink and he returns your smirk.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he whispers, trailing kisses along your jaw. “Being a brat won’t get you anything good.” You shiver as his breath tickles your ear and you sigh when he attaches his lips to the sweet spot just below your ear. His hand falls to toy with the hem of your shirt and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. “Do I need to remind you that you’re mine?”

“Yours,” you repeat, your voice lifting as if asking a question. You hate to admit it, but his possessiveness is sexy. Every word adds to the growing heat between your legs.

Daniel’s hand slips down the front of your leggings and he glides his fingers through your folds, a whisper of a groan escaping him as he discovers how wet you are. His thumb finds your clit and begins to work slow circles around it, drawing a quiet moan from your chest.

“Mine,” he confirms, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity you haven’t seen before. “If you’re fucking me, you’re fucking only me.”

Your head falls back against the door as your body responds to his touch, your back arching as he slides a finger into you. He curls it forward, stroking against your sweet spot, and you bite your lip to hold back a gasp. His pace is agonizingly slow and your hips move on their own, grinding against his hand in an attempt to speed things up. With his free hand, he pins your hips against the door, clicking his tongue at you.

“Stand still,” Daniel orders, continuing his torturous pace. “Or I’ll stop altogether.” You whine and huff out a frustrated breath, your eyes holding his gaze. He adds a second finger, drinking in the pained moan that falls from your lips. 

“Poor thing,” he teases, a wicked smirk on his lips. His thumb flicks over your clit and your breath catches in your chest. Your walls flutter around his fingers as you feel your thighs start to quiver in anticipation.

“Daniel…” you say, your voice barely audible. “I’m-”

Your thought is cut off as his hand retreats, drawing a whimper from your throat at the loss of contact. He clicks his tongue condescendingly and licks his lips, watching you as you attempt to grind your hips down on his knee still tucked between your legs. He steps back with a cruel laugh and studies your face as you whine at him.

“Sluts don’t get to cum without permission,” he says flatly, his eyes darkening. “You’ll cum when I say so.”

Daniel takes your hand and pulls you into the room, leading you to his desk. He puts a large hand on your back, pushing you down, and you catch yourself on your forearms as you bend over the wood. You feel his hand drift down your back before he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, tugging them down over your ass. 

He presses himself against your ass, allowing you to feel him for just a moment before he pulls away. You turn to look over your shoulder at him but are forced to bury your face in your arm to stifle a cry as his hand comes down hard against your ass. His thumb rubs over your skin as it turns pink, soothing the sting for a moment before drawing back and landing another smack on the same cheek. He repeats this cycle several more times, leaving you a whimpering mess sprawled on his desk. 

“How many?” Daniel asks from behind you, his thumb stroking over the throbbing red mark he’d made. Your ears prickle with heat and you risk a glance back at him, tears stinging your eyes. 

“W-what?” You stammer, not grasping what he was asking.

“How many was that?” He clarifies, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

You hadn’t been counting, didn’t know you were supposed to be counting. You bite your lip as your head spins, deciding guessing is better than not answering at all as you say, “Eight?”

“Are you asking,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Or telling?”

“Eight,” you say, more confident this time. He smiles, satisfied, and slips your leggings down the rest of the way, tapping your leg for you to step out of them. You shiver as the cold air in the room touches your bare legs and you straighten, turning to face him. Goosebumps raise on your skin as you watch Daniel swiftly undo his belt and remove his slacks and boxer briefs. 

He lowers himself onto the couch against the wall and strokes himself at a lazy pace as his eyes rake over your body. With an almost imperceptible nod, he gestures for you to join him and you slowly make your way over, tugging your shirt over your head and dropping it on the floor. You place a knee on either side of him, straddling his lap, and his hands find your hips, his fingertips digging into your skin firmly. 

Daniel’s hands move up your back slowly and he unclasps your bra with a flick. You let the garment fall down your arms and you toss it on the floor behind you, not breaking the gaze you shared with him. His hand drifts up your stomach, his fingertips grazing lightly against your skin, and your muscles quiver under his touch as if they were electrified.

A soft moan leaves your lips as he palms your breast, kneading his fingers into the flesh. You let your head fall back as his tongue traces around your nipple and grind your hips down against his hard cock. He groans and takes your nipple between his teeth, biting down on the bud and making you yelp softly. His free hand returns to your hip and squeezes you, hinting that he wants you to keep going. You repeat the motion, grinding yourself down against him, and moan softly as his hips buck up, his length rubbing your sensitive clit.

You set a slow pace, savoring the sensation, and you feel his lips travel to the slope of your breast. His teeth drag against your skin for a moment before he bites, sucking at the spot until a purple mark already starts to form. Looking at the mark, his lips turn up into a smirk and he turns his attention to your other breast, leaving a mark that mirrored the other. His hand on your ass grips you firmly, guiding your hips over him, and he moans against your skin. He lifts his head to look up at you, watching the subtle rise and fall of your body as you work yourself toward the edge.

“Ah, ah,” Daniel tuts and moves his hand over the red mark on your ass and squeezes hard, ripping your attention away from chasing your orgasm and back to him. “That’s enough.”

With one hand under your thighs, he lifts you up slightly, reaching to line himself up at your entrance. He lifts his eyes to yours as he feels how slick he is, his lips quirking up at the corners. An amused hum comes from his chest as he turns his attention back to lining up and swiftly pulling you down onto him. You gasp as he fills you, letting out a drawn-out moan at the welcomed pain of him stretching you.

“Fuck Y/N,” he hisses, his hands holding you still as your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. He looks up at you, his pupils blown out and a bewildered smirk on his lips. “What are you?”

You smile and shrug innocently, draping your arms over his shoulders and the back of the couch behind him as you slowly start to ride him. “Fucking silk,” he groans as his head falls back against the couch as you glide over him. His hands rest on your thighs, pushing against them each time you rise, unable to even give the illusion that he wasn’t in control. You let your head drop to rest on your arm, turning your face towards Daniel’s neck as you breathe out moans tangled with his name against his skin. 

Daniel shifts his hips under you, adjusting the angle as you ride him. Your breath catches in your throat as his cock brushes against your sensitive spot, leaving stars in your vision. Your sounds spur him on and suddenly he wraps his hands under your thighs, forcing you to stop. 

You’re about to protest when he begins fucking you harshly. Pressing your face into the crook of his neck to quiet yourself, you let out a moan. His tip brushes against your cervix and you whimper against his skin, your walls tightening around him as you feel your stomach tense. 

“Daniel, please,” you beg, your voice faltering. He reaches up, tangling his fingers in your hair, and tugs your head up.

“Sit up,” he demands, letting you lower fully onto his cock. “Want to watch you fall apart.”

You let out a whine as his hips still and you meet his gaze, your eyes pleading. Daniel presses his thumb against your lips and you part them, letting him press forward. You swirl your tongue around it before he pulls back and moves his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight, quick circles into it. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he muses, his eyes watching your face as you squeeze around his cock. “Let go.”

“Fuck,” you moan, your orgasm crashing over you as your fingers dug into Daniel’s shoulders. He releases your head, letting you fall back to his shoulder, and he returns his hands to your thighs, lifting you up and fucking you again relentlessly

“Oh my god,” you groan into his shoulder, digging your nails into his back as he pounds into you. With a final rough thrust, Daniel’s fingers dig into your thighs and he curses, his cock twitching inside of you as he spills his release. His hands release from your thighs and you lift off of him slowly, sitting back on his thighs and letting your forehead rest on his shoulder. 

You both gain control of your breathing, and you finally feel like you can trust your legs. Slowly, you slide off of his lap and gather your clothes from the floor. You pull your leggings on, trying to find your ability to speak, as Daniel stands and collects his underwear and pants from the floor. 

“So,” you say finally, clasping your bra behind your back and bending down to pick up your shirt. “No one else?” You turn your eyes to him and find him staring back at you. He scoffs a laugh and folds his arms across his chest.

“Cancel your study date,” he says, mocking the first word. 

“I will,” you say, not even considering telling a lie.

His eyes flick to your bag by the door and back to you. “Now.”

Your cheeks flush and you grab your phone out of your bag, pulling up the text from Stephen and tapping reply.

To: Stephen

Hey, I just looked at my calendar and I’m totally booked up until after the exam. So sorry!

You tap send and hold it up dramatically so Daniel can see it, a satisfied smile finding its way onto his lips. He steps closer to you and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling your body against his. You look up at him and he winks, lowering his head to press a kiss to your lips. 

“No one else, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

chapter iv

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[thelavendernarwhal]

I received an ask that a person wanted answered anonymously, so:

But I really, truly cannot stop thinking about this one scene in Legacy. It’s around page 351.

“You mean having Dizznee pull some money from your birth fund and then hitting up a shop for a couple of minutes?” Keefe asked. “Yeah, Dex told me all about how not exhausting that was last night, when he checked in to tell me how things went for you two in London, while someone was off doing something with Mr. Forkle…”

So what I’m hearing is sleepy Dex on call with Keefe? Dex telling Keefe that he’s tired? A cute little nightly convo?

Side note, why was Dex tired? Does his ability make him tired? I need more elaboration, Shannon.

This scene is hella interesting to me since you look at it and it immediately seems like a Sokeefe scene, but in the middle, it has this seemingly random shift into talking about a completely different character dynamic. The context this snippet falls into is Keefe trying to cheer up Sophie after she had an argument with Mr Forkle. It all makes sense within of their relationship and dynamic, but this bit of dialogue is communicating something pretty different. It’s pointing out that Keefe and Dex have a close friendship that Sophie isn’t super aware of and that Sophie doesn’t spend a lot of time with/pay attention to Dex. 

Both of these things can be chalked up to the fact the story is from Sophie’s perceptive. The big plot details have to happen or be explained to her or else they won’t make it to the reader. That doesn’t leave a lot of page time for banter, especially for a character like Dex who’s narrative role can mostly be done off stage. Of course, Dex’s character can be used for a lot more than ‘cool gadget guy’ (ie class divides, matchmaking/queer allegories, parallels to many other characters, etc), but that’s a whole different can of worms. Having moments like this that show things happening outside of Sophie helps establish a larger, more lively world. It shows that Sophie isn’t the center of the universe. 

But these little moments can be established with many different characters. There are so many background dynamics and friendships that can be leveraged for this purpose which makes it interesting that specifically Keefe and Dex are highlighted. In fact, these two are highlighted in this way fairly often. Back in book 3, the two of them hit it off quickly and spend more time together outside of a group setting which then translates into many Keefex moments (including getting their team/ship name). Late night calls are probably pretty common. 

But what really gets me about all of this is the casualness and I think it's because few other relationships in this series have that. Even characters that are established to be best friends have a good amount of tension between them (ie Fitz and Keefe, Sophie and Dex, Stina and Marella), but Keefe and Dex don’t have that. There’s a sense of stability and trust. They hang out and talk to each other without a practical reason to do so. Dex feels okay complaining to Keefe about projects and, presumably, feelings of isolation. Especially seen in Unlocked, Keefe trusts Dex to help him and hear some of the ugly things he doesn’t want to say to Sophie. There's definitely a lot of room for cute late night conversation on call, but also for a chill relationship in a sea of high-tension dynamics. 

The length of this thing kind of got away from me but that's my take :) 

(Also, I'm exploring a lot more of the mechanics of technopathy in my own writing, so I think that it's possible that Dex’s experience is something very similar to Keefe’s as the Forbidden Cities has more integrated technology that seemingly ‘speaks’ to Dex. That could be very overwhelming for him, hence why he's tired.)

[lurkingshan]

Some Highly Recommended Kdrama

My pal @troubled-mind asked me if I had any recommendations for good kdramas to watch, and my answer to that is: literally always. I put together this short list for them and decided to share in case anyone else is interested.

Parameters for this list: modern setting, strong focus on friendship dynamics, mix of genres, avoid university settings, no one-sided romantic pursuits, and no terribly sad endings

Be Melodramatic/Melo Is My Nature (Viki)

Fantastic friendship focused drama about a group of close friends who all move in together in the wake of personal crises. A healing drama that includes a couple love lines. And an out gay side character (still extremely rare for mainstream kdrama, unfortunately). This one will make you laugh and cry.

Happiness (Viki)

Pandemic zombies attack! Now I am not really a zombie person, but I absolutely love this show. It’s about a pair of working class besties who decide to get married in order to win a housing lottery (one of them may or not be hoping this fake marriage turns real), then immediately get caught in a lockdown with all their new neighbors when there’s a zombie virus outbreak. Shenanigans ensue! This is more action thriller than horror, and the two main characters are some of my all time favs. The writing, plotting, and pacing are tight as hell and it’s a rare perfect 10 for me on that front.

Coffee Prince (Viki)

MY BELOVED. This is an absolute classic genderbend kdrama that I’ve watched several times. The show that made Gong Yoo famous. An honest to goodness queer narrative about a chaebol who meets a girl pretending to be a boy for poverty reasons, falls in love, and has a bisexual awakening. This show was way ahead of its time even if it doesn’t use our modern language (you will not hear the words trans, non-binary or bi/pansexual but trust me, they’re there). Also features a fun friend group who all work together at the coffee shop. I try to make everyone watch this one, and recently got @bengiyo and @kyr-kun-chan to watch and validate my read of the story, and they enjoyed it a lot despite the messy hets. Be warned though that this drama is old old, so you’ll need to adjust to the visuals.

Fight for My Way (Viki)

My all time favorite friends to lovers drama, this is a coming of age tale of two best friends and their long journey to getting on the same page about romance. Their dynamic is fantastic and the story is mostly set in their early adulthood as they try to establish themselves in careers and make sense of their bond as adults. Also features their close friends who form a fun little group with them. And Park Seo Joon, a god among drama actors.

Hospital Playlist (Netflix)

If you want excellent friendship dynamics, look no further. This show is all about a group of five friends who met in college and have stuck together for over two decades and all of life’s ups and downs. The story begins when they find themselves all working in the same hospital for the first time since med school and decide to restart their old band. Yes, there will be singing, and no, you don’t have to cover your ears - the cast is stacked with South Korea’s best musical theater talent. This drama is slice of life and takes us through a couple years with them as they reforge their bonds and each deal with their own family baggage and love lives.

Misaeng (Netflix)

My all time favorite workplace drama that has the unique distinction of being the only show to ever make me literally burst into happy tears. No romance in this one. Story centers on a former baduk prodigy (think if Reply 1988 Taek stalled out instead of becoming a master) who attempts to enter the workforce with no discernible skills. He bumbles and fumbles and alternately competes with and bonds with his fellow interns, and forms a deep and lasting relationship with his mentor. When I tell you this show is a master class in writing to create emotional stakes, phew! How else can you explain me getting deep in my feelings over the success or failure of an import/export company?

My Mister (Netflix or Viki)

This one is a bit darker, as it deals with themes of intergenerational trauma, abuse, poverty, depression, and general ennui. Not a romance, this drama focuses on the strange and unexpected bond that forms between a middle aged man and a younger woman working on his team. They meet at an important inflection point in both their lives and forge a friendship that changes them both. Really moving and utterly beautiful, with an ending that will make you feel happy to be alive.

Extraordinary You (Viki)

Time for a change up! This is a fantasy show in which the main character becomes self aware and realizes she is a side character in a manwha. Technically set in a school (inside the manwha) but not actually about that. She bonds with another side character who is self aware, and the two of them start working to change the story so that they can break free (and fall in love while doing it, naturally). The concept of this one is just so cool and they do a lot of interesting things with it, plus the visuals are stunning.

The Uncanny Counter (Netflix)

Because I know you liked Oh No! Here Comes Trouble, I’m adding this one about a kid who discovers he has superpowers and teams up with a little found family of grim reapers to fight evil. The family unit is great and there’s lots of good stuff in their various relationships with each other. This one is a lot of fun but also touches on the characters’ sad backstories and family lives.

Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo (Viki)

You said to avoid university settings but I’m adding this one in case you want to give a classic college romance a try. My fav in that category, it’s a sports romance between a weightlifter and a swimmer who used to be childhood friends and reconnect in college while they’re struggling with performance issues, body image, and romance. It’s a friends to lovers slow burn and they are utterly adorable.

If you like any of these, let me know and I can give you more recs!! Y’all can hit me up anytime, getting other people to watch my fav shows is one of my number one joys in life.

[kittenofdoomage]

Lucky Girl

Summary: Y/N has a dilemma to solve, but lucky for her, she's got a very handy Alpha to help out.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x fem!Omega!reader, referenced Saileen

Word Count: 3025

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics and smut (knotting, unprotected sex, scenting), amusing and dirty little old ladies, I would like to thank my mother for the inspiration from her many life drawing classes and the funny stories she tells me every week about the models.

A/N: Thank you so much Tumblr for making editing 1000% feckin' harder, sorry if there's any formatting issues guys x

Ao3 Link

Her frustrated cry echoed through the house, and Dean followed the sound, finding her in the kitchen at the island, phone in hand and dismay on her face. He frowned, skirting around her to lean on the opposite side of the counter. “What’s up?”

“My model for tomorrow night just pulled out,” Y/N muttered, sighing heavily and dropping her phone. “I promised the director I’d get an Alpha model for this class, and now I’m back to square one.”

His bottom lip jutted out and he leaned on the heels of his hands, hunching his shoulders. “This is the, uh, the -”

“Life drawing,” she supplied.

“The nudie class, right?”

“That’s the one.” Another sigh, and she lowered her head, resting her forehead against one palm. “Where the hell am I gonna find an Alpha willing to pose nude in front of a bunch of OAPs?”

For a moment, he was silent, chewing on his lip as he watched her despair. “Out of curiosity, is this a voluntary gig or -?”

She looked up at him. “It’s a hundred bucks for ninety minutes. But you find me an Alpha who wants to do it, as well as is able to do it. I don’t need another Omega clawing my eyes out.”

He stood straight, patting his hands against his chest. “I’ll do it.” Y/N froze, staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. “You?”

“Why not? You can paint me like one of your French girls,” he quipped, and she chuckled, shaking her head as she pressed her hands to his chest. “No?”

“Well, a - it’s a drawing class,” she said hesitantly. “And I guess I wouldn’t have to worry about any Omegas getting pissy with me but…”

“But what?” he asked, shrugging. “It’s not like you’re leaving me to be assaulted by the Golden Girls is it?”

“I dunno, Geraldine can get a little handsy. She makes comments.”

A dirty smirk curved his features. “I got nothing to be ashamed of,” he announced proudly. “So long as you’re okay with me doing it,” he added quickly, leaning on the island again. “I don’t wanna do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” she replied, picking up her phone. “I’d have to clear it with Jeff first… but I don’t see why you can’t do it.” Her phone started to ring, and she grimaced, giving Dean an apologetic look. “That’s him now. I’ll run it by him, see what he thinks.” The back door opened as she got up, and Dean’s attention was snatched away by his brother’s entrance, leaving his Omega to dash off to the living room for a more private conversation with her boss.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean greeted, moving to the fridge. “Beer?”

“No thanks, man, I gotta drive later,” Sam replied, shaking his head. “Everything okay?”

The conversation he’d just been having didn’t seem like one he wanted to share with his brother, so he smiled, fishing a beer out of the bottom of the refrigerator. “Yeah, peachy. How’s Eileen?” Sam’s smile was wide. “Hangry.”

“Ah, second trimester. I hear it’s a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let her hear you say that.”

Y/N returned, smiling as she held up her phone. “Jeff said it’s fine!” she exclaimed. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Sam frowned, looking between them, gaze finally settling on his brother as the elder’s face turned beet red. “Did I, uh, miss something?”

“Nothing,” Dean rushed out. “Just something Y/N needed help with, is all. Nothing to write home about.”

She couldn’t stifle the giggle at how red he turned, sliding back into her seat at the island. “Absolutely nothing.”

The life drawing class was her last of the day, following her beginner’s watercolor classes, and it was one of the more popular ones at the community college. Her regular classroom’s walls were adorned with art created by students that passed through, and in the five years Y/N had been teaching art, she’d never found a school quite as welcoming as Lawrence Community. It was mostly mature students, and her classes in particular were mostly attended by elderly students, and life-drawing was no exception. She was always the youngest person in the room, and handsy Geraldine was the oldest at eighty-five, though she was as spirited as any thirty year old.

Dean was nervous when he showed up ten minutes early, hovering in the doorway as she said goodbye to the last few stragglers from her late watercolor class. When they were finally alone, she smirked at him, folding her arms across her chest as she stood behind her desk.

“Nervous?” she teased.

“No,” he scoffed, false bravado making his voice a little higher than usual.

“Good,” she chuckled, stepping out from her desk. She strode to the furthest wall, pulling out a folding screen from storage. “I don’t think we’re expecting a full house tonight. You can get undressed behind here, then we’ll figure out a pose.”

He balked a little at that. “A pose?”

“Well, you can lie down, or you can sit - you can read a book if you don’t wanna get bored,” she explained.

“Am I allowed to talk?”

“So long as you don’t move too much. Geraldine will probably be very chatty.”

He grimaced, slipping behind the screen. “Okay, now I’m nervous.”

Y/N grinned. “You’re gonna do great.”

While he got ready behind the screen, she began to move the chairs and desks, arranging them in a circle before hauling the chaise longue into the middle. It didn’t take long for Dean to undress, and when he shuffled out from behind the curtain with his hands covering his junk, she couldn’t help but laugh. He peered at the small couch, pulling a face at the size of it.

“Am I even gonna fit on that?”

“It’s very sturdy,” she pointed out.

He didn’t look like he believed her but he approached anyway, lowering himself onto the soft surface with one hand, still covering his dick with the other. “It’s soft,” he exclaimed, testing the weight of it. “Is there a position you’d recommend?”

The innuendo was clear, and she pursed her lips for a second, then cleared her throat. “I’d recommend you lay down,” she rushed out, hoping he couldn’t smell the sudden flare in her scent. “Sometimes when you’re sitting for that long, you’ll be inclined to slouch, and that’ll make your back ache.”

“My back already aches,” he grumbled.

“Maybe pretend like you’re at the psychiatrist’s office or something,” she suggested.

He nodded, mouth pulling down at the corners as he contemplated it. “I can work with that.”

A knock at the door only preceded it opening by a second or two, and Dean jumped when one of her students, Vivienne, stuck her head through the door. “May we come in, dear?”

“You ready?” Y/N asked him quietly. “You’re gonna have to bare all, remember.” He grunted, lying back, reluctantly pulling his hand away from his crotch. She turned her back quickly, striding towards the door. “Of course, girls, please come in.”

The door swung wide, and Dean tried not to be alarmed by the amount of people walking in. There were nine people in total, seven elderly women and two older gentlemen. He was expecting lewd stares; what he got was a cursory glance as one old lady pointed out to her friend that using mayonnaise in a cake recipe wasn’t uncouth in the slightest.

“Okay, guys and gals,” Y/N announced, clapping her hands together as the students found their seats, all facing him. “We’ve got a very handsome model tonight, though I might be biased because he’s my boyfriend.”

One of the ladies pulled her bright pink glasses down, peering over them at him, obviously assessing him. “Lucky girl,” she murmured, and the other women all tittered as he tried not to blush.

Y/N smirked. “Are you in a comfortable position, Dean?”

He shifted, bringing one knee up, trying to appear casual without straining a muscle. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Is everyone happy with the model’s positioning?”

A hand shot up, belonging to a petite white-haired lady wearing a blue fuzzy sweater that appeared a couple of sizes too big. Her thick glasses made her eyes huge, and the pearl string that hung from them around her neck jangled when she moved. “Could we turn the light behind him off?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N said, quickly crossing the room to turn the section of lights off. The effect cast almost a spotlight on him, and he swallowed, hoping the ninety minutes would go fast. “Is that okay?”

“Perfect,” the blue-sweater lady grinned, giving her a thumbs up.

“Okay, so ninety minutes, we’re not looking for perfection here, so don’t rush yourselves. Study the angles, take your time, and remember, anything you create is beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as him,” the pink-glasses lady chortled, and Dean hoped the lighting didn’t show how red he felt. Y/N only smiled, glancing at the clock before instructing everyone to begin. No one said a word as the room filled with the sound of paper rustling and pencils being sharpened. He stayed as still as possible, feeling a little tense as they studied him.

After a while, Y/N began to walk around the room, checking on her student’s progress. Dean watched her, feeling a little proud of how encouraging she was, helping each individual identify their strengths in their creations. “Great shading, Geraldine,” she commented as she reached the lady with the pink glasses.

“I’m trying to keep everything in proportion,” the old lady murmured with a dirty smirk on her face as her gaze slid to Dean. “Out of curiosity, dear, do you ever cut yourself on that chiseled jaw?”

The ice broke and a quiet rumble of laughter went around the room, with Dean chuckling too. “It’s never been a problem before, darlin’,” he threw back, giving her a salacious wink. She clutching her chest, looking up at Y/N as the younger woman rolled her eyes with a smile.

“If I was fifty years younger,” Geraldine warned playfully, inspiring another round of giggles.

It didn’t seem so bad after that. Dean relaxed, enjoying some back and forth with the more chatty of the students. The time flew by, and when Y/N announced that class was ending, he was surprised to look at the clock and see it was nearly nine-thirty.

Each student packed up, and he took the opportunity to dress again behind the screen, emerging just as the last few ladies were lingering. Geraldine was among them, approaching him as soon as he appeared to shake his hand.

“You take care of our Y/N, you hear?” she instructed in a firm but friendly manner as she clasped his fingers in a strong grip. “She’s very dear to all of us, and you don’t want a dozen old ladies knockin’ down your door.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Trust me, I know how special my girl is.” His eyes met Y/N’s over Geraldine’s head and she smiled at him warmly. “It was nice to meet you, Geraldine.”

“Oh, the pleasure was all mine,” she sighed softly, another dirty smile on her lips, pulling her hands back and turning away. Dean was sure he was beet red, and he remained rooted to the spot until the door was closed and he was alone with his Omega.

She turned the lock, making sure the shutters were fully closed, then faced him with her back to the door. “You know,” she started, an amused tone to her voice, “I thought this was gonna be hard for you, being naked and having to stay still.” He waited, sensing she wasn’t done as she stalked towards him. “But it turns out,” she slowed to stop as she reached him, pressing her hands against his chest, then brought her whole body flush with his, “it’s really hard to watch you be naked for that long and not mount you.”

His eyebrows lifted, head dipping to brush the tip of his nose against hers. “Oh?”

“Geraldine’s right though,” she whispered, pushing up on tiptoes to press her lips to his in a brief chaste kiss that made him groan lightly. “You are beautiful.”

“Shut up,” he grunted, lifting his hand to cup her face as he kissed her properly, forcefully enough that he almost made her stumble back before he used his other hand to grab her ass. She arched against him, moaning into his mouth as she grabbed handfuls of his shirt and ground into him. “We’re not gonna get disturbed in here, right?”

“Nope,” she hummed, squeaking when he suddenly pushed her back against her desk. She grinned at him, perching herself on the desk and spreading her legs. “Do you really wanna wait until we get home?”

“Uh-uh,” he growled, on her again in the next second, claiming her mouth with hard, deep kisses that left her breathless and trembling. “Want you right now.” His hand dropped, fumbling with the fastening on her slacks, almost tangling himself up with her as she went for his. When she grew too impatient, she pushed him back a little, jumping down to remove her pants, easily slipping them off over her tennis shoes. Dean watched her as she shimmied out of her panties, one hand halfway through unbuckling his belt.

“You need a hand with that?” she teased, and he smirked, quickly unfastening his pants as he went for another kiss, helping her back up onto the desk. His pants dropped, coming to a stop mid-thigh as he spread his legs between hers, pinning her thighs apart. “Fuck, Dean -”

He groaned as he fisted his erection, swiping the blunt head through her folds. “All this for me?” he murmured. “You’re soaked, baby…”

“Quit teasing,” she gasped, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. “Want you inside me.”

It was a request he wasn’t going to deny, and he sank into her slowly, letting her feel every inch until he was buried deep. She moaned, seeking out another kiss as he held himself there, his hands wandering up underneath her shirt to grope at her tits. Despite her squirming, he didn’t even attempt to thrust, enjoying the feel of her channel getting slicker around him. His name left her lips in a tiny wail, and he grinned, pulling back to witness the lust-drunk look on her face.

“You said you wanted me inside you,” he murmured, “not that you wanted anything else.”

“Gah, you’re an ass,” she whimpered, pouting up at him. “Would you please fuck me?”

He smirked. “Since you asked so nicely.”

The desk squeaked under the force of his first thrust, and she grabbed hold of him, kissing him desperately as he slid his hands around her hips to hold her in place. Her knees lifted, ankles locking behind him, and he used the leverage to fuck into her harder. The desk squeaked again, then shifted, and he paused, giving her a worrying look.

“Get on the floor,” she hissed, pushing him back hard enough that he was forced to withdraw. Y/N hopped down, barely giving him a second to process the request through the fog of arousal before she pounced, pulling him down onto the ground and straddling him. Dean moaned as she rubbed her wet slit against him, feeling her hand wrap around him a second later to guide him back inside her.

She didn’t seem to care that they were in a public setting, though the room was two stories up and had no internal windows for anyone to catch sight of them. It wasn’t a worry that occupied his mind for long as she sat on top of him, rocking her hips in tiny circular motions to enjoy the feel of how deep he was. The sensation was pleasurable, not enough to make him cum, but she was easily getting herself off, something he was always happy to watch.

He groaned when she shuddered, her warm little hands splaying over his belly, pushing his shirt up so she could feel his skin. “Wanna feel your knot,” she whispered, running her hands up to his chest as she leaned down to kiss him.

“You’re gonna need to move a little more than that,” he grunted, gasping when she clenched around him. “That’s cheating.”

She giggled, sitting straight again, moving with a little more vigor. There was no bouncing on the cool hard floor of her classroom, instead, she rocked back and forth, and the pressure on his cock was almost dizzying. Her slick made his thighs slippery, and he felt the burgeoning tightness in his belly, giving him a warning that he wouldn’t last much longer.

“You sure you want me to knot you like this?” he panted, hands clutching at her hips.

She smiled and leaned over him, and the angle changed, allowing her to slide up and down his thick shaft without the risk of hurting herself on the tiles. “I want you to knot me like this,” she moaned, moving her lower body a little faster. Dean’s eyes almost crossed, and he tilted his head up, gripping her harder. A repetitive “fuck” left her lips as she kept going, and just when he thought he might crumble in on himself, she slammed down, taking every inch he had to give. His knot popped, and his orgasm washed over him, leaving him tense as she kept writhing on top of him, apparently intent on having him cum as deep as possible.

Every ounce of tension flowed out of him as he finally finished, and Y/N collapsed against his chest, almost purring her contentment. He chuckled, smoothing hair out of her eyes before running his hand down her back.

“I don’t know what I was expecting tonight,” he murmured, “but this pretty much beats out everything I imagined.”

“Hmmm,” she lifted her head, kissing him softly, “maybe I should have you model again sometime.”

Dean grinned. “I’m sure Geraldine would love that.”

Please consider leaving some love in a reblog and/or comment 😘 thanks for reading!

[lynns-cornerr]

“TOMORROW’S TEST” - BAJI X HARDWORKER! READER

Pronouns : they/them

Genre : fluff

A/n : Little story I wrote during my history class, hope you like it :)

English isn’t my first language, please let me know if there’s any grammar error!!

he was in the same class as you, and yet you never really noticed him. You only tended to care about those two or three people that you interact daily and did not hate without reasons, the others were just company, and you knew others saw you in the same way.

You met him during lunch. You had finished earlier and you were already directing to the class to prepare and review what you needed for the next lessons, you were sure to not find anyone as usual, but it wasn’t so.

There was a guy sitting in the back row, he had long black hair tied up, and glasses that looked ridiculous. He was writing something, and judging by his facial expression, he wasn’t doing so well, he was probably so busy he didn’t even notice you.

You sat in your usual seat, looking the other way and doing your thing, but as you reread your notes, you started to feel watched. You turned your back to see the boy hastily look down.

you however did not stop watching him, and in the end you decided to go to him, sitting at the table in front of the guy. He immediately looked up nervously, instead you looked at his notebook

"If you need a hand, just ask,"

you just said, turning the notebook in your directions and starting to read what he had written.

"O-h, sorry. I didn’t want to bother you a-"

"don’t worry"

just then you looked up to send him a friendly smile. He looked you in the eye with a shocked expression that soon turned into one of gratitude

"in that case, thank you"

That night, while you were doing your things, you had difficulty concentrating. But it wasn’t like the other times: it was usually related to your worries about things that happened that day or doubts about the future and things like that, but now you couldn’t think about anything but that guy

Even if you were in class together, how come you never noticed? You’ve always been a attentive to detail, so why can’t you remember him? Were your friends right when they said you tended to live in your own little world? I mean, yeah, you remember his face, after all, you’ve been going to school together for years, and yet you don’t remember talking to him or anything, and it just seemed ... strange

the next day, before entering school, you asked a couple of questions to your friends about that boy - Baji Keisuke. They told you that they did not know much about him, they had just heard a few rumors about how bad he was at school and that he was kind of a friend with another boy, Chifuyu, who was a bully a few years ago, but who seemed to have calmed down after getting to know Baji.

You wished you could get more informatio, but the bell rang and you went to class. As you walked, you tried to pay more attention to the things and people around you.

like the day before, you decided to go to class early during your lunch break, and luckily, there was again.

"Hey," you said while sittings straight next to him.

You offered to help him study, and he initially resisted, saying that he did not want to take advantage of his kindness, but you insisted and he had no escape.

this went on for a couple of days, always with the same dynamic. But one day you finally decided to ask.

"Why are you always spending your break here lately?"

He hesitated for a moment, and slightly lowered his head, embarrassed,

"You know the task we have the day after tomorrow?"

"Yes?"

"I don’t want to take another deficiency. Not that I care much, but my mother does and I would like to give her a satisfaction"

"... I see"

That said, you kept coming back, but you weren’t as interested as before, because your head was elsewhere. You thought how cute her intentions were, after all, in those days he was trying really hard, and thinking that it was for his mother gave you a strange warmth in your chest.

The bell rang sooner or later and you two stopped repeating, but you felt you wanted to spend more time with him. You didn’t know why, but you felt this wasn’t enough.

to get you out of your thoughts was Baji with a small but simple phrase

"how about tomorrow we repeat together? Maybe my place, if it’s okay"

as you returned to your seat, behind you Baji was literally screaming inside, incredulous that you had accepted (after school he would tell Chifuyu, and he would be completely shocked by how much Baji was behaving since that wasn’t even an official appointment, yet looked like he was in Haeven)

that afternoon, you met his mother. She was immediately kind and welcoming to you, thanking you for agreeing to help her ‘idiot son’

everything went smoothly, until the two of you heard a knock on Baji's bedroom door. You both thought that maybe she was his mother, but instead you found yourself in front of a boy who was more or less the same age as you, with light purple hair and eyes, and a black and white uniform and a familiar face

"Baji we- oh"

He immediately panicked

"Taka , not now"

“I know, I get it, but things have happened with.. well you know."

he hesitated, visibly frustrated by that situation. "Okay, but a quick one"

The two left the room, closing the door behind them, and you stood there, confused, and even worried.

shortly after, the door opened and saw Baji visibly angry

"I’m sorry, but I have things to do, I have to deal with something"

on his face you could clearly see his sorrow but you did not ask any question

"All right, don’t apologize. After all it got pretty late and good or bad we repeated everything, so I’m sure tomorrow will be fine. I go home now"

"Wait, alone? I can give you a lift."

"Didn’t you say you were busy? I don’t want to waste your time. Plus, I’m retry sure is something important"

"Relax, with the bike will take less than five minutes"

"Oh, it’s- umh, fantastic!"

You tried not to point it out, but it was clear that you were nervous (I don’t know about you, but I hate them. Sorry)

He probably understood it, in fact he tried to be as gentle and gentle as possible while trying to settle

"you can hold on me if you’re scared"

"...thanks"

You held on as if your life depended on it, trying not to get too attached, and especially not thinking about the fear of falling-

shortly, as he predicted, you arrived at the entrance to your neighbourhood

"Leave me here"

"Are you sure? I don’t have to drive you home"

"No, that’s not it, I just told my parents I was at a friend’s house."

"Why didn’t you tell ‘em?"

"They’re... pretty strict, let’s say that"

you knew what they were like, and if they found out you lied to go to the house of a guy they knew nothing about would be your end

he nodded his head, but as you went down you felt the need to tell him something

"Whatever you’re about to do... be careful, okay?"

“I.. i will. See you tomorrow”

It had been two weeks after that day, you were at school and the teacher had finally brought back the exam for which you and Baji (almost and only Baji actually) had studied days and nights.

Also, he used your notes. You left them in his room, knowing that they would be of more useful to him than to you

While the teacher was handing out the exam you heard her say, "Congratulations. Try to do that on your next time too."

When the bell rang you waited for everyone to go out to Baji, who like you was waiting to talk to you

"so? How did it go?"

"Sixty-three!"

"I’m proud of you, Kei,"

You said smiling and pat him on the shoulder

He smiled back, not just for that score, but because it was the first time you called him by name. The mf went straight to the other guys of the toman to show the score, omitting the fact that you had been after him for days

the two of you continued to hang out between one break and sometimes you even organized little evening outings. You learned to know each other more and he trusted you enough to tell you about Toman and the boys, and he’s glade you still talk to him and are not scared of him.

Please ask him out for A REAL date. He’s too embarrassed to do it by himself

+ The Toman boys teased him whenever they can (Chifuyu’s fault). Obviously only his friends, his subordinates were too afraid for their lives

"Will you leave us now to spend all your time with your girlfriend?"

"What?! We’re just friends!"

"Aww, is little Kei embarrassed?"

"What the hell is wrong with y’all?!

he refuses to let you meet them because of this jokes, expect for Chifuyu, Kazutora and maybe Mitsuya since he is more mature than the others.