#saving k-12

[edworld]

Memo to K-12: Teach kids to read in FIRST GRADE or get out of education. That’s the “Marva Collins Challenge”

Truth is, we have tens of millions of people who could claim to read in some sense. But they can't reach the important threshold that so many of us take for granted: reading for pleasure.

Lucy Calkins has been the queen of reading for the last 25 years. Her bad prescriptions were merely echoing the bad prescriptions of Professors Frank Smith and Ken Goodman, and before them the literacy pretenders who introduced Whole Word in the 1930s.

Here’s what all the false prophets taught: English is read by memorizing thousands of sight-words. As that is hugely difficult for most children, they should follow other clues: use context; consider initial letters; guess; skip ahead, consider picture clues. This nonsense almost guarantees illiteracy. 

Balanced Literacy is now jargon for try-anything-maybe-you’ll-get-lucky.

During most of the time Lucy was preaching her fake theory, I was writing articles saying hey, this is obviously bad theory. I enjoy thinking I made a small contribution to her ideas being rejected by Columbia University and Teachers College. 

(Here's some background: "Episode 118: Reading Rescued" -- https://letsfixeducation.buzzsprout.com/1792553/13712120-episode-118-reading-rescued-thanks-to-lucy-calkins-oct-4-2023 )

The knowledge was always there for anybody who cared to listen. Rudolf Flesch wrote his famous book in 1955 explaining that sight-words are the reason Why Johnny Can't Read.

More recently, Marva Collins, who operated her own school in Chicago, stated: Most children can learn to read in first grade!

My message to the slackers of education: if you can't do what Marva did, you should retire.

English is a phonetic language and must be taught with phonetics, i.e. phonics. It's a vast language with nearly 1,000,000 words but only someone with a photographic memory can memorize even 500 sight-words. Literacy rates have dropped continuously since the imposition of sight-words. That’s all you need to know to reject sight-words.

Here is Marva Collins in her book Marva Collins’ Way: “Children as young as 3-1/2 to 4 years of age, are admitted to my school at the beginning of every school year in September.

I guarantee that they will all be reading by Christmas, three months later. That has been the results since I started my school in 1975.”

————————------------------------------------------------------

Here's where we are now. If you search the terms balanced literacy, science of reading and similar, you will find a shocking array of conflicting opinions about how to teach reading. I doubt there has ever been such chaos in the Education Establishment.

I suspect one of the things the professors learned from almost a century of promoting bad ideas is that you don't need to win every argument, or enforce every opinion. You only need to inject a bad habit or two in every student. They will be damaged and literacy will continue to decline. I believe that is the goal.

So all the confusion is not necessarily a weakness. People don't realize where each kid is being damaged the most. So a lot of bad instruction will continue in plain sight.

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

If you are hoping that sight-words do work, see this video. Only seven minutes and you'll know the horror.

“How Dolch Words Cause Illiteracy and Dyslexia”

————————————————————————————————

CODA: We need to get the whole country involved at a little higher level.  That's how we get the reform we need. See Episode 118 on Let's Fix Education

 .https://www.buzzsprout.com/1792553/episodes/13791258

#sightwords  #phonics   #illiteracy   #communism       #agitprop #dyslexia   #knowledge   #teachers  #literature  #books  #academicsuccess #dumbingdown  #ignorance    #K12  #literary #dolchwords

[carlyraejepsans]

i wish i had more energy to draw and plot lately i NEED to make the insane daemoverse flowisk situationship real. i need you guys to see my vision

[neoxghoul]

Melanie's mic seemingly got turned off as she held up the Palestine flag whilst performing in Paris, France tonight.

[lovelyjasmari]

Me: *screaming into my pillow*

Mom: What’s wrong?

Me: I’m dealing with an extremely fickle and feckless lover!

Mom: What?! Did [BOYFRIENDS NAME REDACTED] hurt you?! Do I need to ki*l him?

Me: Not [BOYFRIENDS NAME REDACTED] someone else…not…it’s related to my game…you…wouldn’t understand…

Mom…

[pepi-nillo]

actually, the devil judge would be a pretty cool rpg!! playing as gaon exploring the kang mansion would give such indie (horror) rpg vibes, going around doing little tasks to befriend ms. ji and elijah and the mansion getting brighter as you befriend them, and each case for the live court could be quests. play as different characters, like soohyun investigating yohan or k doing one of his missions, or even as sunah!! plus it could implement the whole "good, bad and real endings" some games have, the canon drama ending could be the "real" one since those are most likely to be bittersweet

[lesbiancressidacowper]

well i did all i could at this time. get ready this saturday to celebrate one of five possible ninth anniversaries of me starting city of bones! it’ll be like sophie sheridan celebrating father’s day, you know who’s to say which of the five days it was. in theory i could go out to my garage and maybe dig up an old planner or notebook from seventh grade, but i simply do not want to do that. it’s cold out there and i am tired and sad, and frankly, i probably didn’t save even one notebook from that year because as soon as i was old enough to choose what school stuff of mine my parents saved i was very into the mindset of just throwing all that shit away. didn’t save anything again until i was like 16. years have been lost due to a child’s disbelief in the importance of artifacts rip

[silverhairsimp]

who's gonna take care of you? k. bakugou

I am sicker than sick and couldn't sleep last night so here's some bakugou fluff.

Pairing & CW: Bakugou x f!reader. Reader and Bakugou have two kids. Brief mentions of pregnancy from Mitsuki (Reader is not actually pregnant). pure, sickly sweet fluff.

Katsuki looks at the clock hanging above the kitchen sink, 7:24am. Usually you’d have been up for at least a half hour by now, maybe more. The kids have to be to school at 8:30, it’s only a 12 minute drive, but they like to get there early and play with their friends before their day of learning starts. He looks at the two of them sitting at the counter, digging into their fresh pancakes and waffles with a variety of fruits. They were similar in a lot of ways, but your daughter refuses to eat pancakes, the same goes with your son and waffles. And what kind of number one dad would The Bakugou Katsuki be if he didn’t make his brats happy?

“You two stay here and finish eating— gonna go check on your ma’,” he calls out to them before heading down the hall, only to stop with a had on the doorframe to look back at them. “And no eatin’ spoonfuls’a syrup this time! That shi— crap’ll give you diabetes.” 

The two of them laugh at their dads empty threat, knowing they’ll at least sneak one or two spoonfuls before he gets back. 

He has an office day today, full of paperwork and unfished reports that need to be submitted by the end of the week. He’s been working overtime, which means you have too. Working overtime at your own job and taking care of the kids when he gets home too late or leaves too early for work. 

“Baby—“ he calls out when he pushes open your bedroom door. Your cheeks are flushed red, your brows are knit together, you’ve got a mound of blankets on you, yet your feet are sticking out from the bottom. “Hey, y’doing okay?” He asks as he gets closer, sitting next to your sleeping form on the bed when he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek, followed by placing the back of his hand to your forehead. “Jesus babe, you’re burnin’ up. Might be running hotter than I normally do…” 

His words are laced with concern as he heads to your shared bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with as cold of water he can get before wringing it out. For good measure, he grabs the thermometer and to confirm his suspicions.

“Open up for me, baby.” He brushes his thumb over your cheek and your eyes finally open when you bring your hand up to touch the cold cloth on your forehead. “‘Ts cold…” you mumble and he slips the thermometer underneath your tongue. “Yeah and you’re hot—“ he waits for the thermometer to finish rereading before he adds: “101.9 to be exact.” 

You try to sit up, “I’m fine…”but the pressure in your head is too much so you flop back down into the pillows. “I don’t know what year you think I was born, but I know what fine is. And you, are not fine.” 

“But the kids— they have school, you have work— I have things to do around the house.” You try to protest in between a fit of coughs, but he plants an arm against the bed, palm down at your side caging you in. “you know the hag— my mom,” he corrects when you give him the glare, “she loves taking them to school. Eijiro too. I could call either one and they’d drop ‘em off. And with work, that’s one of the perks’a bein’ your own boss.” 

He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, trying to hide the wince at how warm your skin is. Gods you must feel like shit. “Lemme call my mom—“ he steps out of the room and gently closes the door, calling in a favor to the woman who always saves his ass. 

‘Yeah, y/n sick, real sick. Need someone to drop off the beats at school. What? Morning sickness? No she’s not pregnant again. She’s sick sick. Got’a fever of almost 102. Yeah, they ate. Yes, lunches packed. Ugh— what kinda father do you think I— mmgh. Thanks ma. They’ll be ready for ya.’

He comes back in the room slight shake to his head as he thinks back to the conversation he just had with his mom. Your youngest is 6 and she’s been itching for another grand baby, but that’s too bad. She’s got two good ones to love on anyway. “Moms comin’ to pick em up in 15.” 

The two of you can hear the padding of feet running down the hall and your two replicas appear in the door frame. 

“Mommy what’s wrong? Did you catch a bug?” Your 8 year old son asks you as he pushes his hips to the bed. He may have his fathers eyes but he’s got your color hair and the sweetest personality to match. 

“Ew! Why would mommy catch a bug!! That’s so yucky!” Your daughter chimes. She’s got that ash blonde hair to match her fathers and definitely gets his personality. 

“Yeah, squirt, mama’s not feeling great so your Gramma Mitsuki is gonna take you to school.”

“Katsuki— you really shouldn’t have asked your mom to come all the way here.” 

“You say all the way here like she doesn’t live 8 minutes down the road.” He smirks at you, knowing damn well she wasn’t gonna miss the opportunity to be involved in your kids’ lives. 

“Daddy, why can’t we stay and take care of mommy like she takes care of us when we’re sick?” Your boy asks with those gorgeous ruby red eyes peering down at you. “You guys have to stay in school and get good grades. You wanna have your own agency and be the number one hero like your daddy don’t you?” You smile at the two of them and lift your hand off the bed to cup their cheeks one at a time. 

Your daughter flexes her little muscles and grits her teeth. “Yeah mommy! We’ll get strong so we can take good care of you some day!” 

Each of your kiddos leans in to place a kiss to your cheek, it’s no use trying to stop them either. They’re both stubborn, just like you and Katsuki. 

“Go get cleaned up before Gramma gets here— and don’t think I can’t smell the syrup on those sticky fingers, you little shits!” 

It’s no use trying to protest the language when you hear the fit of laughter and screams as they run back down the hall. 

Katsuki gets up to make sure they’re heading out to wash up and grab their school bags while he makes another call to the agency, letting Mina know he won’t be in. 

You’ve nearly fallen back asleep by the time he comes back with a hot bowl of homemade soup, a freshly squeezed cup of orange juice, a ginger shot and two pieces of toast. “They’re right ya know. You’re like super woman to them— and even she needs help sometimes.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and turns on the tv for some back ground noise before he grabs his computer and sits next to you in bed. 

“Katsuki. You’re gonna get sick if you stay here—“ you try to protest and he just smiles and puts the cold rag on your forehead. “Yeah… and when super man needs help; I know you’ll be there too..” He lands a fat one right on your lips and smiles. The two of you share everything together. Even the cooties…

[agaypsychicrat]

You can save Russian queers from genocide

A week ago the Russian Supreme Court made a ruling declaring LGBT community an extremist organization. The precise contents of the ruling, as well as the process, were made secret, so there’s no official information on what is being banned, but if we take into account previous cases of Russia using this tactic (Like with Navalny’s Anti-Corruption Foundation), any kind of support, from saying things on the internet to financial support, or dissemination of information about LGBT is banned. It also basically criminalizes queer people’s existence. The sentences are up to 12 years in prison - harsher than for murder.

This has already led to majority of Russian LGBT organizations dissolving and evacuating or going into crisis mode and cutting offline support. A number of previously friendly endocrinologists have stopped working with trans people for self-preservation, even if they already changed the documents - a situation especially dangerous for trans masculine people, as while trans women can get HRT without a prescription or from gray market, testosterone is a heavily regulated substance. The entire support system is headed for collapse, it’s hard to predict what will happen when prosecutions begin. It’s important to notice that conversion therapy is legal in Russia, and the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs has a database of transpeople who have changed their documents.

In light of this, a German queer organization Quarteera has launched a petition which will have to be considered by German government if it reaches 50 k signatures, regarding easing the asylum process for Russian LGBT people, particularly issuing humanitarian visas and residence permits not just for activists. While everything is in German, anyone from around the world can sign the petition, not only German citizens. The petition is here - http://quarteera.de/petition

Here’s the instruction in English: https://imgur.com/a/Fgi9yIh

Update the petition expired a few days ago so im not sure if you can still vote

I copied the post from r/196 https://www.reddit.com/r/196/s/qcersiwxh1

[1lovehanni]

Fun in Fanmeet (Minju of ILLIT)

Minju x Male Reader (Y/N) Wort count: 2087 words Summary: A fan meeting leads to a fun experience for you.

You have been a fan of Minju ever since RU next; the way she has the visual and talent of a perfect idol is what captured your heart.

She has a unique voice, is a wonderful dancer, has a great personality, and lastly, has a gorgeous visual.

She indeed has such K-actress beauty that if she had pursued her acting career rather than her idol career, she would still flourish.

You’ve been playing the Super Real Me album 24/7, thinking of how this group started from being a nobody to a hit with their title song Magnetic. Eventually, a fanmeet has been announced in their official Twitter account. Reading through it, you saw a chance of having a one-on-one conversation with a member, but it was a random draw during the event. Nonetheless, the important part is to attend your favourite group and meet Park Minju. After the 150th album you just bought, you finally got a ticket for the fanmeet. A week has passed, and the day of the fanmeet is here. You’ve dressed as well as you can. You arrived early to the venue and chatted with some fans. And patiently waited for the fan meet to begin.

After some time, a staff member walked to the stage and announced that the fan meet was about to begin. Excitement rises in yourself; you're about to see Minju in real life. A loud cheer as the members each slowly walk. Yunah was dead gorgeous; same with Iroha and Moka. Then there’s the cutest Wonhee, but your eyes fixated on your princess, the queen of your dreams, the one and only Minju. The flower crown on her head makes her an angel that comes down from heaven to save you. Nonetheless, the fanmeet is starting with their hit song Magnetic. After that, they introduced themselves. Doing challenges, literally being themselves. Two hours have passed, everyone still has the energy to cheer, and the girls are still entertaining. But every event has to come to an end; eventually they draw the winner for the one-on-one convo. Since there are a lot of fans who attended, you thought that there's no chance you can win one, let alone win for Minju. But as the staff was picking the winner for Minju, they called in the person, but they had already left, so they redrawn again. This time, luck had come to you when they called your name.

Y/N is selected for Minju; please come right to the stage. You're dazzled by the announcement, and fans near you congratulate you for winning. You followed the instructions to come near the stage. They gave the five winners an envelope with the time and place where they could have a chit-chat with the idols. 

For you, the time is from 10pm to 12 midnight; you thought it's kind of late for a fan meet. It feels like a date for you, which isn't a bad thing but suspicious nonetheless. And the meeting place is private, which makes sense since it's a one-on-one conversation. Arriving at the place, it seems so empty—just 2 bodyguards and 1 staff member. You greeted them and handed them the invitation. Welcome Sir. Y/N, congratulations! Enjoy your date with Minju. ? Huh, did I hear you right? They didn’t talk after that. You entered the place and saw a table for two with a couch right next to it. You didn't mind the place, but suspicion arises since you haven't heard anything for the past 5 minutes. Walking to the door, you noticed the bodyguards and the staff left. You heard footsteps walking toward the door. You instantly hide as if a murderer is on you. The door opened, and a girl walked in. Where’s the guy? Minju said,Umm hi! "Shock.” OMG, why are you there? Ugh, I thought someone was about to kill me. So you won the draw? Yes, I did. I am Y/N, btw, and sorry to startle you. Haha, no worries; it kind of seems like a dark place, right?

Yes, it is.

You two casually just talked to each other for half an hour. You noticed she texted her staff to bring the food. This is fun—she said, Oh, yeah, different from a normal fan meet. Yeah, um, I just noticed my staff for the food; I'm getting hungry. Are you not? Oh, before I got here, I had already eaten. The staff knocked on the door to deliver the food for the two of you. Thank you! Miss Minju, text again if you need something. Both of you munch the food the staff delivered, and deep inside of you is screaming as to how you got to eat with Minju. 

After eating, she asked, Do you have a girlfriend or something? No, not at the moment, but you did have? An ex? Ye That's perfectPerfect? Well, I don't know if you're keeping up all this time. But you haven't just won a date with me; something else is better. Something else? Think Y/N; you're running out of time. Your head is full of confusion; you cannot think straight about what Minju just said. A lot of things are going on in your head. As you think, she stood up and got to the couch. Well, if you can't think of what I am referring to, you won't experience it. This just added to your confusion. Minutes passed, and you still can't think of what she's referring to. But then it hit. Is she giving a massage perk? I think I got it. Finally, you got it! But shouldn’t it be a flat bed rather than a couch? Huh? What? Are you thinking of massaging? Well, I can’t think of any. Ugh, you're too innocent but cute too. I like you, Y/N. But this isn't okay; it’s not massaging. Well,  it involves massaging, but in a special way, and you're the massagist. Huh? Me? Are you saying random things? Did the food make you think less? Shibal, I can’t take you anymore. It’s so simple yet you can’t get to it. Sorry, it’s just my first time, okay? I don't usually go to Fanmeets. It’s my first time too. Ugh, fine, since you only have an hour with me, I’ll do it. What are you going to do? Have fun, fun with you. Ugh, Y/N, I want you to fuck me here. That’s the prize you won; you won me for 2 hours, babe. What are you on? Are you really Minju? She then pinned you down on the couch, like the captured food of a predator.

This is what you won; I am your prize. So get it now before your time runs out. Min... Minju, I don’t see you like that; I like you but not like this. Why are you so cute? You're making me regret this.What? She then slowly removes her clothes—the white dress and her safety shorts—leaving her in her underwear. You're perplexed by the sight you're seeing. She then goes close to you and unbuttons your shirt. Please be gentle, you said to her. She mirks, going for your mouth. Feeling her dessert to you. You just follow what she desires in you. You alright, she asked. Eyep, I am fine. Strip me, touch my body. Y/N, you earned it. Okay, just like that, good boy. You have a silky smooth skin, Minju. I never imagined this. You’re really my fan, right? You mentioned you watched me in RU next Yes, I am Alright, I am gonna suck your dick now Um, okay, I’ll be gentle, I promise She takes off your pants and briefs. Showing your hard cock to your favourite idol She was shocked by the length and girth you have. Wow, you're so big. 

Thank you, I guess.

You gasped from the way she grabbed your rod, spitting on it as a makeshift lube. Slowly jaculating your dick. You are in ecstasy as seconds pass; you feel like you’re going to cum from just a handjob. Ugh, Minju slows down a bit. Am I reaching it already? I guess it's because of me. She slowed down a bit, but this time using her mouth. She kisses your tip, slurping her own spit on it. Tasting your pre-cum is like juice. She then takes it and swallows slowly, inch by inch, in her mouth. How is she good at this? You asked yourself. You thought this was why they'd debuted; they probably got used by the higher-ups. But you cleared that in your mind; you just thought of what is happening at the moment. Slurp.” Hmmm, I love your cock, Y/N. Its so big and juicy. I am glad you like it. I am getting close to it. She swallows all of it while looking at you, having the begging eyes like she's not satisfied. Alright, time to fuck me now, Y/N. You’re special since this is my first time with a fan. Are you not a virgin anymore? She nods, then gets up to align her freshly shaved pussycat with your dick. You feel your body losing strength as it enters the heavens of Minju. Oh my god, you’re so tight. I can’t believe I am inside you, Minju. Just like that, do you like it? Yes, I am getting comfortable now. That's what I want to hear. Now bring me your game. Yeah, fuck me all you want. She's in a cowgirl position on top of you, having the sight of a goddess and her small, cute tits. You moved your hips up, trying out how to fuck a girl. 

I am not good! That's right. You’re hitting my G-spot. The face she’s making fuels you. The cute, innocent-looking Minju is now a cute, hottie, sexy girl, wanting to be fucked. After a minute, she told you to change positions. Ugh, maybe doggystyle? I don’t know my position. Hmm, do you want to see my face? Then I’ll lay here and insert it while looking at me. Alright, you did what she said; you have a full view of her from top to bottom. Now, deep in this state, you just want to taste every part of her. You carry her legs to your shoulder and lick her toes. Wow, getting bold, good boy. Just like that, lick my toes. You get close to her as your body starts to lose some energy; getting this close to her wants you to kiss her. You tried to get it, but she avoided it. Um, sorry, no kissing yet. Oh really, my bad. No, I want to cause you’re cute, but that's one of the rules. Okay, Another change of position led both of you to lay down on the couch. This time you can only see her back, but your cock is still in her. Ugh, like that, Y/N, I am going to stop. You want me to stop? No, she shouts, Okay, okay, continue to fuck me like this. You continue to go inside of her, eventually feeling that her walls are getting tighter. Hinting that she's cumming.

Yes, ughh, ohhhh, yesss, just like that, I am cumming, babe. I am about to cum too, Minju GOOD. Yes, cum inside me. Yes, you can cum in me. YES, just fucking cum in me Okay okay OHHHHHHH, Yes cum in me baby. Ugh, this is so good. After cuddling inside her, both of you were just silent on the couch. She then hugged you and kissed your cheeks.

Don't tell them I kissed you, okay? Okay, I won't. Hmm, how about we do this sometime again, but with no time restriction? You down? For real? Yeah, I like you, Y/N. Maybe we can do more. Oh, alright, give me your number. She then gets dressed, giving you a wink. She looks like nothing happened, but the atmosphere in this small corridor is screaming sex.

I had fun. Did you? Yes. Hopefully next time you win again, haha. Well, I will try. Alright, I’ll call you later. Okay. She then left as the time with her ran out. You stand outside thinking of the things that happened today; not only did you meet Illit and Minju, you have just had the best experience a fanboy has ever had.

Hmm, what happened to the other four guys? Fin. A/N: A late Birthday smut for my girl. Is this the first Illit Smut here? Not proofread cuz I am lazy. Also it got fucked halfway in terms of formatting.

[snowflop]

Why are we still here, just to suffer? Everyday I lose the 50/50

[papus-clown-enclosure]

Guess i'll watch random uni/college lectures on yotube in the background

One on the intro to neuroscience popped up in my recomendations.

[gracefully33]

🛸Mars In Signs/Houses🛸

Mars represents ambition, desire, action, courage, competition, sports/athletics, confidence, and more.

* Can’t include examples for all because there’s a picture limit

Mars in Aries/1H:

| You could do weight lifting, track, more. You could have a desire to improve yourself and you could practice in a lot of sport competitions. You could be extremely confident in yourself like when it comes to your looks, believing in yourself in general, and more.

Mars in Taurus/2H:

| You could have the desire to save, store, increase your finances, and more. You could do beauty competitions due to Taurus being ruled by Venus. You could be confident in your beauty, money, and more.

Mars in Gemini/3H:

| People could make you angry by gossiping and talking about you behind your back. You could do k-12 academic, social media, writing competitions, and more. You could very confident in your social media, writing, k-12 education, communication, speaking, your siblings, and more. You could take action by communicating with others and more.

Mars in Cancer/4H:

| You could do a lot of family, house building, self care competitions, and more. You could have ambition when you have your family backing you, a steady foundation, and more. You could have tons of confidence in your home, family, and more.

Mars in Leo/5H:

| You could have tons of confidence in your creativity like acting, dancing, and more. You could participate in a lot of dancing, acting, and singing competitions. You could take action through your creative abilities, confidence, and more. You could have the desire to improve your artistic abilities, have more fun, date for fun, and more.

Mars in Virgo/6H:

| You could do a lot of fitness and weight lifting competitions. You can gain ambition by working out, taking care of yourself, staying consistent to your daily routine, and more. Probably have the desire to improve your daily life, consistency, health, and more. People could make you mad by being judgmental, not be humble, unreliable, and more.

Mars in Libra/7H:

| You could have done beauty pageants or other beauty competitions. You probably have a lot of confidence in your beauty, fashions, relationships, and more. You could take action through your partnerships or collaborating with people. You could probably do gymnastics, because gymnastics includes balancing and Libra represents balance, etc.

Mars in Scorpio/8H:

| You could be lustful because Scorpio represents sex appeal and more. You could have a lot of confidence in your inherited finances, in your witchcraft, sexuality, investments, and more. People could make you mad by messing your investments and interfering with the money others give you. You could have the desire to build generational wealth and more.

Mars in Sagittarius/9H:

| You could probably participate in foreign sports or do sports overseas. You could have the desire to travel, learn about different cultures, expand your philosophy, and more. You could be very competitive, because Sagittarius rules expansions and mars can represent competition. You could become angry when others insult your philosophies, religion, knowledge, and more.

Mars in Capricorn/10H:

| You could have the desire to achieve your dream career, accomplishments, build your legacy, etc. You could tons of confidence in your career, work ethic, self discipline, public image, and more. You might be very competitive when it comes to your career and you take your career extremely serious, etc.

Mars in Aquarius/11H:

| You and your friends could probably do a lot of competitions. You could be very ambitious when it comes to your humanitarian work, your friend group, hopes and wishes, manifestations, and more. Your friends, your desires, dreams, social group, and more could give you confidence. People could make you angry by taking your ideas, being unoriginal, not being independent, and more.

Mars in Pisces/12H:

| You could participate in swimming competitions, or anything related to water because Pisces is a water sign. You could have the desire to improve your spirituality, glamour, creativity, and more. You could have confidence in your intuition, hypnotic abilities, delusions, and more.

[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 3

Previous Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But goddamn, Oliver Quick was a fucking close runner-up.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, slight mention of blood, sexual harassment, Felix is delulu and kind of a pig, Reader just wants some fucking peace, Michael is Michael and the best, Oliver is Oliver (the worst)

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who commented and reblogged! I didn't expect this story to gain so many readers, and this was a challenging chapter to write - but only because there were some scenes I couldn't add because it would have gotten too long otherwise.

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

You really wanted to kick yourself in the pants for making such a fucking cheesy wish at night watching the stars with Michael.

Right now, you were leaning to rest your head against a bookshelf in a slant position. You had a splitting migraine that began from the moment you woke up and worsened with nausea from your tutorial. And you couldn’t even go back to your dorm for the rest of the day because your lab course for your gen-ed didn’t allow for absences.

“What’d she do now?” came a voice on your right.

You looked to the right and were blinded by a white and blue-striped button-down shirt with short sleeves tucked into a pair of tan khaki pants.

Your knight-in-silver-framed glasses, Michael Gavey, everyone.

All the guy was missing was a pocket protector with pens and tape wrapped around the bridge, and he would have matched every bullied kid in every high school movie set in the 80s.

You turned around to lean your back against the bookshelves and slowly lowered yourself until your butt was parallel to your feet. Blowing the stray hairs out of your face, you remembered to take deep breaths to prevent you from blowing up at your only friend.

“No,” you sighed, “well – yes, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Do you love your classes? Yes. Was Daria Martin still your art teacher, and did she still like you? Yes. Are the rest of your teachers mostly assholes that think all Americans are Appalachian hill-billies? Also, yes. But were you still not excelling and scoring in the top ten after every exam? Naturally, no doubt about it.

But were you as invisible and unnoticed as you were before the break came? No. Did anyone with a pulse give you side-eyed glances after your stunt with the 24/7 shit-faced He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named? Pretty much, yes. Did most of your problems come from one mythic bitch in a 5’3” flesh suit that had the ‘Juicy’ logo plastered on her ass? Namely, one in particular, Annabel – who was your assigned student partner in your tutorial.

Was your new name among the student body now “Psycho Bitch”? …Unfortunately, yes.

…Okay, so this term has not been going as well as you had hoped during the break.

Annabel hated you – like hated-HATED you. And you had no idea why.

You were pretty sure you were less than blank air to her last term, but now she was determined to make your life a living hell. Last term, she skipped every other session to do whatever Annabel did. But now, it felt like she came to every tutorial for the opportunity to tear apart your work.

You’re pretty confident she was the one who started your new “name” about a few weeks ago when the weather began to warm up.

It’s not as if you were a stranger to being picked and prodded by the people born with silver spoons on their tongues and blessed with golden-tipped wings. You were a public-school kid from grades K-12 who went to Townsend Harris for those last four years. Townsend Harris High School was a public school, but make no mistake – it was just as full of the same bullshit hierarchy that made up every private school in Manhattan.

"Open the doors to all. Let the children of the rich and the poor take their seats together and know of no distinction save that of industry, good conduct, and intellect."

What crock. You only survived those years because every kid knew that your dad was an NYU professor who knew the Dean of Admissions of Columbia. You couldn’t recall how often you wished you had joined your friends at Flushing High or even Bayside.

However, regardless of the snide snarks and bullshit snickers pointed at you, you were left alone for the most part.

Sure – it sucked; that goes without saying. It was naïve of you to assume that people would grow out of the need for drama once they walked through the ivory doors and marble floors of higher education. It was stupid of you to think that everyone would forget about your outburst at Bodleian while they were getting drunk on the New Year.

And while Annabel was one migraine-inducing problem, she wasn’t the worst part of returning. No, that title belonged to her boyfriend, a whole other can of monkeys.

The worst part – the worst part of EVERYTHING – was how Felix fucking Catton was incapable of just leaving you the hell alone. It was like he had a little antenna sticking out of his head specifically for you whenever the two of you were within a ten-foot radius of him. Everywhere you went, it was as if you had a giant blinking arrow above you screaming, “Felix Catton’s New Toy”!

No, you were less than a toy – you were a joke, a gimmick.

God, you should have just stuck to your original plan and applied to any SUNY school that would have accepted you without even looking at your application.

But no, your good-Samaritan-obsessed college counselor called your parents and complained that you weren’t “putting yourself out there” enough. And now you were over thirty-four hundred miles away from home, stuck with the worst people ever. It was like a thousand tiny prickles were running on your skin as your mind filled with static.

Whenever Felix called out to you, it was to invite you to a party or get wasted. One time, he walked up to you insanely plastered and invited you for a quickie in the men’s bathroom. You were in an empty lecture hall since your usual spot in the library was taken, and Michael was still in class, so you didn’t see the point in trying to find an open spot.

Somehow – without you noticing – the guy plopped himself next to you and asked if there were any rooms in the building where he could smoke a joint in.

“Pretty sure you could open the window in the bathroom to smoke in there,” you replied absentmindedly.

And then he put his hand ON YOUR THIGH, leaned to your ear to whisper, “Wanna get out of here to join me? We don’t have only to get high.”

You grabbed all your shit and booked it – out of the building and all the way to your dorm to take a shower that lasted for around twenty minutes. You wanted to get rid of the smell of nicotine and overpriced aftershave. The scent of him on your skin made you wish you could tear it off.

And in your panic, you left your bike at the building’s entrance.

When you returned to retrieve it, it was after dark, and you recruited Michael as your tall and bony human shield.

“Do not ever walk home alone at night,” your mom told you every morning you left for school.

You tried not to think about the haunted look in her eyes each time she told you.

“Wanna skip the dining hall tonight? We can walk to Crowley Street and order take-out at that Pakistani place you like so much.”

Oh, that perked you right up. Jannahs Express was a broke college student’s paradise. The food was cheap, and the owners took pity on the international students. It was slightly more expensive in the UK, but it was the closest you could find with food on par to Kababish on Broadway in Queens. You stifled a laugh remembering the sight of Michael drinking the entire pitcher of water after you dared him to try a dish at ‘regular.’

“Seriously? Do you think you could take more than ‘English-mild’?” you asked as you stood up. “How did you survive your mom’s cooking for so long? She made us Indian food on our last night.”

“Mum grew up in London, and she had neighbors teach her how to make it the traditional way. You’re the only person who could take that level. Lilypad and I got Dad’s taste buds.”

Choking on your spit from laughing at the image of Gregory Gavey’s face turning firetruck red, you felt the migraine slowly disappear.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. God, I can’t imagine the look on his face when –”

A familiar voice that left a bitter taste in your mouth after hearing interrupted your conversation.

“Hey, (Y/N). Can we talk?”

You and Michael turned your heads to find Oliver Quick – Michael’s former friend, your former acquaintance – and the sight of him soured the mood instantaneously. You narrowed your eyes to dangerous slits to show your displeasure seeing him as one corner of your lip curled to show a sneer. You never liked the guy. There was just something about how he acted and presented himself. He had a profound desperation to impress everyone around him.

So much so that he immediately dropped Michael after becoming Felix Catton’s new pet. As evidenced by the oversized gray zip-up hoodie blanketing him. Felix’s, no doubt.

Fuck, you hated him.

“Ugh, what do you want?” you snapped, taking a bit of pleasure in seeing how your voice made him flinch.

“Look, can we –” his eyes hastily darted to Michael, then you, then behind him to make sure no one was watching him “– can we talk in private?”

Seriously? That’s how he wants to play this?

In the corner of your eye, you saw how tightly Michael clenched his fists. He was obviously still hurt from the time his ex-friend treated him like shit.

Oh, this will not do.

“Oliver,” you snarled as you crossed your arms over your chest, “whatever the hell you have to say to me, you can say in front of Michael.”

“Can you please not do this now?” he begged with pathetic eyes. How very in-character of him.

“Tick tock, Quick. Are you going to talk, or do I have to throw a drink in your face again? But this time, I’ll smash the glass on your face, too.”

Seeing the look on his face gave you almost a perverse sense of joy. Maybe this is why bullies exist.

“Do you think you’ll be at the pub sometime this week?”

What the fuck? Was he serious? His question caught you completely off-guard. You expected him to ask for notes or even help with homework, as his grades have slipped since becoming an official Felix Catton fanboy.

“At the pub – Oliver, when have I drunk alcohol in the entire time we’ve known each other?”

“You’ll turn nineteen this year, right? It’s only illegal if you’re under 18,” he tried to put out convincingly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But you’re forgetting the part where I’m still an American citizen. Just because it’s legal for me to vote doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to drink yet.”

“No one cares about that here!” he almost shouted. “Just come with me to the pub at King’s Arms for the next few nights.”

“No fucking way,” you scoffed. “My parents would kill me if they found out I drank on a school night. Also, in case you forgot, we still have our test tomorrow in History. And I, for one, don’t need to get sloshed every night to feel important.”

Michael tugged on your sleeve and nodded at the small crowd forming around you three. You sighed in silence, agreeing that it wasn’t worth it. You both tried to walk away, but you were grabbed and stumbled back, which caused you to drop your books.

“Ow! Are you kidding–” but a wince broke your complaint as Oliver’s hold on your arm tightened to a painful grip. Your eyes traveled to his face, and you were shocked to see the anger shining in his eyes.

“Why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” he grit out. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

The way his nails dug into your skin made you curse under your breath. Seeing you in pain broke Michael out of his shock at how someone as meek as Oliver Quick could show so much aggression. He rushed to get him off you.

“Are you fucking mental?” he hissed at Oliver once he managed to separate to two of you.

But Oliver’s nail left red scratch marks down to your wrist, even breaking the skin enough to cause little beads of blood to escape. This enraged Michael like you have never seen. Staring at the evidence of his former friend’s clawing, he walked forward and pushed him to the bookshelf before grabbing his shirt with both hands.

“What’s wrong with you?” Michael yelled. “She already said no!”

You wiped the blood off your arm with an old travel tissue pack you stole from the plane you took from JFK to London last summer. God, everyone was staring at you guys now. You needed to find a way to contain the situation. If any staff catches you, all three of you may risk trouble. Trouble that would jeopardize your scholarships. You grabbed Michael’s hands to get him to loosen his grip.

“Look, I’ll hear you out–” you looked around and cringed at everyone’s stares, “–just not here.”

This calmed Oliver’s rage enough to get Michael to let go.

“Okay,” he whispered, “okay – yeah. Let’s go outside.”

The three of you grabbed your shit and quickly exited the library. You went to the same area behind the building with no windows – ergo, no bystanders to gawk at you.

“Okay, we’re outside. Look, I’m sorry about your arm. But can you please just –”

You lifted your hand to stop him.

“Okay, look. I only said I would hear you out to make you and Michael stop fighting,” you stated matter-of-factly. “None of us could afford to get in trouble with the faculty and staff, and it was getting too out-of-hand. Oliver, I am not going to King Arm’s tonight or any night you ask me. I have my own life, so don’t drag me into yours.”

Oliver gaped like a fish for a few seconds before speaking.

“But you have to! Please! If you do, then maybe he’ll –”

“WHO?” you interrupted, shouting. “Who will be there? Who is so important that you act so fucking psycho for five minutes ago?”

This was too much for you to deal with everything on your plate already.

“Cut the vague bullshit already! Why are you desperate for me to be there? It’s so –” You froze as an epiphany struck down you.

Oh, hell fucking no…

“Are you hoping that Felix will be there?” you asked through clenched teeth.

You felt like a volcano ready to blow with his slight nod. And like a volcano – you blew.

“You mean to tell me that you risked all our asses, attacked, and humiliated me for fucking FELIX CATTON?!”

You couldn’t believe it – you couldn’t fucking believe it. Felix Catton took up so much of your life already; once again, he felt it necessary to take more of it for himself.

How much more could one man take? How much more did he want until it was enough?

He had taken so much – more than any person other than yourself had any right to own. Your education, your peace, and what was next? Your body? Your life? Did he intend to bleed you dry of everything like a parasitic vampire he and his kind pretended not to be?

You were going crazy, insane, and running yourself tired all at once. The absurdity of it all made you laugh. You laughed and laughed and laughed until you were gasping for air. You laughed so hard that tears spilled from your eyes as you doubled over.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “oh my god! That’s it. Of course, it is. What else could it be?”

Standing straight, you kept laughing, but you were staring at Oliver with an answer clear in your eyes.

“He got bored of you,” you accused him, “didn’t he? So quickly?”

God, how you relished how red his face turned. If you were smart, you would have stopped taunting there – but you were too tired of everything to care.

“It’s been what? A month? Maybe two?” you further pressed. “He really just loves to go through all his toys, huh?”

“(Y/N),” Michael whispered in your ear, “let’s just go.”

He looked at Oliver with disdainful eyes before softening them to look back at you.

“He isn’t worth it. Come on, let’s get your cut cleaned up before we leave.”

You let Michael gently drag you away from the hurricane mess that was Oliver Quick, leaving him to stew in anger and wallow in self-pity on the chilly spring night.

A few days later, you and Michael were walking back to his dorm after watching one of the most notable movie franchises starring one of Hollywood’s best actors.

“How could you not love Pirates of the Caribbean?” you cried. “Johnny Depp is beyond brilliant!”

“Oh, so acting drunk in front of an expensive camera is now considered brilliant?” he quipped back. “Shit, I should have just gone into acting instead.”

“I’m sorry, do you not remember his jar of dirt? That scene was completely improvised, by the way – including his fall.”

“Oh – not the stupid jar of dirt! Lil’ kept buggering me all summer doing that scene after I took her to see it!”

“Oh, I meant to ask. What did Lily think of the books I got for her birthday? Were they weird?”

“Are you kidding? She loved them. She keeps going on about how she wants to be Annabeth for Halloween. Oh, by the way, she’s making me dress up as Luke and wants you to go as Thalia.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “Seriously?! Yes, let’s do it. I am so in.”

“She is aware that Luke’s the villain, right?”

“Don’t worry about it so much. She wants to share these memories with you. And you are such a good brother, Mikey.”

“I am never going to escape that name with you,” he groaned, “am I?”

“Nope!” you happily confirmed. “Never! When I write my speech at your wedding, I will mention it at least fifteen times.”

“I’ll allow six.”

“Twelve.”

“Ten, take it or leave it.”

“Ten it is. Pinky-swear.”

You held out your pinky to show sincerity. And like someone raised correctly, Michael respected the sanctity of the swear by reciprocating.

“Perfect! Now that that’s settled, is it okay if I crash at your place for the night? It’s so late, and we don’t have classes tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “Just make sure you – Annabel.”

Wait, what? You stopped walking and turned to look at your friend in confusion.

“Annabel?”

He pointed it out in front of him with a slight nod.

“Annabel,” he confirmed.

Indeed, it was Annabel. But she was sitting slumped against the hallway’s walls with vomit all over her blue dress.

Felix had been going mad for the past few months since his and Farleigh’s return to Oxford. It was already almost May, and he hadn’t come any closer to getting (Y/N)’s attention.

What could he possibly be doing that was so wrong?

He invites you to parties or a drink with you every time he sees you. He had hoped that being friends with Ollie would have given him an “in” with you, but there was no such luck. Did you really have no idea how he felt about you? How much more obvious could he be?

He remembered how happy he was when he realized that Oliver knew you. It was that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms. He recalled it so vividly.

Felix was silent throughout the entire transaction. The sight of you coming over entirely transfixed him. Your hair had two small braids on the side that were attached with small yellow butterfly clips. You were wearing black denim overalls with vintage-looking patches sewn onto the fabric. Your shirt was a light blue-dyed shirt-sleeved t-shirt with splotches of navy blue. It must have been something you made when you were little. The fabric looked soft and worn down. But the size was small enough to hug the curves of your upper torso perfectly. The way the fabric stretched across your tits made him salivate.

After he introduced himself to you, you only responded with a grimace and a slight nod of acknowledgment. He invited you to join him and his friends for a drink, but you only ignored him. His words were meaningless breezes to you – white noise in the background that added to the clang and chatter in the room. He wasn’t even paying attention to Oliver until you threw that drink at him.

“Fucking cunt-rag!” you called Ollie after throwing Farleigh’s drink in his face. You shoved a middle finger for added effect. “Don’t ever show your face in front of me again.”

Grabbing your coat, you stomped away from the table.

Absentmindedly handing his friend some tissues, Felix had to know what your deal was with Oliver. Were you two dating or just friends? He didn’t know how he felt about his new friend being romantically involved with his angel.

“Wait, do you two know each other?” he asked.

“What?” asked Oliver – not understanding his idol’s question before his mind finally registered it. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, she’s a friend of a friend.”

“Were you two ever, like ‘together’?” Felix had to know.

Oliver’s eyes widened a bit before shaking his head and panickedly answering.

“No, no, no. We have a few classes together – that’s it.”

Felix couldn’t believe his luck. Ollie must really be his hero.

“Do you think you could introduce us?” he asked excitedly – his molten chocolate eyes were shining ablaze with hope.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Oliver quickly agreed – anything to keep his attention on him.

Felix felt like leaping to the sky. He could run a marathon with how much energy was flooding throughout him. He clapped his hands before grabbing Ollie’s face with both hands and smacking a wet kiss on both cheeks.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Felix went up to get him another pint. “You’re my hero, Ollie. You really are.”

As he lay on his bed, he tried to remember every interaction with you. His last one with you was something he could admit went horribly wrong.

He wandered on the grounds when he stumbled on a building with your bike on the rack. Figuring that you were just in a lecture, Felix figured he could try to catch up with you when it was done. It wasn’t like he had anything important later. He would stay near the entrance and try to catch your attention when you walked out.

Simple.

And because he was God’s favorite, he found you sitting in the middle of an empty classroom. You were taking notes while reading a massive textbook while lightly bobbing your head to whatever was blasting through your earbuds.

Sliding to the seat next to you, he smoothly asked you if there was any room where he could smoke. You didn’t even bother to look at him while answering him – too fixated with your studies to pay attention to him.

Knowing that he had to get you to look at him through more direct actions, Felix impulsively put his hand on your thigh before asking you if you wanted to join him. He even joked, saying that you didn’t only have to get high.

But seeing the terror in your eyes threw him off. He quickly wanted to tell you that he was only joking. If you knew that he wasn’t being serious, maybe you would ease up around him. But before he could apologize, you frantically stood from your seat to gather your books in your bag before running out of the room.

Felix groaned into his hands as he recalled how fast you ran out of the room and away from him.

“Felix, you’re a fucking idiot,” he softly insulted himself.

God, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he think that someone as studious as you would ever consider getting high with some bloke in the bathroom of an academic building?

Every step he tried to take forward with you felt like he was going ten steps back. He needed to find a way to get on your good side.

Maybe Ollie could – no, that was a dead end. Fuck, he needed a drink.

Lying on his bed, Oliver stared at the ceiling of his room. Annabel had just left with the bottle of vodka they had been drinking out of for the past half hour. He wanted to cry.

Why was everything going wrong?

But he knew the reason. It was you.

He was so naïve to think you wouldn’t be an obstacle. You had practically ruined everything from the beginning. It wasn’t just when you refused to help him the other day but also that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms.

While Felix was ordering him a drink, Oliver sat bewildered at the sequence of events that had transpired in the past five minutes. First, Felix invited him over to sit with him and his friends. And when things had been so well, you interrupted his excellent time by asking where Michael was. When you realize he has left your friend alone, you ask for Farleigh Start’s drink before throwing it in his face. You then called him a “cunt-rag” before storming off like a goddamn child.

Luckily, Felix hadn’t listened to you speak. But that was only because he stared at you – stared at you like he was born to worship you. Even worse, Felix asked him if he could introduce the two of you at some point. The way Felix’s eyes widened in glee when Oliver agreed enraged him – even more than when you insulted and almost humiliated him in front of Felix.

Staring at his back, Oliver figured Felix’s attention on you wasn’t something to worry about. He was only interested in you because you were pretty. As much as you infuriated him, Oliver admitted that you had a rare and genuine beauty to you. He didn’t know whether it was your indifference for Oxford’s gods and kings or your dedication to keeping in touch with your American roots – but it was enough to enrapture Felix Catton temporarily.

No, Oliver Quick had no reason to worry. He would be enough for Felix. And then you would be an afterthought, and he’d be Felix Catton’s everything.

Oliver had to find a way to ensure you wouldn't be a problem anymore. You'd comply - there would come a time when you won't have a choice.

Let me know if you want me to write the full scene of Reader throwing the drink at Oliver!

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes

Please comment and/or reblog your thoughts and if you want to be added to the taglist!

[neoxghoul]

Melanie Martinez shows her support to Palestine tonight by holding up the country's flag on stage in Manchester, UK

[usedpidemo]

Acquainted (Red Velvet Yeri)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.)

You’re just about ready to head off to sleep when you check the group chat. This is your nightly tradition. These strangers, now your closest friends despite the anonymity, are active and in good spirits, as usual. Outside of your weekday 9-to-5, these few moments are the most interesting parts of your day, and you just so happen to join during a particularly lively conversation:

> [22:48:01] yerimiese: (posts a link to a red velvet album article)

> [22:48:14] flutter mane: :sanapog:

> [22:48:23] silksong sulker: k-pop is saved

> [22:48:33] wonyoung cockjuicer: ew red velvet

> [22:48:37] wonyoung cockjuicer: wonyoung can peg me tbh

> [22:48:39] irene’s tokki: Bae J:floshedjiggle::floshedjiggle:hyun

> [22:49:06] milf hunter: :floshed:

> [22:49:11] milf hunter: gape sugalo

So of course, you chime in as well.

> [22:50:12] You: lets get it, new rv fancams

You’re in no mood to chat for longer than five minutes, but before you head offline, you receive a private message from your closest friend:

> yerimiese: so when are you in korea again?

> You: Next week, why?

> yerimiese: nice. why don’t we meet up, that would be dope as fuck

> You: You’re in Korea? 

> yerimiese: yeaaaah? why wouldn’t i be? 

> You: I thought you’d be doing other schedules abroad

> yerimiese: nah sm definitely won’t fly us out to film an mv. cheap ass bastards ㅋㅋㅋ

Yerimiese then sends you a video link. It’s a Yeri fancam, her weapon of choice. Your conversations began with small, intimate talks about your personal life, soon transpiring into open fapping, degrading, and casual lewdness with each other. Despite the usually depraved nature of your messages, you both continued sharing snippets of your day to day lives. That’s how close you’ve grown as friends.

> You: Well i’m very tired, today was a long day at work, had to work overtime. No time to lewd, sorry

> yerimiese: it's alright. you did well today

Yerimiese sends you a pic this time. It’s an event; the internet can’t load any quicker. You’re hungry, impatient, dying. Whether it’s intentional or not, the photos she sends whenever you’re tired or stressed out are hotter than her usual swimsuit or photoshoot reel. You’ve shared enough about your daily routine to her that a camera crew might as well be recording you.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary; a simple candid pic of herself lying in bed, her face perfectly cropped out of the background, showing nothing but her body on full display in front of the huge mirror, dressed in skimpy black panties and a white shirt  that accentuates her shapely breasts. As usual, she’s not wearing a bra; you can clearly see her hard nipples demanding all of your attention.

> yerimiese: no need to send a dick pic tonight if you don’t feel like doing it 

You can’t help it. Tired as you are, you feel obligated to send her one. Luckily, every pic she sends is more than enough to make you instantly hard. It feels more guilty not to be turned on, rather. 

It’s a mostly quick and painless affair, powerful enough to put you out of commission within minutes. Even though you’re mentally checked out, Yerimiese’s sexy body is too hot not to crank one out. Taking a pic of your erect cock as you pump yourself to her is second nature; sending it on sticky fingers after you’ve spurted all over your phone and blankets is a different story. There’s no other way to put it, she was the perfect reprieve from the day’s exhaustions—a perfect high note to go out on.

> yerimiese: fuck you’re THROBBING THROBBING tonight :ningasm: your dick looks so damn nice. i can taste your cum through the screen

> You: Happy now? 

> yerimiese: more than, and then some. I wish you were here right now so you could feel how wet I am

> You: Just wait. I can’t wait to fuck you hard. Goodnight

> yerimiese: goodnight

> yerimiese: :tukkwithkiss:

—————

The next time you’re able to communicate with her, you’re one day away from being in Korea. In that period, you’ve been inactive in the group chat because work. What welcomes you back is a barrage of lewd photos and Yeri fancams.

> yerimiese: see you tomorrow :chuupeek:

It’s an open secret that you know she’s Kim Yerim. Yes, that Kim Yerim of Red Velvet fame. It was a giveaway right from the first explicit photo she sent you; those tits in a tight, petite package couldn’t have belonged to anyone other than hers. That, and the fact that her username is the same as her Instagram handle, and that she has a photo of herself in the group as a display pic. How she would end up stumbling into your private K-pop server objectifying her body and her profession is one of life’s biggest mysteries, yet here she is, giving you a very personal look into her shapely figure, better than any fancam and photoshoot could ever provide. To others, she’s merely a casual acquaintance, but to you, she can freely open up herself.

Mainly because you’re one of three people in the group chat that still cares about Red Velvet.

Her latest sent photo is relatively tame; a tight fitting white silk sundress, and the skirt is virtually nonexistent, her panties practically out in the open. Luckily for you, she seems to be sitting down, but not in her usual living room. The notion that this is what welcomes you to Korea, that you’ll be balls deep inside an idol’s pussy right when you land—it ruins you. 

Almost. 

An airport guard manages to break your deep train of thought. “Sir! No phones please,” he sternly commands, saving you from total disaster; you’re inches away from walking straight through a metal detector with your phone in hand, the belt around your pants, and some spare coins lying deep in your pocket after you bought some traditionally expensive bottled water. Luckily, no one manages to see the photo—and even if they did, she’s still smart enough to cut out her face, leaving nothing else to your imagination. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about immigration and airport security, it’s that there’s little need for repetition. You go through security four times. At the entrance, after the check-in counter, then within your departure gate, and even before boarding your flight—repetitive. It’s frustrating enough to tell Yerim, to which she responds with more lewd photos of herself. 

> yerimiese: yeah ive been there before ㅋㅋㅋ

> yerimiese: how long’s ur flight?

> You: About 13 hours

> yerimiese: cali?

> You: Yes

> yerimiese: kinda random, but seulgi misses los angeles

> You: How come? 

> yerimiese: something about an ex-boyfriend that i didn’t know about until the other day ㅋㅋㅋ i bet she’ll be jealous when she hears about you coming over just to clap my cheeks ㅋㅋㅋ she’d wish it was her bf instead of you

> You: does she know about this?

> yerimiese: of course not LOL i bet you’d rather fuck her instead of me, so she’ll never know. smh.

> You: That’s not true ur my RV bias since day one!

> yerimiese: stop lying LMAO i don’t blame you tho seulgi has some really toned legs and a nice slappable ass XD anyway, i’m gonna send you something to pass the time while ur onboard

> You: If it’s a masturbating clip i swear to god

> yerimiese: fuck you got me LOL

> You: Goddamit if anyone finds out on a plane of all places…

> yerimiese: i still can’t get over your clip of you jerking to me. i can taste your dick. you’re depriving me by leaving me out to dry for a week ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’ve been touching yourself to that clip for a week??

> yerimiese: can’t help myself, album prep has been tiring and i haven’t really found any opportunity to relax in the meantime

> You: I’ll be there soon, just wait a bit longer

> yerimiese: can’t trust me with that, i’m very close to making a huge mess of my hotel room ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’re in a hotel?

> yerimiese: just to meet you! I won’t be able to meet you at the airport (duh, idol dating shit), so this is the next best thing. just message me when you’ve landed here, okay?

> You: Sure

—————

It’s ingrained deep within Yerim’s mind. A core memory. If her phone could present count how many times she’s played the clip, it would be over a thousand. 

It’s very straightforward. A 45 second clip of someone masturbating between the sheets, pressing their erect cock against their phone with a brightened image of a scantily clad woman on the screen. But it’s not just any woman, it’s her. She’s pleasuring herself to the idea of a man jerking off to her. She’s following his rhythm, timing the pace her fingers rub her clit to the tempo of the man’s cock pumping to her zoomed-in breasts. 

And she’s mere minutes removed from a conversation with that exact same person.

Slumped against the hotel room walls, her bliss spirals out of control rapidly. Her legs are instinctively spread wide, juices already leaking through her panties and spilling to the floor; that’s how used they are to Yerim’s impulses to pleasure herself. In those brief moments, she imagines how the next few days play out, skipping past the formalities and pleasantries and going straight to the fucking. She moans and shouts as if that very man’s cock is penetrating her pussy hard at this very moment. Her other hand bashes the wall, tongue screaming streams of profanities, as if he’s manhandling her, using her to his personal delight.

“Fuck! Suck those fucking tits!” she screams, slipping one strap of her sundress down to pinch her own tit, enhancing the illusion. Her phone rings; in her mind it's functionally a vibrator. He’s come fully prepared, and she’s riding high knowing that this person is doing exactly what he said in their private messages from the very start.

Yerim drags her fingers along her clit violently, desperate to reach climax, the realization that this is her third orgasm of the day way beyond her. The evidence can be found everywhere: on the soiled bed sheets and in the smell of the shower; she envisions herself getting railed in those parts of the room, and then some—essentially turning the entire hotel room into the backdrop for all of the things he’d do to her: fingers around her throat, sunk into her ass, until it’s red and hurting, the way she’d quiver and cream all over his throbbing cock. Her neediness has no limits; it even breaks past her very own personal quarters, the loudness of her own self-induced pleasure drawing concern from occupants nearby.

Only after the blissful haze of orgasm does everything fall back in place. That repetitive knock on the door is a huge wake up call. Yerim’s eyes widen. 

“Shit.”

She checks her fingers—they’re coated in copious amounts of slick—and after a little further inspection, she realizes the aftermath.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

—————

Being honest about yourself, you couldn’t have asked to feel hornier at a worse time than this. Thirty thousand feet high up in the air, stuck in economy class because you don’t get paid enough to deal with the bullshit back in the office. Using your one of two allowed leaves in the year for a trip to see a girl you’ve mostly known online, and it isn’t even paid. To make things worse, there’s no layovers—just a point-to-point flight from San Francisco to Seoul. 13 hours.

And boy, is the ride absolutely miserable.

By what you might as well call divine intervention, you’re conveniently seated between a nun and a little girl—the two worst kinds of people to be alongside with. No, not because they’re annoying or anything like that; aside from the girl getting up every thirty minutes from her window seat to get something from her parents across the aisle, you’re practically barred access to your glorified archive of lewd Yerim pics. Opening them up with a kid barely in the first grade beside you is openly asking for trouble.

And the few times you get up for a lavatory break, you can’t get yourself going. There’s always someone at the door every five minutes. 

Eight hours deep into the flight, you look over your shoulder, catch one of the male flight attendants sneak inside one of the vacant lavatories with a fellow stewardess while everyone’s fast asleep. Fucking sickening. That should be you with Yerim right now.

When you arrive on the other side of the planet, you’ve gotten only a couple hours’ worth of sleep. You almost fumble your passport at immigration, getting them mixed up with a slew of business and membership cards. Then there’s your forgetfulness working against you, remembering you need some kind of pocket Wi-Fi, and now you have to spend a little more to get back online. It’s a mess, and it wasn’t that long since you were in Europe for a seminar, where these things were merely second nature to you.

At least you remembered that VPNs exist. You message Yerim on the taxi ride out of the airport, unsure of where to begin.

> You: Just got out of immigration

> yerimiese: fuckin finally! 

> yerimiese: you got a place to stay here?

> You: Not yet

> yerimiese: don’t bother, lemme send you my hotel address, you can stay here

Of course you don’t know Korean, despite the constant back and forth with Yerim for months. Learning’s been on the backend of your itinerary, and has never been your top priority, even now. You show the cab driver the address, who merely looks at you and the phone with a particularly vacant and dumbfounded expression, as if you’re stupid for not planning this out—which, in that regard, he’d be correct.

When you finally arrive at the hotel, only one message stands between you and finally meeting Yerimiese, once and for all.

> yerimiese: I’ll be at the poolside, third floor. can’t wait to meet you :P

And that’s exactly where you end up going. Forget that you’re lugging two whole bags and a traveler’s backpack on your shoulders; you drop them off at the front desk, expecting the staff to have a clue of what’s going on and what’s about to happen.

Stepping out into the poolside, it’s a completely barren sight. It’s three in the afternoon on a Tuesday; most people probably aren’t even booked, let alone in this supposed five-star hotel. You don’t really question whether she’s being serious or not, the evidence was in the previously sent photos; you’re dying to meet her at this point. 

And as if perfectly timed for dramatic effect, a woman emerges from beneath the waters, shaking off the wetness from her damp hair.

Yerim casually swims over the deep waters’ edge, without a care in the world, let alone your presence quietly shadowing over the large pool. Even halfway submerged, you can make out the outline of her shapely bust and hourglass figure, tightly hugged by a pink swimsuit. She was sultry and intoxicating to gawk at from candid photos, but seeing Yerimiese herself in the flesh, that’s when the realization hits you: this is happening.

And you can’t move a muscle, let alone react from the actualization that you’re right in front of her. Even as the waves of water splash on your new loafers, you simply observe. It’s creepy, it’s morally dubious, but it’s one in a million. You’re taking in every moment, every second; soak it all in, you’ll never get an experience like this ever again. 

You should be friends by now, if your definition of friendship means sharing explicit body photos and exchanging devious intentions about how you’ll fuck each other online or how much cum you’ve given to each other. But when she turns in your direction—catching you casually observing her, your hands tucked away in your coat’s pocket, grinning like a little kid— it’s back to square one.

Like the very first time.

Yerim takes all the time in the world to wade over from the other side of the pool, her smile growing closer as she approaches you. She lifts her eyebrows, expecting you to make a first move, to which you barely open your mouth, and ultimately only a deep breath, a stilted sigh, comes out.

Well, this is awkward.

Yerim giggles. You’ve previously heard her loud moans and cries, but a genuine laugh—this was your first. She never hops on calls in your group chat, most likely because idol shit, as she often refers to her line of work. Her laughter, her energetic expression—it’s as perfect of a translation to real life as it is online, and embodies the idol Yeri you know on screen. 

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, trying—and failing—to suppress more of her laughter.

Your answer is concise, but doesn’t seem quite right. “A while.”

In reality, about five minutes. You probably won’t be there any longer when she props herself out of the water with her strong elbows. Water cascades down her shapely figure, thicker and meatier than it's ever been, more than what the cameras and pictures present. She’s truly the entire package, through and through. 

She walks over to her sunlounger, granting you a nice peek of her ass peeking through her skimpy swimsuit before she wraps herself with a towel. Apart from that, your only other notable observation is that she’s soaking wet, even bundled up. That, and also: she’s barefoot. No sign of slippers or any footwear—she willingly walked on what appears to be scorching cobbled floors.

“I would give you a big hug right now, but you know—” she comments, looking down at her drenched self, pool water endlessly dripping down to her feet. Even if she isn’t soaking wet, you’d still be frozen in place, or even worse, some eagle-eyed stranger or Dispatch reporter catch you in secret and you both end up on national news the very next day.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you say, trying to dodge Yerim’s eyes. “I left my stuff at the front desk. I should probably go and grab them.”

“Smart.” Yerim sizes you up, nodding in amazement at how you’ve managed to get yourself past the entrance. “See you upstairs, then? Room 1015.”

—————

The difference between you and Yerim couldn’t be any more obvious.

Granted, you’re fresh off a 13 hour flight, followed by an hour's travel from the airport to a five-star hotel in the heart of Seoul. Yerim had all the time in the world to prepare, and yet when she emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a modest bathrobe and her dark hair bundled up, she’s never looked better. 

Facing an idol in such a haggard condition, it gives you an underlying feeling of shame. And if you’re being completely honest, if not for your cock, she’d probably be repulsed and call security on you.

But there's no security in sight. Just you, just yeri, the two of you standing in this room - which is, for the most part, quite nice. Multiple bedrooms, a lovely view of the city beneath you, and all sorts of amenities and features you’ll never get to use—you half expect her members to come in later, but perhaps for your sake, you’re better off with just her and her alone.

When Yerim begins to talk, she rambles. She goes on about the status of the next album, discussions about a possible solo debut, her relationships with her members—conversations about topics that you never really had online. It was mostly dirty talk and lewd captions. At best, you knew each other at a surface level, but here she is, sharing everything from her heart like you’ve been lifelong friends since day one.

You let her. She’s as charismatic as what she portrays on screen, and her sass is no different than the private messages she sends you. There’s not a single dull moment whenever Yerim speaks. Though you know her mostly for her body, her personality is what has you sticking around.

You wonder if she feels the same way about you.

“So, how’d you find out about us?” Yerim asks, after blabbering for a while, and you genuinely believe she’d keep going till nightfall. Close enough. Five minutes away from five in the afternoon, and you’d already spent the last hour and a half listening to a personalized podcast from her. You hope she doesn’t notice the plate of bulgogi on the table now completely empty.

“Well, a friend was a K-pop fan and had an extra ticket when you toured here,” you say, casually, slumped on the sofa. “Forgot how long that was—” you pause, “five years ago?”

“Five years? Five years since we went to America?” Yerim appears flabbergasted, face in utter disbelief at the passage of time. The realization causes her to stand from her chair. You’d be too after listening to her drone on endlessly. “Fuck.”

“SM! Give us a fucking world tour already!” she screams, pretending she’s inside the company building and you’re an executive in the room. Watching her snarkiness come to life never ceases to amuse you. You’ll let her go on for as long as she needs to; she’s entertaining in such a unique and charming way that it disarms you.

“Argh, sorry, you know me.” She suddenly stops, faces you, arms crossed, mocking up a pout. “Look at me suddenly losing my shit for no good reason.”

“Are your members used to this?”

That didn’t come out right.

She bats an eyelid. On her face is a mild, blank look of displeasure. That didn’t come out right. 

“Used to what?”

“Well, uh, I—I mean—”

You gulp your throat.

“Stop.”

Then, an air of awkward silence. Her eyes quickly scan you, lazing on the sofa.

“Let’s just get to fucking each other right now.”

—————

It isn’t that you’ve forgotten the one purpose you’re there to begin with, it’s that Yerim is very, very impulsive. One moment, upset at her company for doing the bare minimum for her group and her career, the next she’s using you as an outlet to release her frustrations. It’s a good thing your first impression of her was that she was very busty, because otherwise, the other description you had of her was—simply put—bratty.

You’re on your back, plopped against one of the beds, completely caught off-guard by her show of strength. Eyes rolled to the back of your head, you find Yerim already at the bed’s edge, loosening the belt around her waist, quickly disrobing herself within seconds. It’s nothing new; you’ve seen glimpses of her nude figure in pictures, imagined many scenarios where you’ve got your hands on her, but this—to see her completely bare in the flesh—is new. 

This is different. 

“Just so you know,” you mutter, frantically panting, your heart jumping, as Yerim undresses in front of you, “I haven’t actually had sex before.”

Just like that, the mood instantly changes. She stops. Abruptly.

“What?” 

Her mouth drops—again. Might as well stay agape. 

You consider retracting your statement. It was a joke, you’d say, something to get her even more aroused, fired up. The sex would be wilder, hotter than anything your fantasies would conjure. Then again, you wouldn’t be in this exact situation if you weren’t so chronically online, simping over pop idols like a kid about to enter puberty.

“I guess that’s to be expected,” she comments, snarkily, grabbing the edges of your pants, daring to rip them off you. “That’s fucking life, baby!” 

If you were in her shoes, obsessively waiting for someone with equally unhinged horniness, expressing precisely how you’d get fucked every single time you’d send a remotely lewd photo, you’d feel just as disappointed. You can tell by her partially scornful expression: she’s been fantasizing this moment as much as you have, too. You can’t blame her, but you kind of expected her to anticipate this; after all, you connected in a private group chat that’s been sexualizing her, of all places. 

Surely the signs of virginity were right there.

“At least this is real,” she says, leaning her head forward while cupping your growing bulge poking through your trousers. Your tip, at full mast, mere inches away from her chin, instead of a little phone screen. She’s pushing you around, growing slightly more mischievous and uncontrollable with the prospect of throwing someone like you around instead of the opposite. Something her members may have taught and ingrained in her. 

It isn’t quite the picture you expected from all the erotic snapshots and clips she’s been sending you. Every photo and video, designed to rouse the filthiest and wildest of your thoughts, was an act, a ruse to let your guard down, to give you this fixed headcanon that you can toss her around like she’s your personal plaything and object of pleasure. Instead, she’s using you for her own desires and wants.

It’s not that you don’t want her to use you and fuck you like this, it’s how completely in control she is that has you reeling, leaves you in a dizzy spell.

“I was gonna let you use my pussy and fuck me to ruin,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes, teasing and mocking. Her hand grips around the denim of your bulge, and it fucking stings. You’re sucking on loose air. “But since we have a virgin over here, I’m gonna do whatever I want.”

The implied connotation is what terrifies you, and no, it isn’t the revelation that Yerim isn’t a virgin—you assumed that much—but the notion that you were gonna have free reign over her cunt that has you contemplating some deep, long forgotten life decisions that set you back years. Their consequences are now starting to show.

She releases her ironclad grip on your pants, frees you of your obstructive clothing, both trousers and boxers down to the floor. Your hard cock springs free, terribly aching, already red and sore from her suffocating clench, and already leaking bursts of precum. The last day and a half hasn’t been kind to your cock.

To add insult to injury, she makes this licking motion with her tongue, aimed at your tip, but relents at the last minute. It leaves your throbbing cock aching harder, without any point of relief. The teasing sight almost renders you unconscious, and sends Yerim into a laughing frenzy. 

“Remember when I said I could taste your cock?” she says, chuckling. It’s not playful in the slightest—quite the opposite, in fact. It’s sinister. “I’ll wait a little longer to taste it. Don’t worry.”

Not the most reassuring of words, especially when you’ve got your hands tied—at least, not yet. Actually, you appreciate that she isn’t going to milk your cock dry just yet; when you finally look past the situation at hand, you come to treasure her chest. Her shapely chest, freely bouncing while she bounces her thick body on your lap—keep doing that, you say inside your mind, letting your wandering gaze soak in the unreal scene. 

She notices your intrigued eyes, rising and falling in rhythm with her tits. Subtlety was never your intention, and she probably knows from experience, as she says she does. Fixated attention is how she gets herself off, based on how she seems to respond to the lewd messages you’ve sent her in the past, and it shows when she repeats some choice remarks back to your face:

“I’d kill my boss to fuck those tits right now, you’re so goddamn sexy.”

She grips a hand around your throat, another down to the buttons of your shirt, pulling them apart. 

“Let me be your personal titty towel.”

Halfway there.

“I’d suck on your tits first, go down on your delicious pussy, then fuck that wet hole of yours three times straight.”

Just like that, you’re both even. Equal in nakedness.

You’re unsure whether it’s the sight of Yerim asserting her dominance over you, tits all up in your face with a devious smirk as she bares you down to your essentials that’s leaving you short on air, or if it’s the hand cautiously coiled around your neck. Either option seems sensible enough. This is how she lives in your head rent free, just being her sassy, sexy self. Even repeating some of the same particularly questionable lewd things you’ve written to her sounds hot with her brazen tone. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she raises an eyebrow, leaning her head close, as if demanding an answer. 

Really, there’s no multiple choice here. Of course you nod.

She rolls her hips upward, inches her body across yours little by little, til her dripping pussy completely shadows your view. Her hand grabs the back of your head, meaty thighs pressing between your face. Now you’re truly suffocating. Even with the rather shameful admission, she rolls her crotch on your lips, expecting you to know what to do. No words, just the expectant grind of her crotch on your face, her wet folds opening up for you to take them.

Then, she begins moaning. 

Admittedly, the closest you’ve had to trying out oral is using your phone as an outlet for your tongue whenever she sends a boob photo. Thankfully, your inexperience doesn’t show when you first dip your tongue inside her folds, getting your first taste of pussy. Saltier than you expected, but fuck, you’d be lying if you think it wasn’t completely intoxicating—everything you hoped for, and more. 

It incites a few expressive reactions from Yerim—some loud, others quieter—with the end result usually a sharper, deeper grind of her waist on your face, splaying her cunt for you to devour. You’ve got one hand pressed on her ass, holding her plump flesh down while the other is at her mercy, pulled by hers, forced to squeeze her breast. You won’t complain. Not when her cries of pleasure motivate you to push yourself harder.

You repeat this addictive cycle, stretch moments into minutes, minutes into hours. Even when you’ve drained her completely, you’ll still be craving for more of her; that’s how hungry she’s made you. Your tongue meets her clit, and it draws out this especially sharp whine that she’s never hit once. Not on a track. Not anywhere. She swears up a storm, juxtaposed between soft, gentle pleas of “yes, more, and you’re so good.” 

In return, you take more of her, soak yourself in the continuous downpour of her slick juices freely flowing all over your mouth and tongue. As her pleasure escalates, her fingers tighten their grasp on your head, grab your tousled hair. You add soft, intimate kisses between streaks of licking her folds, and they send the young idol writhing, shaking atop you. Her words have been reduced to nothing but short, needy bursts of “please.” Even in this uncontrollable state, she gyrates her hips around you, rhythm steady, but more determined than ever to let herself go.

By the way her pussy throbs, you’re certain she’s a few critical points away from climax. It doesn’t change your plans, not one bit. You continue to lap at her sensitive folds, bask in her intoxicating heat, purposefully teasing her clit. She won’t demand that you end her —not this quickly, not when you’ve magically learned the art of giving oral to a woman under short notice.

You slowly work her through it. Your tongue dives into her slick entrance, deeper than it's ever been so far. The overpowering sensations send ripples that reach even the foundations of the bed, unlike anything it’s ever felt. Even in the wild throes of bodily pleasure, Yerim has enough willpower to stay in character, delivering a demand in her usual playful, fast talking tone. “Please do it! I’m going to cum!”

You contemplate the thought, completely drunk in her divine taste yourself, but you oblige. 

Your tongue sticks to her bud, and it causes this instantaneous, elaborate chain reaction. Yerim cries a sharp cry, waves of orgasm washing down all over her body. She stops in her tracks, completely rigid, mouth wide open, and this torrential gush of slick and orgasm swamps you, drowning you so deep that it's nearly fatal. Her thighs involuntarily clench tighter, too, and you’re temporarily trapped in your own pocket dimension, impossible to clean with all the cum left behind, especially on the sheets.

The most surprising observation from her orgasm is how suddenly calm it becomes. Only the sound of your tongue licking her clean can be heard, and it’s nothing but a gentle rustle. She hangs her head up, face completely flushed, catching needed oxygen in her lungs, letting the aftermath of her climax pass over. 

While her breath normalizes, she lifts herself up, moves to the side of the bed. In her wake, she’s left behind a drenched lake of slick around your face, leaking down to the muddled sheets beneath you. 

“Well,” she says, panting and pausing for air. “There goes the other bed.”

It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out what she meant. Even when you’re still mindlessly occupied by the sticky residue around your lips. You let out this muffled exhale, designed to be a laugh, but it backfires in your face. Amused, she giggles on your behalf.

“Not bad.” Yerim smiles at you. Charming and cute, a contrast to what had just transpired. “I thought you said you never had sex?”

It takes you a moment before you answer back, “I haven’t. You just taste really good.”

“You still have some left on the edges of your face,” she comments, her eyes mesmerized by how much she’s cum all over you. “Let me help you clean that up.”

And she helps, but not in a conventional way. She lifts you from the bed by your torso, then submerges you again, this time at the mercy of her bosom. You’ve got your arms wrapped around her waist while you’re kissing and sucking on her Yerim’s  tits, not exactly tidying up, but creating a larger mess that no amount of tongue cleaning can resolve. 

In the meantime, she whispers in your ear some of your more—questionable—comments:

“They need to give her a solo debut with a very sexy concept and trust me, I’ll be the guy who breaks the world record for jerking off if they do that.”

“It must feel heavy to carry them all the time. Let me lend a hand to you.”

“The only thought I had inside my mind when I saw her is every member would milk her 3x a day so that they don’t have to go outside and buy milk to eat cereal to the point they would just drink it from the source.”

You stop. You give her this strange, confused look. Even you couldn’t believe you said that.

“Did I actually say that?”

“Yes!” she replies, quick and straightforward, unable to hide her enthusiasm, while brushing your hair. “Not gonna lie, that sent me to the floor. I was laughing so hard, Irene ran in to check up on me!”

To make things worse, she flashes this wide, toothy grin that makes you regret your life choices. 

“God. I don’t wanna drink anymore.”

“Hey, if there’s any consolation, you wouldn’t be sucking on my tits and eating me out now if you never made that comment,” she says, caressing your chin and giving you a peck on the lips. As if it’s still not one of the most out of pocket comments you’ve ever made about anyone, let alone a celebrity—and you weren’t fully yourself.

“Relax. Don’t think about it too much.” Yerim pushes you back down to the bed, crawls atop you, meeting your lips again for an intimate kiss. Your hard cock, which has been left unattended for quite a while, captures your attention—and especially hers. “Lean back for me, will you?”

You comply. Involuntarily, your legs straighten, but Yerim pushes them apart, places herself at center view, seemingly ready to take you in her mouth. It makes sense; a woman with a mouth that runs like hers probably only stops when there’s cock stuffed inside them. The theory proves to be plausible when she gives your sensitive tip a delicate, yet dangerous lick, her eyes glinting at you with renewed vigor and lust.

“I told you I’d have a taste of that cock,” she says, half smug, half seductive, gloating with her brows. Your tenseness slightly recedes—until you realize your cock’s moving past her lips, in the direction of the space between her cleavage. “I didn’t say I wanted to suck on it.”

And she was right—not once has she ever expressed her desire to choke, gag, deepthroat on it. 

You grit your teeth, watching your cock disappear between her shapely tits, with Yerim personally making sure you comfortably fit like a glove. You fold. It’s snug. Hot. Breathtaking.

“Fuck, Yeri,” you mutter, closing your eyes as her inviting warmth leaves you weak in the knees, trembling. You don’t realize you’ve used her stage name over her real name. “God—”

“Does this feel like everything you wanted?” she asks, tone sultry and triumphant. A little slide up sends you into a frenzy.

You nod—even though there’s no other available options. The erotic image in front of you is permanently seared into your head: Kim Yerim, popular idol and to an extend, your ‘friend with benefits,’ grinning like a maniac, slowly fucking your cock between her tits, coated with your saliva, sweat, and copious amounts of precum. To think your little crude messages on a random forum would have such long term and drastic consequences such as this.

Not that you’d want to make sense of it all, especially when she gets into a rhythm. Sliding her breasts up and down, she’s delicate, intentional, and masochistic; you’re on the receiving end of how she felt when you were slowly eating her out. She’s dangerous, teetering between the line where your cock can be safe between her bosom and where she can break you in half. You’re already falling apart—and fast.

“Holy shit, Yerim. Fuck.” 

Each word you deliver is long and drawn out, especially the profanities. Heavenly music to her ears. She’s out of reach where you can pull by her hair, so you settle for the sheets instead. Your gaze wanders, travels everywhere but in her direction, because you don’t need to see the tortuous scene happening between your legs. Looking at the descending sun, this is probably the last time you’ll see the sun set in your life.

Her eyes challenge you to look at anywhere from her. Panting frantically, you find yourself at the mercy of Yerim’s whims, your cock fading and swelling into view, sticky and wet, gushing cum all over her tits. The sight drives you further mad, has you making sounds that have never been recorded—ever. She takes you in, delights in your suffering, eager for you to say the magic words.

“Ready to cum? I know you want to cum.” 

Even under duress, you’re not ready to fold just yet. There’s a little stubbornness inside you fighting back, pulling all the stops to keep you from surrendering to Yerim’s demands. You close your eyes, grip on the sheets even tighter, control your breathing, but it’s too little too late. You can only do so much with two hands.

“Cum for me.”

You hold onto a particularly deep breath, desperate to cling to whatever dying vestiges of control there is left, but your fate has already been sealed from the moment you’ve allowed your cock to enter her chest.

“Yerim, I—”

The exhale you release is the most relieving and satisfying. With it, comes out a rope of thick, creamy cum splashed all over her neck and chest. The aching, violent sensation doesn’t stop; more seed spills between the warmth of her cleavage. In one fell swoop, you feel all of your energy sapped from you, leaving you completely weak and powerless. 

In the gap between your climax and post-orgasm haze, you wonder if she’ll take some of your cum in her mouth, with the way she looks at your cock as it throbs beneath her chin. No. She lets it drip down her perfect naked body with a sticky white sheen that glows under the natural light piercing through the hotel’s window. 

“Just like that, hm,” she comments, casually flicking the last of your withering orgasm and cum with her wrist. She lathers the slick on her fingers on her shoulder, then places some into her mouth for a taste. 

After you regain a semblance of normalcy—after Yerim’s finished entertaining herself with your cum, staring at her coated body and fingers with curious interest—she rests her elbows on your knees, in the process of relearning how to bend. You sink back against the headrest, watch as the fading sun glimmers on an idol like her, destined to shine for every occasion possible—on the stage and under the afterglow of sex. She smiles, bright and wide, taking you in, as you are.

There’s something brewing, especially in the tender few minutes that follow. Something special, something more than just a spark. 

“So—” Yerim runs a sticky finger on your knee, dangerously close to stirring up your cock again. “You wanna try anal with me next?”

You pause. Widening your eyes, staring back with a look of disbelief. Just when you’re about to open your mouth to reply, she adds:

“Kidding. You do know that you’re gonna have to delete those tweets and comments, right? If they find out you’re here, you’re fucked. And I mean, a thousand times worse than now.”

—————

(A/N: This was an absolute joy to write. The nature of the request meant I could go very meta with it. About time we get a proper Red Velvet full album, so perfect timing! If you're able to figure out some of the references and easter eggs, then you, my friend, are too engrossed in the Tumblr K-pop male reader smut lore. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

[yawnderu]

K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Chapter V

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

''Stop looking at me, Johnny.'' Your voice is strained, currently being crushed by the mass of pure muscle currently laying on top of you.

''Cannae keep my eyes off of ya, doc.'' You roll your eyes, attempting to change positions before giving up. The man is not going anywhere.

''Or your hands. Let go of me.'' You gather the strength to try to push him away again, just for Johnny to make himself heavier and shoot you a cheeky smile. As if being woken up by the man running into your room and crushing you wasn't bad enough, he was refusing to let go or move, arms wrapped around you tightly, legs caging you in.

''Next time I'm letting you die.'' You sigh, stopping the struggle just for your best friend to lay down next to you, an arm wrapped around your shoulder.

''Saved my life out there, bonnie.'' The man is like a golden retriever and it's practically impossible to resist his charms, not when he has been in a coma for two whole weeks after the surgery, leaving you alone with the rest of the team. Your hand comes out of the blanket to gently pat his cheek before your arms are wrapping around his neck, bringing him closer, foreheads pressed together.

''I kinda missed you, you know?'' His arms wrap around your waist as he brings you even closer, hearts pressing together. He sighs, looking away before looking back at you.

''Thought that was the end of me, doc. Fuckin' Makarov got away an' I get a bullet to the heid.'' Johnny has always been an open book, anger and frustration clear on his face, yet his eyes showed the fear he felt at the idea of being an inch from death. Your chuckle brings his attention back to you, eyebrow raising in a display of attitude only Gaz can surpass.

''Took me 12 hours to bring you back, Johnny. Got help from Ghost for the chest shots, but your head...? If anything that shouldn't be touched was messed with, we could have lost you— or made you into more of an idiot.'' He playfully tugs on a strand of your hair, a small smile on his lips, yet his eyes were just as haunted as before. He took a deep breath before holding you closer, your face buried on his chest, warm hand on the back of your head.

'''t was scary, bonnie. Thought I'd wake up in hell with all the fannybaws I've killed.'' A dry chuckle escapes his lips as he lets go of you, giving your forehead a small kiss before getting up from bed, looking around your room before his blue eyes go back to you.

''Thank you. For saving me.'' Your gaze softens as you look up at him, finally getting up from bed and gently patting his shoulder, looking at the small patch of hair that had to be shaved off in order to have more space to operate.

''Should have shaved that stupid mohawk while I was at it.'' He gives you an overexaggerated look of mock offense and you grin up at him, happy to at the very least, have your best friend back. He's not ready to be out on the field yet, so you can already expect him to be bothering you or Simon as much as possible.

His hand drapes over your shoulder as he guides you out of your quarters and drops you off in an interrogation room, your eyebrow raising as you look up at him for an explanation.

''L.Ts teaching you how to interrogate people. Said something about ye becoming more involved in field work.'' You don't question it, knowing if anything happens to the team while out on a mission, you'd have to take over. Johnny gives you a smug smile as he walks away, fully aware of what at the very least seemed to be Ghost's attraction to you.

You open the door just to see him already waiting, sitting on an old chair with rope held in his hands. His brown eyes immediately go to yours, softening slightly as he offers you the rope. He knows it's a bad idea, but at the same time, he wants to ensure you know as much as possible about psychological warfare, even when it's completely different from your field. It's an excuse to spend extra time with you, that much is clear— but he also knows you're a fast learner.

''Simon.'' There's a smirk threatening to tug at your lips as you grab the rope, already getting on with tying him up. It's something you're very familiar with, not needing further instructions and ignoring the way his muscles tense up slightly in mild surprise as your hands move with pure expertise as if this is nothing but a second nature to you.

It takes a few minutes until you're done, looking down at the artwork with the perfect muse— there's a knot tied up on top of Ghost's chest, rope running over his chest in three different sections, uniting where his hands are tied behind his back. The rope goes up, binding his mid-section to the back of the wooden chair. His thighs are held apart with the tight rope, ankles tied to the front legs of the chair, his prominent bulge standing out even more with the tightness your knots have.

''Right.'' He interrupts after you stare at him for a second too long, already feeling the sweat pooling up on his forehead underneath the balaclava.

''You already got the intimidation part down, so let's move with torture. In that table there's tools you can use on me. When interrogating the enemy... make sure you start slow before you build up on the most damage you can do without killing. Anything is fair game in this field, love.'' He looks down before looking back up at you, trying to keep his eyes from wandering as he looks at you in civilian clothes for the first time.

''Torture, psychological tactics of intimidation, even amputation, if you're not afraid of being discharged.'' He's clearly joking about the last part, but his voice remains serious as he focuses on the task at hand.

''Go get something from there and try to make me talk. I'll be an enemy holding back information, get it out of me.'' He gestures to the table with his head and you hum in acknowledgement. The corners of your lips tug into a smirk as you see it— a red candle among the many different tools, a zippo lighter you recognize as his right next to it.

''Interesting.'' He doesn't even have to look to know what caught your attention. Your hand reached out for the lighter, flicking it on and staring at the flame for a few seconds before looking over your shoulder, gaze catching his. His eyes follow your movements, from the way you slowly walk up to him, to your hands lifting up his shirt, wrinkling the fabric together underneath the knot of the rope, his strong body exposed.

His breath hitches when your cold finger trails up and down from his abs to his chest. He watches you light up the candle, waiting until the wax starts to melt before slowly tipping the candle closer and closer, pausing before the burning flame makes contact with his skin, waiting for his approval. All he can do is stare down at you and nod his head once.

Your eyes focus on his strong torso, tipping the candle until the wax began slowly dripping into the pale skin, muscles flexing underneath. He takes a deep breath, trying his best to not give you a reaction despite the burning pain on his sensitive skin.

''That all you got?'' He challenges and that does nothing but make the dangerous glint in your eyes dance along with the fire. Your hand goes higher, tipping the candle again until a new bead of wax drips down his chest, not a single sound coming out of him besides his heavy breathing.

''Not yet.'' There's a small smirk on your lips as you notice the jolt that runs through his body, flinching slightly when the hot wax lands on his nipple, yet he still doesn't let out any sounds of struggle. His rock-hard cock twitches in his jeans, another deep breath coming out of him as the muscles on his stomach flex involuntarily. He takes his eyes off of you when the wax drips onto his other nipple, staring at the ceiling as he tries his best to calm down, body shifting in discomfort as much as possible despite the rope binding his whole body to the chair.

''Try harder.'' He orders, gravelly voice growing deeper. A small snicker escapes your lips at his words, nodding your head. From this angle you can see how his pupils dilate, the black specks quickly overpowering his dark brown eyes.

Your free hand travels from the now dried wax, all the way down to his jeans, fingers neglecting his hard cock and undoing his belt instead. His eyes snap back down on you, yet he doesn't deny you. You pull his cock out with your free hand, freeing him from the tight fabric before you let it go, allowing the thick shaft to rest on his abdomen. The candle goes up again, teeth softly biting on your lower lip out of excitement as you look at the red wax drip on his shaft.

''Fuck.'' His stare is firm, but the moment the wax touches his skin, he winces in pain. There it is. His head leans back on the chair, eyes closing tightly as more wax drips all over his painfully hard cock.

''Stay with it... It's nothing.'' He reassures himself, voice nothing short of a pathetic whimper. He shifts his body as you start letting the wax drip higher and higher, movements slow and calculated. He shifts his body, trying to escape the searing hot pain of the wax yet being unable to.

''Fuckin' amateur.'' He spits out, eyes opening to look down at you. His muscles are tensed, jaw clenching underneath his black balaclava. You can see a drip of sweat spill down from his masked forehead, moisture gathering at the bits of skin you can see from his face, eye black looking shinier than before.

''You seem to be enjoying what this amateur is doing, sir.'' Your words are taunting, clearly trying to get a reaction out of him, yet he gives you nothing other than a soft, low moan, half-lidded eyes looking down at you intensely. Your smirk grows at his silence, looking down at the hardening layers of wax all over his thick cock.

''You wanted me to break you, so I will.'' You watch the wax drip down to his glistening tip, mixing in with his precum. He can't help the way his body thrashes against the rope, trying to get away from the pain as a deep moan of pain escapes his lips. You say nothing this time, simply moving the candle around, angling it up so the dripping wax lands on a different part of his tip.

''Fuck! H- I cant—'' He whines out, eyes closed tightly as his body reacts involuntarily. He's still struggling against the rope, yet he doesn't have it in him to ask you to stop.

''That's all you can take?'' You taunt with fake pity and he inhales sharply, beads of sweat running down his forehead, pain showing in his face even when the balaclava is covering it. He finally lets out a quiet whimper, eyes struggling to remain open simply to stare down at you as he always does, yet there's no confidence behind them anymore.

''Do better.'' He's clearly trying to spite you and it works. Your free hand comes up to flick his tip harshly and this time, he doesn't fight himself, a low moan of pain and pleasure escaping his lips. His hips thrust up slightly and in that moment you know— Ghost's resolve is being broken.

''Fuckin'... hell.'' He moans out, bound hands behind his back becoming tight balls, veins bulging in his arms. His head tilts back when he feels a new drop of wax falling on his tip. He can't help it, really, the way his hips thrust up in nothing but pure desperation, ropes of thick white cum staining his abdomen as he groans out in a mix of pain and pleasure, muscles flexing underneath your touch.

''I win, Simon.'' Your taunt does nothing to him other than to make more cum spurt out of his throbbing cock, looking down at him in a mix of amusement and fake pity. Your gaze connects to the pair of wide brown eyes staring at the scene through a half-opened door, cock throbbing in his pants.

A/N: fun fact! Vamp was created with K-9 in mind, but I couldn't keep the idea in my drafts for long enough to use it in this fic so it was published as a one-shot. I decided to use the one-shot in this chapter, as things will get more interesting in the next ones!<3