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#i went ham on the lighting for this one
mishapen-dear · 1 month
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i love it when bad is very specifically a good roleplayer by giving other people good prompts. like casually bringing up wilbur now to tallulah. or when he put missa in the petting zoo. or all those times he Tormented the Lesbians so they could protect each other from him. its just so !!!! I love watching roleplayers be considerate of other roleplayers and gleefully hand over something they Know the other person's character can react to. i've seen cellbit do it, too (that time he handed his knife to bbh. oh my god). it's not a rare thing, and it's possible to be a good roleplayer without keeping that sort of considerate back and forth in mind, but its one of my favourite things to notice. foolish does it too, sometimes- i haven't watched him much, but i did take note of when he Made Sure to bring jaiden along with him on a cucurucho quest. and basically every interaction he had with bad when the eggs were missing. its just so so good
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marcell-arts · 8 months
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my love letter to the australian cast of Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 which i am in love with and can't stop listening to daily now
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zelda7999 · 1 year
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Might wanna look at your detector! Looks like you got a friend! :D
@lavenoon @naffeclipse pspspsps did someone call for some Cryptid boys n their Heart? ;P <3
Hunter design/insert is Luce's! <3 <3 <3
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spotlightstudios · 10 months
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Mmm yes... posting Weirdcore art tonight!
This is fan-art of Ashur Gharavi's weirdcire skit characters Mr.Plant and Argos. Recently discovered his content, and I have been itching to draw these two!
Mr.Plant is so gosh-darm unsettling, and Argos is so cool in concept and in the flesh. They've both got their own little things about them, I personally appreciate Mr.Plant wringing his hands, but they're just *chef's kiss* !!!
For context, this is kinda a redraw of this one photo here:
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And I left a comparison beside it!
Wasn't expecting it to turn out so well, but I'm happy with it! (Plus, added bonus of my bf having to listen to me figure out how to draw them over-call w/o context. "I need him to be looking at me. It has to be unsettling." I mumble to myself, as he kinda goes, "What???" I adore him.)
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zincbart · 8 months
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Speedrunning my last planned attack for artfight during my surgery recovery aaa!
For Lizzz on AF and @coltbalt !!
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kentocidal · 8 months
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lucky winner
users: piercer!bakugou x afab!fem!reader x tattoo artist!kirishima
internal warnings: descriptions of needles/tattoos/piercings as they occur, long fic, wow there's plot in this!, consensual threeway, established krbk, oral (m and f!receiving), piv, spit, size kink, light dacryphilia, spitroasting, inaccurate positioning, ask to tag
internal notes: three way won the poll so i went ham. my fault og. final word count somehow came to 5.2k ish.
new notifications: @kaedescara
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you stared blankly at the notification on your phone, wide-eyed and jaw agape. you blinked slowly, rubbed a hand down your face, and then clicked your phone off and back on again. the screen lit back up to your screensaver and the single notification that sat covering it. ‘@sincitytattoojp tagged you in their story! check it out!’
you looked up from your phone to your friend, who you now realized was calling your name and snapping her fingers. “uh, hello? earth to y/n? what’s going on? did your ex message you or something?”
“i think i won something.” you mumbled, turning your phone to show your friend. she furrowed her brows together and took your phone from your hand, studying the notification before cracking a grin. 
“is this that tattoo parlor in tokyo that you keep talking about hypothetically going to?” she laughed as she punched in your passcode and opened up instagram, pressing on the icon to the parlor’s instagram story.
you were quick to snatch your phone back to watch the story yourself, raising the volume on your phone to hear it. it was a video of someone’s hand reaching into a very full fishbowl of printed instagram handles, pulling out a tiny piece of paper and unfolding it to reveal your instagram username. the caption read in big red lettering, “congrats to @[y/n] for winning the human canvas raffle. reply to this post by midnight to schedule your slot.”
you swallowed thickly and looked up at your friend. “i won the fucking raffle. i won the nine hour session.”
your friend sucked in a breath before laughing and lifting her glass to you. “godspeed, soldier.”
you looked back down at your phone and clicked back to rewatch your name be pulled from the bowl. you had entered the contest on a whim – you hadn’t expected to win. you had reposted the parlor’s picture and tagged your three closest friends to enter a bid into becoming a human canvas for a day, i.e. getting tattooed and pierced until you tapped out. the parlor owners couldn’t seem to decide on whether to call it the human canvas contest or the no mercy challenge, not that it mattered. both fit the bill to describe what you had just won.
you swiped up on the story.
you: i dont know whether to be terrified or excited.
@sincitytattoojp: both, sweetheart. sign this and get it back to us [1 attachment]
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you had gone through an extensive back and forth that night, printing and signing and scanning different waivers and papers to ensure that you would be able to handle an entire day of sitting in a chair getting poked and prodded with needles and getting art permanently printed on your skin forever. you were grateful that they took so much precaution in ensuring you were well aware of the situation you were putting yourself in, and getting ample consent confirmed ahead of time. you already felt comfortable as you stepped off the train in tokyo and started towards the shop.
sin city tattoo and body art. the small tattoo shop had garnered a massive following around the globe for the gorgeous work that consistently poured from the studio. the artists had never shown their faces on their page, but it was clearly just a two man show. sometimes one of them would film the other doing their newest piece on a client they handpicked from the waiting list, and it was clear that the two were a little more than close friends. 
you trusted their work. you were a new client, obviously, but after following their page for over a year, you knew you would be okay with going through with this. you were just… inexperienced. you had a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on your ankle and your ears double pierced in the lobes, but that was it.
you rounded the corner and saw the neon sign over the glass doors to the shop, the shutters pulled down. you took a deep breath and tried the door, mildly surprised that it opened up. a tiny bell chimed over your head as you stepped inside.
the shop was small, but it was clean. absolutely pristine. for a tattoo shop called sin city, you were expecting a bit more of a grunge theme, not exactly the creamy white walls littered with black picture frames of flash art available for purchase, a tall cabinet filled with various jewelry for fresh piercings, plants in the corners surrounding two chairs that were supposedly for a waiting area. there was a tall partition behind the front desk, and the shop stretched backward, most likely leading to a tattoo chair and then a piercing table, respectively. 
you stood awkwardly by the front door, gripping your bag in front of you. you had brought a few little snacks and some water in preparation for being there all day. you shuffled your feet as you heard footsteps coming up from the back of the shop, and suddenly you were reconsidering your outfit choice. you had tried to be helpful by going with a tight spaghetti strap tank top and a high riding skirt, knowing that you would probably need to shuffle clothes around during the course of the day.
your thoughts got clogged almost immediately when a brick wall of a man rounded the partition, scratching the back of his neck and staring down at you with big red eyes that looked curious, almost playful. he had to have been at least six-five, looming over you with broad shoulders and bulky arms that were covered in tattoos that went all the way down to his knuckles. his red hair was tied half-up half-down, the black roots at his forehead showing through.
you gaped at him like a fish out of water, face starting to feel warm as he glanced you up and down, and then smiled, revealing a wide set of sharp sharklike teeth. “aye, kats! i think she’s here!” he called over his shoulder before stepping behind the front desk. “you’re our pretty contest winner, right?”
“uh-”
“my name’s eijirou kirishima. i’m the main tattoo guy here.” he grinned at you, boyish and peppy, and it stifled your nerves somewhat as you returned the smile, but you were flustered beyond belief. you had seen the videos of him tattooing, you knew at least that his hands were big, but not the rest of him.
“ah, yeah, hi. i’m y/n. it’s nice to see your fsce for once.” you giggled nervously, and he laughed and nodded.
“yeah, we’re not all about showing who we are online. the page got too big, tokyo’s a big place, we don’t want the extra attention, yknow?” he smiled warmly at you as he bent down and shuffled through some paperwork under the desk, pulling it out and gesturing for you to come closer. “i know we already got a lot of your stuff online, but this is the last waiver. pretty much a final agreement that we get to do whatever we want to your body until you either tap out, or the clock hits six, whichever comes first.” 
you made a little squeaking noise at his phrasing, glancing at his face as he just continued to smile. he fumbled around for a pen and held it out to you, and you reached to take it, but he snatched it back and leaned across the desk. “just so you know, you can say stop at any time. we’re not forcing you to be here. if you say no to an idea, we won’t do it. stuff like that. okay?”
you blinked at him. he seemed so genuine, really making sure he was thorough in his explanations of the paperwork and of your position in this. it helped you take a deep breath and nod. “i know. i’m all good.”
“awesome. you seem like a real trooper.” he chuckled in a deep, rumbly voice, and finally held the pen back out to you. 
you took it, your soft fingers brushing over his rough skin and making you feel like your hand was alight in flames. you signed your name at the bottom of the form, dated it, and slid it back across the desk to kirishima. he just grinned at you and shoved the paper into the desk again.
“bakugou! come on, man! she’s all good!” kirishima leaned his head around the partition, and you jumped slightly when the familiar voice of kirishima’s partner sounded from the back of the shop.
“i fucking heard you the first time, i’m not fucking deaf!”
“well, just hurry up!” kirishima laughed and turned back to you. “sorry, he’s a real stickler for making sure his spot is all clean. i’m clean, but he’s a neat freak.”
“who’re you calling a neat freak, red?” a slightly shorter man stepped out from down the hallway, and again you felt your breath catch in your throat.
he was still tall, but far more intimidating in his black wife beater and jeans. he took off his mask that had been covering the lower half of his face, revealing a nose piercing and snake bites around plush lips. his fluffy blonde hair was standing up in all the right places, piercing red eyes looking your form up and down as he cracked his knuckles. his arms were littered patchwork-style, much different than kirishima’s full sleeves, and he clearly liked to hit the gym seven days a week.
you gulped and shifted your weight as bakugou’s eyes drifted over you. “name’s katsuki bakugou. you’ve already met red. didya sign the form?”
“uh, yes. all of the forms.”
“great.” his eyes locked on yours. clearly, this guy was all about professionalism and business, at least while he was on the clock. then he turned his head to kirishima. “so, where did you want to start her?”
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you found yourself laid down on your chest, head turned to the side to stare at bakugou’s back as he organized something off to the side. music was playing, but you could hardly hear it over the buzzing of the tattoo gun and the weight of kirishima’s hand on your back.
you chewed on your lip as you felt the needle trace over the skin of your lower back, occasionally lifting to get more ink, only to return and start the ministrations over again. it wasn’t an easy spot to get ink done; tramp stamps were adorable and sexy, but the skin on that part of a person’s back is notoriously thin. despite this, however, you always found the pain to be… enjoyable. 
you felt kirishima’s free hand slide over to the middle of your back, splaying out, applying some pressure to get a better angle as he leaned over you. if he wasn’t wearing a mask, you would be able to feel his warm breaths fanning out against your sensitive skin. your eyes fluttered and you did your best not to move as your neurons fired over the sheer size of his hand against your back. splayed out like that, his fingertips were on one side and the heel of his hand almost felt like it was on the other. perhaps your perception was being warped on account of the buzzing needle poking your back, but you couldn’t be entirely sure.
kirishima added more pressure even as the needle lifted away from your skin, pushing you down into the bed, making you squeak softly. bakugou’s head turned briefly to you, glinting in the white overhead lighting almost devilishly, before turning away again.
“so,” kirishima’s low voice made you flinch slightly, having been entranced by the weight of him looming over your form, “i don’t really see any ink on you. is this your first time?” you heard him chuckle into his mask as he waited for you to relax again, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin to calm you down, before pressing the needle down again. “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, hun.”
you felt like some kind of high schooler talking about her virginity. “it’s- it’s fine. no, it’s not my first, but it’s my first big one. i’ve got a little one on my ankle.”
“your ankle?” he repeated, still pressing the needle to your skin and definitely coloring a shape in. “who did that for you? wasn’t us.”
“right, yeah.” you giggled slightly, really trying not to move as you wiggled the foot that held the little tattoo. “just an old friend who was an apprentice somewhere else.”
“ankle’s a rough place for a first tattoo,” grumbled bakugou, finally turning towards you and sitting down in a chair a little ways away, manspreading in your peripheral. “how’d you sit for that?”
“it hurt, but i liked it.” you mumbled back honestly, glancing back when you felt kirishima put the tattoo gun down and reach with a gloved hand towards your ankle, bending your leg at the knee to study the work.
“hm. it’s real cute on you, but i would’ve done it a little different.” his thumb brushed over the tattoo, over the thin skin of your ankle, sending a spike of heat through your body. “i could touch it up later.” he guided your leg back down and brushed his hand over the back of your thigh briefly before picking his tattoo gun back up and reapplying that heavy pressure to your back again.
“yeah, okay…” you murmured breathily, feeling small underneath kirishima’s weight and the power of bakugou’s gaze where he was staring at you, at kirishima, at how kirishima’s hands left indents in your skin as he worked.
your mouth felt like it was full of cotton, your head feeling like all the blood had drained from it and gone south. you shouldn’t be thinking like this, feeling like this, not while effectively getting stabbed thousands of times per minute.
bakugou hummed as he stood up again to get within your line of sight. “you said you liked the pain, huh? you one of those weird people that gets a high off of getting ink done?”
you felt your face burst with heat, unable to move as you opened your mouth and stammered. kirishima chuckled behind his mask.
“don’t tease, kats.”
“‘m not teasin’. i was just sayin’ that i agree with her.” bakugou smirked at you before stepping around the wall to go get a water from the fridge.
kirishima’s free hand slid from your middle back to just above your ass, his thumb rubbing into the fabric of your tight skirt as he worked.
“you’re sitting really well for this, doll. ‘m proud. probably one of my favorite things to do is back tattoos. especially these.”
you hummed softly in the back of your throat, probably mumbling a thank you that just made him laugh again.
you didn’t say anything when his free hand squeezed your ass as he leaned back to get more ink in the gun.
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kirishima had spread the second skin across your pretty new tramp stamp with precision, making sure it wouldn’t wrinkle or peel away until your tattoo was healed. you were given a snack of chips and a bottle of water to recuperate while bakugou prepped his area, pulling on a mask and snapping black latex gloves over his hands. “so, how ya feelin’?”
“good,” you took a breath as you capped your water, sitting quietly on the tattoo bench and waiting to move to the piercing table. “ready to move on, i guess.”
“hope you don’t mind, but i took some photos when red was doing you.” he glanced over his shoulder, and you smiled and waved it off.
“i don’t mind at all. my friend didn’t believe me when i said i was actually gonna come.”
“that so?” bakugou cocked a brow, his mouth hidden behind the black mask. “anyway, what’re you thinking for this next bit? industrial? nose?”
“ah.” you shifted on the bench, glancing away from him as kirishima rounded the corner. “i was, uh. i was thinking i could get my… i could get my nipples pierced first? get the worst ones out of the way?”
kirishima blinked once and immediately shot a look to bakugou, who made eye contact. it was like telepathy; there was a silent exchange between them before bakugou nodded and waved for you to step over. “sure, whatever. it’s definitely not the worst pain, though.”
“really?” you stood on jelly legs and walked over to the piercing bench, sitting down in front of bakugou, who pulled a chair over to sit.
“mhm. worst i would say for a girl is the clitoral hood.”
you flushed and shook your head. “no thanks. i think i’ll stick to this for now.”
“okay.” bakugou sat back in his chair, staring at you. you stared back, tilting your head. bakugou furrowed his brows and clicked his tongue, making an ‘up’ motion with two fingers. only then did it click that you needed to take your shirt off.
you looked around as you started to tug your tank top up, looking over at kirishima, who was leaning against the wall with fascination. “ah, sorry! if you really want, i can leave.”
“no! no, it’s fine.” you shook your head, and finally got the courage to lift your tank top up and over your head. in preparation for this, you had simply forgone your bra in the morning.
you were left in just your skirt and panties, essentially. kirishima hummed low in his throat, earning him a glare from bakugou. you felt like you were on fire when bakugou reached a hand out to your shoulder. “lay back. slow.”
you shuddered under his grasp and laid back on the table, bringing your feet up and bending your knees to be a little more comfortable. your nipples pebbled and hardened from the cold air of the parlor.
bakugou studied your tits with an intense gaze, clearly focused on his job in a way that kirishima was not. where kirishima was flirty, groping and grabbing, bakugou was cold and practiced.
“so this is gonna go something like this. one of these is gonna hurt more than the other. when i tell you, you gotta breathe in, and then breathe out all at once. it’ll make the pain a little easier to handle.”
“okay.”
“i’ll be quick, but we gotta do one at a time.” he grabbed a skin safe marker and finally his hands reached for one of your tits, rubbing his thumb into the skin as he marked where the needle would enter and exit. you felt like you were shaking, being grabbed and examined in such a professional manner.
“you can’t have any fuckin’ saliva or jizz or whatever touch these till they’re fully healed, you got that?”
you squeaked, almost jumping in surprise at his words, before laughing and shaking your head. “no worries there.”
“you sure?” bakugou tilted his head, eyebrow raised, and kirishima laughed as he walked over towards the bench.
you didn’t get a chance to answer bakugou, because kirishima was by your head, offering his massive hand to you. “you can squeeze my hand so you don’t pass out.”
you looked up at him through your lashes, squirming on the bench as bakugou squeezed your tit. you didn’t answer, just reaching your hand up to hold onto kirishima’s. his hand was large, warm, and so rough. you wanted to feel his-
“alright sugar. take a deep breath in for me.”
you sucked in a breath through your teeth, and then suddenly a white hot pain shot through your body, something never experienced before. your vision whited out and you may or may not have cried out and dug your nails into kiri’s hand, gripping it tightly.
your head swam as you were encouraged to breathe, and then to breathe in again as the wide bar was slipped through the new piercing. you yelped and jerked on the table, making bakugou put his gloved hand flat between your tits to try and ground you. “relax, brat. stay fucking still. gotta get this stupid ball on.”
“aw, she’s cryin’.” kiri chuckled and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. your cheeks did feel wet as the pain subsided slowly. you whimpered as bakugou leaned away from you and reached to grab another needle package and the second bar.
“one more, drama queen. you can do it. just one more.”
“already?” you whined, shaking your head at him as he scooted his chair closer to get a better angle on your other nipple.
you did not get a chance to beg for mercy. “breathe in deep, good fuckin’ girl.”
you screamed this time. bakugou had been right, one hurt more than the other. your head felt so light all of a sudden, your vision blurring as you gripped kirishima’s hand like a vice and shook. your breath punched out of you when the bar was pushed through and the little ball at the end was screwed on.
you stared up at the ceiling and tried to get your bearings as kirishima let go of your hand to pet your hair and keep it away from your tears. “you did it, pretty girl. you got it. just breathe. did such a great job, yeah?”
you gathered your thoughts together as you listened to bakugou get up and take his gloves and his mask off, tossing them away, ever the professional. he walked back over to where you were laying and held up a mirror over you to show you your new jewelry. the sight made the pain worth it; your nipples, perky and red and hard, glittering with bars pushed through.
“what do ya think?” bakugou cocked his head at you, and you let out a deep breath.
“they look… really nice.”
“really sexy, more like.” kirishima chuckled over you as he openly ogled your chest.
you made a noise of surprise, which was immediately followed by your voice getting caught in your throat when bakugou’s free hand moved to start rubbing up and down your thigh. “you okay?”
“y-yeah.”
“you need a break?”
“i think so.”
bakugou nodded and looked to kirishima, who broke into a grin and bent over you just a little, his voice dropping an octave. “let’s take a nice long break, then, huh doll? you think you might wanna relax a bit with us? take your mind off the pain?”
“what?” you shifted to sit up on your elbows, wincing from the pain in your chest, looking between them.
kirishima laughed, “come on, doll. i know you didn’t come in here wearing just that tiny skirt for nothin’.”
“you can say no.” bakugou’s hand moved off your thigh, clearly the more level headed of the two. “we’ll take a break and come back in a half hour to keep going-“
“wait.” you flushed and put up a hand to make him shut up, glancing between them. “you’re not- together?”
“well, yeah, fucking obviously we are,” bakugou rolled his eyes at you while kiri chuckled, “but if we see a hot chick, we’re not gonna say no.”
“true.” kiri was practically purring.
they were standing over you, broad shoulders and tattooed hands and muscle, red eyes honed in on your shirtless form, and for some reason you allowed your inhibitions to fall away.
you took a deep breath and pouted. “just don’t make me get an infection on my new piercings.”
“never.” bakugou cracked his first real grin, foxlike and dirty, already moving back down towards your legs to start pushing your knees apart. you sat up a bit more, onto your hands, sucking in a breath when the bench dipped under bakugou’s added weight as he pushed your knees far apart and revealed your plain cotton panties with an obvious wet spot in the crotch, your pussy throbbing with the realization.
bakugou hummed as he slid rough fingertips down the insides of your thighs. “look at that shit, red. she’s already soaked. got this pretty pussy all needy even after pokin’ her.”
“figured as much. she was all spaced out during her tat.” kiri’s meaty hand slipped around the column of your throat, practically engulfing it in one palm as he turned your head to make you look up at him.
you gasped, and kirishima’s mouth came crashing down onto yours; he had to practically crouch to get even close to you where you were sitting. your hands flew up to his hair, body twisting slightly as bakugou started to work his fingers along your hips to further push your skirt up around them.
you felt yourself start to whimper as bakugou pushed your panties to the side and slipped two fingers through your wet folds. you shook and moaned as his fingers skillfully rubbed slow circles into your clit, making your hips jerk.
kiri laughed against your lips and squeezed his hand slightly around the column of your throat, pulling away from your mouth to look at your dazed expression. “lay back, doll.”
he guided you back to lay on the bench again, letting go of your throat only for a moment to start unbuckling his belt. “kats, i’m takin’ her mouth first, mkay?”
“hm?” bakugou glanced up from where he was licking his lips, about to press his nose to your pussy. “oh, yeah sure whatever. i’m getting a taste first.”
“someone’s got an oral fixation.”
“shut the fuck up, you red-haired loser.”
you felt yourself start to giggle at their interactions, but suddenly there were lips wrapped tightly around your cliff and a fat cock hanging over your face, drooling with pre.
you swallowed as your mouth practically started to water. your head was spinning as bakugou worked his tongue against your clit, a finger starting to push its way into your right, wet heat. you moaned and felt your eyes flutter, fingers curling into the sides of the piercing bench. “ah, i-i don’t know if i can fit-“
“shh. all you gotta do is swallow. can you try just the tip?” kiri cocked his head at you, suddenly all puppy eyes as he stroked his cock to his boyfriend eating you out.
you whimpered and nodded. how could you say no? you ground your hips against bakugou’s face as your lips parted, and kirishima pushed just the fat head of his cock past them with a low groan.
you felt full. bakugou started to push a second finger into your weeping hole, drool and your juices dripping down his chin and dotting the bench as he ate you out and found the spongy spot within you that made your back arch off the bench, knees attempting and failing to snap shut around his head. bakugou growled against your pussy, unhappy with you disturbing his meal.
you couldn’t respond what with kirishima shallowly thrusting into your mouth, working inch after inch into you. you felt his heady tip hit the back of your throat as your head hung down over the edge of the bench, and you coughed and sputtered.
“shh, careful, careful. breathe.” his hand returned to your throat, feeling the way he slipped further and further in. his balls hung down in your face as he started to effectively fuck your throat, groaning when you whined around him.
you did your best to suck his cock, slobbering and drooling down your cheeks as your eyes rolled back when bakugou removed his mouth and rubbed circles into your clit with his thumb. “she tastes fuckin’ good.”
“yeah? y’think so?”
“yeah,” bakugou breathed out, almost like an offering, and as he pulled his fingers out of your wet pussy, he shoved them directly into kirishima’s mouth.
kiri groaned loudly and sucked on bakugou’s fingers with the eagerness of a dog, gripping your throat with one hand and bakugou’s wrist in the other. he made sure bakugou’s fingers were clean before letting go and rolling his hips against your face. “shit.”
“mhm.” bakugou was panting as he hurriedly fussed with his jeans, shoving them down enough to get his cock free. it was difficult, positioning himself on the bench, but he made it work as he slapped his tip against your clit.
you cried out and gagged again on kirishima’s fat cock, gurgling pathetically while they both laughed at you.
“poor babydoll,” bakugou hissed, pressing his tip to your entrance, “she can hardly breathe, eiji.”
“she’s doin’ a good fucking job. i can feel how deep i am in her throat.”
“i can fuckin’ see that.” bakugou snapped right back before taking a deep breath and sinking so slowly into your pussy.
your walls fluttered around his cock as he sheathed himself inside you, one hand gripping your hip dangerously tight and the other reaching to grab for kirishima’s free hand. “fuck, red, she feels so fucking tight.”
“if- if you think her pussy’s tight, wait till you feel her throat.” kiri panted lowly as he grabbed his boyfriend’s hand over you.
you felt like an object, a plaything, lightheaded and so, so full, almost screaming when they both started to fuck into you at once; they were slightly off pace, both focused on their own pleasure, chasing their highs and smothering you all the while.
kirishima’s hand slid from your throat to the middle of your chest, a compressing weight that left you truly breathless as his balls practically smacked into you. you did your best to try and suck his cock, really, you did, but it was so difficult when bakugou was bullying your pussy and making you shake and cry out.
kirishima was the first to falter, his hips starting to jerk erratically as your vision blurred from tears of pleasure. “oh fuck yeah, fuck, ‘m gonna cum-“
“already? pathetic.” bakugou snapped, only egging kirishima on and making him whine as he tossed his head back and came deep in your throat, making you gag and choke.
he didn’t pull out until the thick, heady ropes of his cum were seated on your tongue, taking a step back to let his fat cock slap wetly against his thigh. it was clear, then, that his refractory period was short; he was already at half mast again as he watched bakugou fuck you into the bench, hiking one of your legs up around his waist to get deeper.
you cried out loudly, voice ragged and ruined as bakugou’s thumb returned to your clit.
“come on pretty girl, lemme feel you cum around my fuckin’ cock first. come on. i know you’re close. i can feel ya squeezin’ me in. shit, baby, fucking cum for me.”
your back arched off the table and your eyes rolled back as you came hard around his cock, your vision going white as you jerked and spasmed on the table. bakugou moaned and dropped his head forward, holding on until the last second when he could pull out and cum all over your twitching cunt, jerking himself off all the way. thick ropes of cum splattered against your skin and made you shiver, all parts of you sensitive.
kirishima, cock still out and hard again, stepped over to swipe his fingers through your pussy and get a taste of yours and bakugou’s cum, groaning deep in his throat as he pressed an almost chaste kiss to bakugou’s cheek. “you wanna fuck her throat next?”
“fuck yes i do.”
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For @orange-artist ‘s ASL god AU DTIYS! (congrats on the milestone!)
This was really fun, I absolutely love drawing ethereal designs
Additional notes 👇
So i adjusted the original designs ... a bit... To draw in my style means that i have to make everything extra, sorry.
Ace:
I like the base design for Ace a lot! i looked at other posts to get more context to these outfits and i say this draping billowy pants design that i liked a lot more, so I used that instead of the ones he has in the picture.
I love his cute little star crown, i think it looks dope as hell. I wanted to bring it to other parts of him too, so I gave him an arm cuff with it, too! If i had drawn the front of him, you would also see that crown design around his waist as a belt, too.
i originally had him in a pose similar to the one he has in the original, but after i sketched out the other two poses i found he looked a little two flat, so i brought his hand out to the foreground.
I like the choice for his hair to gradient out to look like a comet! I had a lot of trouble trying to make it look Just Right, but i think I nailed it
Luffy:
I didn't change much about his design, I really just made him a little more yellow than he was before. Its hard to improve an already banger design. He's my ethereal silly guy...
I really love the idea of Luffy's scars looking like gold, that's really cool.
I wish I could've added that cold crown he has around his head, but i didn't know how to without it looking sloppy so i had to leave it out.
Sabo:
I changed so much about Sabo's design, i would like to send out a formal apology for it, I admit I went a little too ham. I had already completed the picture before i went back to look at the original post and saw the comments about how Sabo was supposed to look... discreet...... I... Did Not Make Him Discreet. In The Slightest. :DDD ehe
I needed help for Sabo's pose because i was having so much trouble with the hand, i called upon my good website friend JustSketchMe to get it right. I had this idea for the pose because i wanted the claw to look like a crescent moon, I think it looks pretty good.
I would've given him normal snakebite piercings too but i felt that the ring piercings looked more Crescent-like, so i went with that.
Moon belt. i want that moon belt. I have no outfits it would go with. but i still want it.
I love Sabo's whispies that he has in the original design, but when I put them in the art i had, it cluttered up the piece too much and I had to get rid of them. A moment of silence for the fallen whispies...
Noticing now I forgot Sabo's Cane..... oops.
General:
I shaded Luffy to be lighted by the sun, Sabo the moon, but i made Ace be the light for himself. There's some deep meaning to that, but I cant think of one right now.
I had a lot of fun drawing this, i hope i was failthful enough to the original designs even though i changed everything a lot :)
Drinking game: take a shot everytime I used the word "I", take a double shot each time i forgot to capitalize it, too. You will be Dead by the end of the post, though.
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darby-rowe · 3 months
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୨⎯ "inches of snow" ⎯୧
young!coriolanus snow ☓ fem!reader summary your boyfriend, coriolanus snow, joins you and your family for christmas dinner, but of course it's nothing short of an insufferable experience. but don't worry, because coryo is there to take care of you!
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18+ | nsfw | mdni word count 2,298 cw modern au, coryo & reader are in grad school, it's christmas!!, mentions of food, implied body shaming by family, uh oh grandma and grandpa are being bigoted again, bathroom sex, mirror sex, anal, praise, degradation, sex on the bathroom sink, it's a very anal christmas, coryo has a big dick, ooc(?) coryo, y/n usage, petnames, unprotected sex, spit play, cum play, dirty talk notes i know the title is corny as fuck LMFAO but it made me giggle. also imagine reader in ellen griswold's outift from national lampoon's christmas vacation like the one w the blouse and the green skirt bc mmmmm that fit is FIRE. this fic was slightly based off of this post bc i thought it was just too hot to ignore. this is also NOT proofread so any mistakes you find in this fic... dont talk about it
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Sitting down at the pleasantly decorated dining room table, your mother insisted on saying grace before you and the rest of your family could dig in on the splendid feast you and the rest of the women in your family worked so hard on. Your mouth watered at the thought of savoring the sweet potato casserole, the baked macaroni and cheese, the ham, everything at the table was extremely decadent. And it was all displayed out in front of you, and right under your nose.
You were a bit greedy, you had to admit, as your hands were the first to get a generous scoop of the fluffy mashed potatoes, earning a scoff from your ever-so lovely paternal grandmother. Say something, you old bat, you thought to yourself, but a pleasant hand came running to rescue you from your angry thoughts. A slight squeeze on your left thigh made you blush, and you turned your head to grin at your lovely boyfriend, Coriolanus Snow. He gave you a reassuring nod, and you went back to indulging in your Christmas feast.
“So, Y/N,” your grandmother piped up, pretentiously swishing her glass of wine. “Anything interesting as of late?”
You swallowed your forkful of mashed potatoes and peas. “My third year of med school is kicking my butt,” you said, trying to lighten the hostility between you and your grandmother. “I’m definitely finding myself to have less and less free time–”
“And how do you feel about that?” your grandmother interjected right in the middle of your response, causing your brows to furrow. Her attention was now fully on Coriolanus, which you turned your head to see what his response would be.
Coriolanus huffed amusingly. “I don’t necessarily have an opinion on it,” he said. “I am also quite busy with my master’s degree. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, or however that saying goes,”
“We’re just busy little bees,” you said in a light manner, albeit a bit awkwardly. “It’ll all be worth it in the end. All this hard work will pay off,”
Your grandfather motioned his glass towards Coriolanus. “Busy little bees, eh? Bet it’s harder on you than her,” This statement made you nearly choke on your champagne. The crudeness of that man! Oh, if you didn’t know any better, you would reach across the table and slap the wrinkles off that smug face–
“It���s actually not really that hard to endure,” Coriolanus spoke up. “We both know we’ll see each other again after our busy spells and that thought keeps us going,”
You smiled bitterly at your grandfather. “Exactly,”
The table got quiet after that, and you spent a good few minutes awkwardly sipping your champagne and eating your generous plate. You felt your appetite unfortunately begin to dissipate as the unpleasantness of the evening began sinking underneath your skin.
“You know, mother,” your father chimed in. “My wife and I both met during our residency, and you know firsthand exactly how busy I was during that time. The 100 hour work weeks, the skills labs, the exams, my boards. It was hard! But my beloved and I made it through, and I’m sure Y/N and Coryo will also make it,”
“I just don’t see the need in investing this much time in such a demanding career when your husband is already planning on pursuing a career that would help the both of you,” grandmother said to you, making your face contort into one of immense displeasure.
“Coryo is not my husband, first off,” you retorted. “At least not yet, but I’m also not going to be a stay-at-home mom who spends her days dealing with the dog, the baby, and the garden. I want a fulfilling career, too! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against stay-at-home mothers, but that life is not for me,”
“Why not?” grandmother knitted her eyebrows together. “Look at you, dear, with that revealing blouse and that pretty face, you don’t need to be pushing yourself like this,”
“Oh my god!” you cried, throwing your hands up. You finally decided you had enough, and with bitterness deep within your soul, you abruptly pushed your chair away from the table and stormed off.
“Watch your mouth, young lady!” your grandmother called out after you. “You weren’t excused!”
“I’m twenty-five years old, grandma, I can excuse myself,” you replied angrily as you traversed upstairs, your heels clicking on the hardwood material.
Slamming the door to the bathroom, you made your way to the bathtub where you sat down on the cold tiles with your knees folded up against your chest. You buried your face in your hands as you breathed in and out. In… and out…
God, you really hated your father’s parents. So judgy and crude, you were only left to wonder why they kept getting invited over to these dinners. Your parents knew how they chastised you, and even with their efforts to put a stop to their bigoted comments, they just kept going and going and going.
You were proud of yourself. You were proud of the life you were building for yourself. Sure, you still had eight years of school left, but at the end of the road you were going to be a kick-ass trauma surgeon. And Coryo was on the fast track to earning his master’s in political science. Soon, he would be running for congress, and the two of you would be unstoppable.
But here you were, practicing breathing exercises on the cold tiles of your parents’ bathroom. You needed to move out of there. Anywhere but there.
Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and the sweet sound of a familiar voice on the other side. Coriolanus, looking as handsome as ever as he gently let himself into the bathroom, joining you on the floor.
“Hey, bunny,” he cooed, taking your hands in his. “Are you okay?”
You grinned dreamily. “Now that you’re here,” this remark elicited a chuckle from Coriolanus, which made you swoon. “Listen, I have to apologize for my family,”
Coriolanus shook his head. “There’s no need to apologize,” he reassured. “You do not have to say anything. You’re not responsible for their actions, not now, not anytime,” he took your hand and kissed the back of it. “Now, how may I make my sweet girl feel better?”
It didn’t take long before the two of you were on each other like two cannibals competing to see who ripped off the other’s flesh first. Your lips crashed and molded into each other as your warm, wet tongues shoved down each other’s throats in desperate attempts to taste the other’s mouths. Coriolanus tasted like the champagne you planned on indulging yourself with later that night, feeling your mind buzz on the remnants of the alcohol. It ignited your nerves on fire.
It took your breath away when Coriolanus spun you around and pressed you against the bathroom sink, forced to look at the reflection. “Look at you, baby,” he panted, his lips red and swollen from the intense kiss he shared with you just seconds ago. “So fuckin’ pretty and fuckable. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,”
You looked at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes scanning the pathetic, needy look on your face. You gasped slightly as Coriolanus grabbed your jaw, preventing you from looking away. “I want you to look while I fuck you,” he said, pressing his hardened bulge into your backside which made your eyes slightly roll back into your head. “I know that pussy of yours is throbbing for me, hm? Is it, bunny?”
You opened your eyes and looked at the blush that was beginning to appear on your cheeks. “Mmm’yes,” you whined. “Want you so bad, please. But we have to be quiet. Can’t let my family hear us,”
Before you could say anything else, Coriolanus’s hand slapped onto your mouth making your gasps and breaths all muffled. “There’s a solution for you, my dove,” he murmured into your ear. “Now, here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to remove my hand and pull up that pretty little skirt of yours. Then, I’m going take off your panties, then fuck you in the ass. Am I clear?”
You and Coriolanus have indulged in anal before. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but it surely wasn’t unwelcome. Your pussy throbbed with anticipation at the thought of Coryo’s throbbing, hard cock in your tight asshole. You nodded, and he removed his hand from your mouth and cupped it in front of your lips. “Spit in my hand,” he ordered, and you drooled a generous amount of saliva into the palm of his hand.
You could hear his wet hand stroke himself in prep to enter you. With your skirt hiked up and your panties gone, you made sure to relax and breathe as you felt Coriolanus push the tip of his cock into your ass. Your efforts to stay quiet flew out the window as a primal, low groan escaped your throat as your ass became full of his dick.
“Fuuuck…” you groaned, hiking your leg up on the bathroom sink to allow Coriolanus to go deeper. God, it felt so fucking good having his dick deep in your ass. So dirty, and so fucking hot.
In a matter of moments, Coriolanus was thrusting his hips hard and deep inside you, making your mouth fall open in a silent cry of pleasure. You resorted to quiet curses and panting to help you express how good you were feeling in that moment. Goosebumps erupted on your skin. There was a slight sting to being penetrated in the ass, but it wasn’t painful to you. In fact, it only added to the overwhelming pleasure building in your nether regions.
“Such a tight fuckin’ ass,” Coriolanus murmured, grabbing your jaw once again. “Look at you, bunny, so fuckin’ needy for this cock in your ass, yeah?”
You had to be quiet. You needed too. But by god, the sound of Coriolanus speaking pure filth in your ears was insatiable. “Yes,” you growled through gritted teeth, your eyes flicking between your face and Coriolanus’s. “Fuckin’ love your cock in my ass, fuck,”
“Such a naughty girl,” he teased, taking a look down to watch his dick pump in and out of your hole. The sound of your panting and groaning mixed with Coriolanus’s grunts, slightly echoing throughout the bathroom.
You whined as you felt him withdraw from your hole, only for him to spin you around once again and help you on top of the bathroom counter. You willingly spread your legs and watched as Coriolanus re-entered your ass before withdrawing completely once more, and then he repeated these actions again, and again, and again.
“Stop teasing,” you whined, reaching a hand down to play with your pussy only for Coriolanus to swat your hand away, much to your dismay.
Coriolanus pinned both of your hands behind your back. “No touching. You’re going to come from my cock in your ass or you won’t come at all,”
You nodded obediently, your body rocking back and forth in time with his thrusts. You could feel your pussy drooling its juices from how unbelievably aroused you were. It was almost uncomfortable how badly your clit ached to be touched, but you wanted to obey your boyfriend’s orders, so you held back.
“My naughty bunny,” Coriolanus moaned. “Your ass is so tight around my cock. Feels so good. You’re making me feel so – fuck – so fucking good,”
Your mouth fell open as your panting grew more frequent. “Yes, fuck my ass,” you whispered. “Make me come from my ass, baby, please,”
“Are you close, love?”
“Yes, yes – fuck,” you threw your head back as moans threatened to escape your throat, your pleasure only heightened as Coriolanus pressed open-mouthed kisses all along your neck. You were about to come undone from just having his cock in your ass, and it was going to feel so, so good.
“Coming,” you mewled, your legs beginning to shake and the familiar feeling of an itching pulsation deep within your pussy. “Oh god, I’m coming from my ass. Fuck… fuck…!”
In an explosion of pleasure that made you see stars, your orgasm hit you like a truck as your juices gushed out of your pussy. You squeezed your eyes shut and gritted your teeth as it took every fiber of your being to not scream out in pure ecstasy. You continued to squirt all over yourself and Coriolanus’s cock. There was no doubt in your mind that your skirt was ruined.
Coriolanus withdrew from your hole to pump on his own cock until thick, white ropes hit your hole. The sound of his moans and groans pleasantly filled your ears. Your legs were still shaking, and you felt your breath nearly get knocked out of your lungs as you felt his shaft re-enter your ass, fucking his cum into you.
It took a good five minutes before the haze of your orgasm left your brain and you were able to think clearly again. You still sat on the kitchen counter as Coriolanus softly kissed your lips, praising you and telling you how good of a job you did.
“I love you,” you mumbled against his lips, holding his face with your hands.
You felt Coriolanus’s lips tug into a smile. “I know you do, my dove,”
It impressed you how well you cleaned yourself up as you prepared to join your family once again, but as you opened the door of the bathroom, your blood ran cold as you found your older sister waiting outside with a disappointed look on her face.
“Really?” she asked. “During dinner?”
God damnit.
don't be shy, let's talk. ♡
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Ruh roh… looks like it's past someones bedtime……
I'll probably share more miscellaneous zim doodles later, but I feel like this one is deserving of it's own post. I wish I had time for more loose sketching like this... He's all squished on the right side because that's the middle of my sketchbook :')
It looks like I used a charcoal pencil or something here, but it's actually a very light drawing. I made it with the lightest pencil I had. I just went ham on it with the levels adjustment in photoshop. Contrasted the heck out of it.
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bigfatbimbo · 1 month
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How does Vox angst sound? Something where the reader has to take care of an injured Vox?
I’m a Bad Liar with a Savior Complex —
1.5k words,, Vox x reader
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summary — After a bad fight with Valentino, Vox seeks comfort in his bootycall, you.
warnings — Toxic relationships, abuse, manipulation, Vox being a dick, Valentino is his own warning, hurt/comfort
a/n — I think I went way too ham on this one. The request was “Vox angst” not a poorly written shakespeare play.
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You weren’t expecting anyone that night, let alone your self proclaimed bootycall, Vox. The knock at your door was surprising on its own, but your amazement only grew when you opened it.
“Are you going to let me in—ozzz—or are you just going to st—aa—are?” He spoke through gritted teeth and with effort.
“Vox,” you place your hand on his shoulder and usher him in, “what the hell happened to you?”
Already familiar with your apartment, he flips down on the couch almost immediately and leans in head back.
Under the dim lighting of your one singular lamp, you take him in; screen cracked at the right corner, shirt disheveled, and from what you could see in his face, eyes tired and sunken.
“Oh not much—chh—“ He sighed, glitching slightly, “—just a peachy day in the park.”
You didn’t know what to do. Vox was no picnic, unfortunately, you knew that better than most. But you vaguely wonder what could have provoked this?
Vox was a smooth talker, he usually didn’t fail to charm people and kiss ass to get what he wanted. You doubt Alastor had time to cause that kind of damage these days, not to mention the interest.
So the one culprit for the mess that sat in front of you had to be… oh.
“Jesus. How’d you piss him off this time?” You genuinely ask, coming over to accompany Vox on the couch.
“Well—bzz— he’s always pissed about something. Today’s tantrum had nothing to do with the likes of—mhh—me,” Vox sighed deeply and winced as he sat up.
“Why, do you like the new look?” Coming from anyone else, the comment would have been an attempt to lighten the mood. However, Vox only meant to condescend the baffled look in your eyes.
‘Why are you just sitting there? Help me,’ his eyes, well, what’s left of his eyes said.
You sigh and get up, stopping to stare down at him one last time, “So, what do we need to fix this?” 
He contemplated for a moment, “Well, I got the hell out of dodge before I had the chance to grab a spare—szc—screen so—“ he pointed to the area around his face, “anything to stop my fucking face from chipping off would be great.”
“So, like what? Fucking ducktape?” your attempt at a joke fell flat when the expression on his face didn’t move. 
He simply grimaced. 
You frown and look longingly towards your kitchen, “I’ll see what I have.”
You end up settling for ducktape after all. A purely comical solution to what can only be described as a miserable situation.
You patched him up gently, your hand resting on the bottom of his screen and covering the chipped part, as delicately as possible, with ducktape.
“You know, it would be kind of funny. The ducktape, I mean,” you try to smile, “…but it’s not funny.”
For once in his entire existence, it seemed Vox had nothing to say. No smart-ass remarks or egotistical words fell from his mouth. Only quiet silence as he breathed shakily in and out.
You couldn’t help but analyze his actions in your head. He must be getting sick of it, being treated like garbage by Val, by Alastor, by everyone who should respect him.
Except Vox’s empire, his power, any of it couldn’t help in this regard. Valentino was apart of his life in hell, and quietly it was dawning on Vox that even he couldn’t talk his way out of this.
Not entirely anyway. They needed eachother in some sick sense. Vox knew this, and now it seemed so did you.
Your heart ached for the man. In all of his terrible ways he seemed to be finding that cruelty was a double sided sword. Except this time, he got stabbed straight through.
You finished patching him up in silence, before leaning down and placing a kiss on the top, undamaged side of screen.
Your thumb caressed the area of his cheek softly. He shut his eyes and leaned into the gentle touch, frowning deeply.
You sit down next to him once again. “You’re staying with me tonight, okay?”
He nodded weakly, partly because he didn’t want to upset his head injury. But also partially to show you how vulnerable he felt at the moment. Although an upsettingly subtle que, he gazed up at you in hopes you would just take care of him without him having to ask.
Thankfully you catch on. You guide him up from the couch and rub his back gently while leading him to the bedroom and sitting him down.
“I have some t-shirts and sweatpants in the closet. I’m gonna go get you some water,” you say, soothingly rubbing his back before leaving.
When you come back, he already changed into comfier clothing and set his work clothes on a chair near your bed, in order to not wrinkle them.
He lays curled up on the bed with his eyes open, looking as if he was about to cry. You cringe at the thought. You’d been awkward enough tonight, Vox crying did not need to add to that.
You come over to him with the iced cold cup, sit him up right, and place it in his hands.
“Drink,” you command. He does, without hesitation. Jesus, you think, Vox taking orders. Thats new. 
After downing the whole glass in one large swig, he sets it on the bed side table. 
“He threw a f—fff—ucking wine bottle at me,” Vox said glumly.
You were just happy he was talking again. You cuddle up close to him on the bed, taking him under your arm, trying not to mind the less than ideal way the corner of Vox’s screen poked into your jaw. Oh well, Vox seemed comfortable enough.
He curled closer to you, sinking into your side and shutting his eyes, but not with the intention of falling asleep.
“I’m sorry. He’s such a douchebag,” And what? Vox isn’t? Your inability to comfort him was weighing unbareabley on your mind. Do better.
“But you’re safe now, sweetheart,” you pull him closer to you under the blankets, “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
Vox hummed, the sides of his mouth flickering down as the lump in his throat grew tighter. 
You kept going, “You handled it so well. You get to relax now, okay? Nothing bad’s gonna happen under my watch.”
It was stupid, Vox thought. He was an overlord, a powerful one at that. Protection was below him. But so was getting fucked up by his angry boyfriend and running off to his side pieces apartment, so who knows?
In hindsight, it was his fault. He was sloppy in his ways of manipulation tonight and Val had caught onto him. Well, in a figurative and literal sense, he supposed.
Oh, how the powerful fall at the feet of those closest to them. Serves him right.
He knows you aren’t stupid. You knew what he said earlier about how Val’s ‘tantrum had nothing to do with the likes of him’ was a lie.
And yet, here you were helping him. Vox couldn’t wrap his head around it. Just as he couldn’t understand why you continued spewing such comforting words.
Words that, if you asked anyone else, he didn’t deserve. He stopped himself from dwelling on it when he felt the tears brew in the corner of his eyes.
“I’m proud of you, Vox,” you speak softly.
He burrows his screen in your chest. “No, you’re not,” he whispers, grasping onto your shirt softly, “And I thought I was the—spzz— the liar.”
“I’m not lying. It takes a lot to survive that crazy ass moth. Let alone, everyday. I am proud of you,” you plant a kiss on the top of his head.
That was the breaking point. Vox tried to justify his tears in his mind; It’s not like he hadn’t already been embarrassingly vulnerable tonight, anyways. Could it get much worse? 
For you, maybe. As the waterworks flowed, you shushed him softly and rubbed his back. Honestly, you were a little worried about the tears fucking up his system, because of all the cracks in his head.
Thankfully, you didn’t notice any changes, basic bodily function-wise.
You found Vox’s outburst of tears specifically alarming. He muttered little apologies throughout. However, it seemed less and less about the tears themselves.
He clung to you and his the remains of his face in your shirt, hoping you wouldn’t get pissed off at the wetness around your collar.
You let him cry, and shush him with small gentle words of praise. He looks up at you, screen slick and shiny. You lean down to give him a watery, but gentle kiss.
The sad part, you think to yourself, is that you know exactly what’s going to happen tomorrow.
Things will go back to normal, Vox’s walls will come back up as if this never happened, and he’ll continue seeing Valentino. He’ll act as if he never confided in you, and once again, you two will only be an occasional good-fuck.
There was no lesson in any of this. Almost as if the whole experience was completely futile. Nothing would change, and Vox and Val would continue in their toxic, horny, power struggle. Vox using Val to his advantage, Val getting pissed off and fucking him up. 
What did you expect? Well, you’d just about accepted this fact when Vox, half asleep, all cried out, and sleepily drooling on your shirt, muttered three small words.
“I love you.” 
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a/n — link to part two is here
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ofjunemoment · 1 year
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let me teach you how to smash | park jisung
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In the list of sports, ranked from most to least sexy, badminton would be found at the very bottom if not ranked last. But why is it that when Jisung plays the with a feathered shuttle your heart flutters? 
 OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills. 
 pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader 
 genre — sports!au, university!au, (one sided) enemies to friends to lovers, slight slow burn 
 wc — 22k (😀 huh)
content — university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst,  idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)
smut tags — making out, fingering, switch!jisung and reader (there's no strong dynamic tbh), protected sex, pet names (jisung gets called a good boy), lmk if I missed anything!
 a/n — YAYYY i can finally share this with u guys!! i have been cooking this for some time and im actually so excited to release it!! I'm a badminton enthusiast so I went a bit ham on the descriptions and back story sorry (not rlly),, I hope this is a good readdd I read through it so much to fix it up and now Im a bit sick of it oops BUT its a story I've been wanting to write so here you go <3 enjoy!
sfw version here!
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You enjoy sports. 
You liked dancing sometimes — which is certainly a type of sport  — and you dabbled with different sports at one point in school, but you don’t actively go out of your way to do any intense exercise. It can be sweaty and painful and maybe it’s a little like hitting the gym, but in most sports you need sportsmanship, and why would you be kind to the person who not only won but is rubbing it in your face? 
You once yelled at Taeyong for kicking the ball in the wrong goal when your group of friends went out of their way to play makeshift soccer to bring back memories. You yelled, at precious Taeyong, who flinches at the sight of a fly
Okay, so you tolerate sports.
But in an effort to have your resume look pretty after finishing your degree, your friend Juda had shed light on this one program that has you do a bunch of extracurricular activities and in turn, you’ll gain extra credit. Seamless and effortless, you didn’t need to pay anything towards the program as most of the work was volunteering; like reading to kids or helping clean up lecture rooms now and then. What Juda failed to mention was the other extracurricular required of you, which was to go to a sporting class set up by the university.
Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.
They were kind enough to provide you with options, but it still wasn't easy to choose whether you wanted two whole hours of HIIT fitness or football, which caused you to almost give up on the whole thing. Until you saw the word ‘badminton’ printed in the faintest ink, almost as if it was a mistake.
So here you are, in the campus’ sports equipment shop with Chenle, looking through what seems like badminton rackets.
“Do you think this is good?” You pick up a racket that has a mix of matte white and mint around the frame, with the string sporting the shade black, testing the weight in your hand. 
“That’s a tennis racket stupid.” He goes to ruffle your hair but instead gets his hand slapped away and a frown etched on his face as you scoff at him. “I knew that,”  You scowl.
“Well then don’t be an asshole about it, asshole.”
“I wasn’t being—” Both of you jump at a sudden sound that pitched in between your shoulders, as your hand flies to your chest in shock while Chenle’s eyebrow hitch up.
“Sorry?” It was Chenle who said that to the person who snuck up behind you two, his arms crossing defensively and landing on his left chest, as he positions himself subtly a little closer to you, almost as if he’s instinctively shielding him.
“Ah, sorry for surprising you; I just came to ask if you guys needed help with anything?” It was when the employee raised her ID card that was hanging on a white lanyard around her neck that Chenle’s defence began to soften as you brought your hand down, replacing the confused look on your faces with one of realisation.
“Ahh, uhm, I was wondering if you could recommend a badminton racket, nothing too fancy, maybe something to last a good two years.”
“Two years?” Chenle was the one that turned to you with a look of disbelief. The employee merely smiled and gestured her hands towards the very other side of the store and quickly turned to guide you.
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“Hold on, you’re doing this stupid thing for two years? Half of your courses years? You’re just gonna voluntarily stress yourself with even more work?”
“ . . . Yes? I don’t know what to tell you, that’s my main intention. That’s why I joined this program. You’ve asked me multiple times like I’m going to miraculously change my mind and thank you for it like you’re a rich person, giving me, a homeless person, a piece of bread and then barely look at me as you record the whole thing for your livestream.” You huff while going to lie down on your back on the floor around your newly bought badminton equipment; a set of badminton rackets and some cylinder packets full of shuttlecocks, the feather ones because the plastic ones suck ass, the employee had smiled at you.
You sit up just as quickly as a dull pain shoots up your back. The motherfucking shuttlecocks.
“That’s one way to make up an analogy,” Chenle’s eyes land on the shuttlecock you had freshly crushed, now looking all squashed and disoriented. Poor thing didn’t even last a minute.
“What’s she moping about this time?” Juda’s voice echoed from the door as she places the tote bag she had brought down next to the shoe shelf.
“I’m not moping; I never mope. What do I even look like when I mope?”
“She’s just crying about the fact that she has to do this thing program for another two years.” His words elicit a shout and the gradual flinging of a nearby couch pillow from you. Chenle’s neck cracked as the pillow hit his head downwards.
“Did I kill him yet,” You voiced your disinterest, sitting up on your elbows briefly to analyse Chenle’s face before giving up and laying back down. Chenle stayed in that position for a while before getting up in a fury, ready to avenge you. Juda stopped him with a kick to his leg. 
“Such disrespectful words, is it hard to show some courtesy around here?” You huff and go to lie down once more, not before feeling around the surface for any stray shuttlecock.
“When it comes to you, yes,” Juda throws Chenle a Yakult, and she flings you one straight at your stomach. You attempt not to flinch.
“Here’s to either two more years of moping about this stupid badminton class every week, or two months of hardcore whining from both of you until you break and drop out.” Juda raises her Yakult bottle and clinks it with yours — that’s still on your stomach — and against Chenle’s who was drinking out of it the moment she did so, spilling what little there was of it on his face. Chenle recovers and yells out offensively, causing Juda to squeal as she stands up and goes behind the couch, using it as her shield. 
You inhale and try to tune them out.
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Chenle smiles as you giggle at him, the loud music of EDM mixed with Kidz bop playing in the background as the sound of metal basketball hoop clanging echoes just enough for it to have a rhythm. He looks determined to beat the high score of this stupid basketball game, as Juda and you take turns watching him play the game and criticising his moves, even when none of you know much about basketball as he does. It’s been a few weeks since the start of the semester and hence, the beginning of your program. The kids you read to are either sleepy or disinterested as you start early in the morning, and the cleaning of lecture rooms is bearable at most times. 
So things are going great at this point.
That was until Chenle called out to you: “How’s badminton going?” and, you’re not gonna lie, that did dampen your mood just by a bit, but you give your best attempt at masking it and smiling through; you didn’t want them to pick up on the fact that it’s been one lesson and you’re already sick and tired of it (or, at least sick and tired of one certain person). But Juda’s just too smart and catches on too easily with anything that you and Chenle try to brush under the rug. She raises one eyebrow at you before retorting: “What, are you whinging about it already?”
“Am not!”
“Then what is it?” Juda says at the same time that Chenle swears, a little too loud for a kids arcade, but it’s around 8 PM and the only kids that are here probably do some sort of drug or something if they have parents who allow them to be out this late.
“Nothing, okay? The coach is great and the other people who are there are fine too, and I actually learnt a lot —”
“But?” Juda’s lips are pink as she wraps them around a straw poking out from her slushie cup. You lean back in retaliation, back pressed against the basketball machine as you try to find a leeway.
“. . . But.”
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You’re late. And you can’t even use the excuse that you woke up late because it’s seven p.m. and you’ve scoffed down your early dinner two hours ago. You simply decided to just procrastinate to the next level in an attempt to gauge if you truly want to continue with this program or not. But now here you are, on a bus that’s severely delayed due to the evening traffic and running frantically to make it to class on time.
Minkyung is a 50-year-old dad who coaches this class; he was also at the office where you had submitted your form for the program, and was over the moon that you had decided to try out his class, hence asking you questions about your knowledge of badminton, and went on this spiel when you had made the mistake of being truthful. 
He now looks at you with a kind and wrinkly smile as your shoes squeak against the floor, one hand to your rib in an attempt to not show how much out of breath you were. “Don’t worry,” his voice was quiet enough for you to register only. “You arrived on time, I just finished the information briefing that you heard from me some time ago.” His smile was tight-lipped but genuine. Trying to even out your breathing, you set down your equipment and quickly join the rest in a circle. A clap echoes throughout the quiet hall as the coach drops his hands and clears his throat while letting out a puff of air, his eyes grazing by everyone’s heads in what you assume to be his way of counting the participants of the class.
“Glad to have everyone here today, I hope with this class you guys would not only learn about badminton but also be able to learn about its sportsmanship and benefits,” His eyes dart around the rather small circle. You expected the hall to be filled with as many students as that one Zumba class you were forced to attend in high school, but it was a rather tame class. 
The coach hums, thinking about something deeply as the other students shuffle around, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence engulfing the court. He looked up and clapped again softer this time. “I’ve decided to treat you like my children’s class.” He concluded, “I want you guys to introduce yourself to each other. Now don’t be shy; everyone's new in this class. Maybe you can find a friend in this class to learn better and more quicker. Okay, let’s start with you.” He pointed towards a guy that was to his left, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked around and smiled sheepishly yet brightly. “My name’s Haechan, and uh, I’m 22?” He finished it off with bound lips as he refers to the person after him to begin. 
And as you all finish introducing yourselves to each other, with a girl named Minji being last, the introductory circle ends, meaning the coach can now start the stretching and warm-up exercises. But he hasn’t. 
“Uh, coach, are we gonna—?” Minji stopped halfway as the coach whips his head to look at the gigantic clock on the wall next to the hall’s equally huge entrance. You crane your head curiously towards the direction of his vision, straining both your ears and vision to see what he was looking for, as everyone around you catches on and seems to do the same. It isn’t long after till the squeaking of shoes against the rubber ground echoes throughout; soon enough, the coach screams ‘fourteen minutes!’ as another person steps into the hall, wide eyes darting around everyone as he swallows in an attempt to simmer down his erratic breathing. As the guy's breathing evens out enough for him to probably mutter an apology, your breathing picks up.
“First day and you’ve already fallen for someone? Very on brand for you,”
“What the fuck does that even mean?” You scramble to hit Chenle with his golden pokemon card folder he brought to the arcade. Juda calmly stops you using her right hand, as her left hand picks up her drink to take another sip from. 
“She didn’t even finish her story, Chenle. Go on,” Juda set her slushy down as her grip loosens from around your wrist, signalling to continue the story.
“Thank you, Juda, for you’re my favourite of them all—”
“Are you gonna finish your story?” Her grip tightened.
“A-as I was saying,”
You like to analyse people to some extent, thinking about how body language is cool and how it can depict everyone's different life, contrasting drastically from one another yet sometimes being so similar even with all of our different circumstances. This is why you tried analysing everyone in your class of busy people attempting to hit the shuttlecock in a streak longer than ten, as your eye flitting around the court and landing on your next target, the new guy, simply because that’s in your nature.
(“In your nature? Or was it just the mysterious guy that came into the class so suddenly, panting and out of bre—“
“Shut up? Anyway,” )
“Ah Jisung, this is the latest you’ve been,” The coach nodded innocently towards the guy, as if he hadn’t scared the piss out of all of you when he shouted.
He’s a bit stiff with his walk, and his shoulders seem to harden like a board when his eyes scan around the class and its participants. With wide eyes, he looks like a lost puppy with the way he looks back at the coach in some sort of silent confirmation of something. It’s probably his first time having a general class with coach Minkyung, you realise as you see Jisung bow sheepishly to his teacher.
“Sorry,” his voice was hushed, rumbling as he talked. His eyes scanned briefly once again across the now sparked class doing forehand and backhand practices that the teacher has instructed them to do. You locked eye contact with him from afar and quickly looked away, ears feeling a little bit hotter than it was a second before.
Soojin leans in towards you and Ryujin a bit and whispers, “Do you think he’s new? Like . . . All of us?”
You and Ryujin glance at each other for a quick second, before you smile profusely as Ryujin places her hands on the pole that holds the badminton net, her racket clenched fist supporting her chin as she ponders. “Not at all.” She says rather flatly, a cheeky smile following up after. Solely looking at him doesn’t give you any insights on his level of badminton playing, which is weird, because till now he could pick up on some people's skills; you’ve so far guessed correctly with a few of the participants (including yourself, you think you’re an average player in this class) so you feel a bit stumped. 
He stands stiff as he talks to the coach, keeping his gaze stern on his coach. He seems to be wearing normal trackies and only has a very slim back for his racket. 
“He’s obviously a beginner, his bag is so thin compared to Coach and even Haechan, he also doesn’t look like a long-time player” Jaemin pipes in.
“Who are you to say? You said you’ve been playing for how long and you’re still this bad?” Soojin smiles as she dodges Jaemin’s hand by a fraction. But Ryujin isn’t having any of it as she breathes in with her teeth clenched, hissing out a sound of suspicion.
“Coach seems to know him, which makes me think he’s either been here before, or he’s just the coach's nepotism offspring.”
“Okay!” The coach claps his hand, forcing everyone to act like they were practising. “Gather around; we’re gonna do a basic skills test for this lesson, then I’m gonna split you up into groups and we’ll get to work with the people with the same skills. Cool?” He throws two thumbs up as everyone stays silent, with one of the two people nodding. You watch as he sees the coach's enthusiasm die down a little.
“Cool?” The coach had yelled now, startling everyone else in the second round of heart attacks; everyone else yell back this time, the word ‘cool’ echoing around the grand sports court. You notice that everyone’s responded to the coach's request except for Jisung.
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“Oh girl . . .” Juda now has her manicured hand placed on your sulked shoulder of realisation.
“I know, I’m so sorry, Juda.” You look into the distance of the arcade, feigning sorrow; or maybe it’s not much of a feign.
“The fuck,” Chenle turns to see both of you huddled in what looks like a cry fest. “Did someone fucking die?”
“Watch your tongue,” An old woman wearing a neon orange vest belonging to the arcade staff points at Chenle, who bows down as he murmurs ‘sorry’, with you two trying your best not to laugh, following and bowing your heads down too when the seething woman’s eyes meet your figures.
“How dare you anger the poor lady, her blood pressure is probably already high enough,” Juda picks at Chenle, who is now quietly trying to slip in the token to play another round.
“I wouldn’t have if you guys didn’t just suddenly go emo for no reason. What the f—” Chenle’s eyes waver back and see the woman’s eyes (Are they naturally red? Or is it the arcade lighting?) glaring back at him once more. “Frick. What the frick happened.”
“Oh Chenle, we must mourn for her. She’s fallen for another mysterious guy who barely has any personality.” 
“Oh my god,”
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“Oh my fucking god, what—”
“Fuck,” Jisung sighed when he missed the shuttlecock by just a hair's width. Everyone was standing in a line-like formation, at the tip of their toes against the line that made the distinction between the playing court and outside. Jisung and the coach were having a match, the first test that the coach had implemented to determine who goes into what group according to their skills, and when no one volunteered, Jisung silently centred himself on the court as the coach's face broke out into a glow. 
Although his face was adorned with wrinkles even when still, and his skin did seem to look just a smidge pruney all the time — the I’m growing old look he had on his face was impossible to miss — the coach’s never looked sharper and younger than he does now, zipping through his side of the court like a bees race. Jisung on the other hand, seems to have a calm demeanour, quietly and tranquilly stepping forward and back, delivering lobs and clears, limbs outstretched to effortlessly hit the shuttlecock back even if it seems that his position doesn’t allow such moves. 
In the cold of Autumn, the stiffness of everyone's bodies was just the tiniest bit evident after a round of stretching, but two right in front of you look as if they’re playing in the heat of the summer, arms and legs effortlessly moving around the court. You try not to look too intently into the thin glisten of sweat forming on Jisung's neck.
Soojin raises her hand without taking her eyes off of the two people playing intensively in front of her, as Jaemin reaches in his pockets to place ten thousand won into her open palm, not letting his gaze wander away from the game either. “Thank you for your service.”
“I can’t believe he’s that good, I should’ve known from his cocky demeanour.” Haechan sighs, his fist resting against his cheek, hoisted up by his other hand. Everyone looks in his direction.
“You would think that it takes one to know one,” Minji almost barely whispers as she looks away from him by her side, looking back at the game with everyone else following. 
“Ah, fine. You won.” Coach drops his racket down from its first stage position, going towards the net with an open palm. Jisung barely takes a step forward before he’s lifting his hand too, shaking hands over the net as everyone claps behind them.
“Okay then, who’s next?”
You spend half the lesson just like that, with everyone playing against the coach followed by him then instructing everyone to get into the key badminton positions. You suspect that this is the core of learning badminton as the coach guides you from the way you hold your racket to the way your feet are positioned, but all you’re really thinking about right now is how badly you just want to go home.
“Okay!” The coach claps, as people gather around him in a semi-breathless state, just from being told to carry out a few sets of actions that badminton has. You don’t know why badminton necessarily needs ladder crossovers, but you barely get to give out a sigh before your eyes catch on Jisung’s seemingly calm composure. He’s done so much and maybe even a round extra, but he’s barely breaking a sweat.
Why does he look so good? Show off.
“Believe it or not, we’re done already! I now have an understanding of what level each one of you is in and will put you into groups.” You keep trying to wipe at your face to keep the sweat away, but an even coat of sweat is now settled on your hand after wiping it many times, so it only feels like you’re spreading it evenly. 
All while mysterious Jisung barely lifts his shoulder to have the cloth of his shirt wipe away the bead at his temple. 
How utterly gross of him. You wonder if he’s single.
“So I will see you all next week and give your level, thanks for joining!” And everyone disperses, spreading around the hall to get to their bags and start packing. You are standing above your bag, packing it and taking your bottle out to take a sip when you see Minji and Soojin whisper shouting, which defeats the whole point of whispering in the first place.
“How much do you wanna guess that he eats and sleeps here?” Soojin is practically bouncing in her place, taking multiple obvious glances at Jisung’s figure, who’s seemingly roaming around in his bag instead of packing it like everyone else, his racket placed neatly on top of his bag instead of inside.
“Nothing, because at this point it almost seems like a fact.” And with that, you shoulder your bag and head for the door, too tired to function.
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“And you have no muscle aches? Impressive.” Juda pipes, her eyes glued to the road as she drives them back home.
“Oh no, I do. I just plastered a few KT tapes.” You say from your position in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the rolled-down window with your hand against your forehead, getting a nice breather from the wind outside. Chenle who’s sitting in the middle reaches his hand forward and pulls your sleeve up from behind to reveal your arm and shoulder lined up with tapes of blue and green. 
“A few huh,” Juda smiles and Chenle retorts, as you tch at them both. 
“I didn’t want to risk it, okay?” You say, yanking the cloth back down and slapping at Chenle’s hand, facing forward once again with your hands crossed defensively and gaze set outside again. The car lights up in the yellow of the street lights, as Juda drives through the night. 
“So when’s your next class?”
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“And group A has . . . Jisung. Just Jisung”
“No, bad dog. Stop taking your anger out on Chenle’s biceps,” Juda attempted half-assedly to swat at your hands while her eyes were still glued to her phone, as you retell what happens with your next class.
“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”
You were furious. Group C? You knew you were better than that, having played almost every other sport growing up, even if occasionally, you’d gotta be good at badminton. Why is Jisung the only one in group A? Yes, fine, maybe he plays well, but it also means that you’ve been ranked down a group just because he was too perfect. Why does he attend the class if he’s already so good?
Subconsciously, you try to convince yourself to not take this whole grouping thing quite literally, as the coach had said that they’re not ranked or anything; but how can you not take it personally when the people you thought you were on par with were in group B. It takes all of your willpower for your scowl to not be displayed, but you soon find that you don’t have to try too hard as the coach assigns you all to your positions.
“Lighter on the feet,” Coach ordered, the squeak of shoe soles rubbing against the floor echoing throughout the sports hall. You, Soojin, Jaemin and Minji go through what the coach calls fundamental steps; right foot northeast with a forehand flick, right foot northwest with a backhand flick. It helps with the basics of the game, which everyone forgets, but you don’t think half an hour of the same steps helps with remembering either.
While group B, which consists of Haechan and Ryujin, go through the same phases with some extra steps added to strengthen their posture while playing. It’s not that you think your play better than the people in your group or group B, but mainly your irrational annoyance stems from the fact that you’re position in the class is gonna be recorded into your progress report, and you know for a fact that if Jisung wouldn’t be participating this dead class, you would be in group B. Yes, it’s still the last group out of two, but you can say that you’re merely ranked second. Instead, you’re last out of three.
As the steps turn repetitive, you let your eyes wander around mindlessly, your feet carrying you throughout as your hands attempt to do the actions in a somewhat muscle memory process. Your gaze eventually settles on Jisung, whose back is facing you as he smacks the shuttlecock against the wall, which bounces back only for him to smack at it again, repeating this one-man game he seems to have made up for himself. You glare lasers into his back, thinking about how maybe you’re not into this whole mysterious demeanour as you thought you were, seeing him just making up his own moves as the coach merely bounces back between the two of your groups, only checking in on Jisung after a few rounds of lecturing your moves and correcting your mistakes. 
Three consecutive claps echo around the tall indoor court, as everyone drops their rackets at their bags and gather around the coach in a circle, somewhat holding some sort of formation with Ryujin to his right and Jisung to his left, and with you positioned almost opposite of him. “Good job everyone, now it’s time to cool down, exactly how we warmed up,” Clueless, most of you follow the coach’s steps while he urges each person to take turns counting, counting up to eight in a clockwise direction. Your eyes can’t stop fleeting to Jisung, the star of every badminton night, as your petty envy prevents you from minding your own business. Throughout the whole night, you’ve seen him take only warming up and cooling down somewhat seriously, as he crosses his arms and holds up a good posture, compared to the rest of the class who simply just slump over, wanting the session to end and finally catch a break. 
One final clap and you’re all free to go. And you don’t waste a second, grabbing all your essentials and bag and quickly darting for the door, ready to go home and wash up and just not support your whole body weight on your feet. As you bid everyone goodbye and bow your head lightly to the coach, you watch as Jisung strides up to the coach in a meek manner, as his eyes fall on your retreating figure just slightly before softly calling out the coach's name. 
It’s nine p.m. on the dot when you step out of the court and breathe in the cold air.
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Juda’s on the couch when you step into the apartment, toeing off your sports shoes as you rest your badminton bag against the shoe shelf, at hand for your next trip to your class. 
With a mouth full of chips, Juda barely takes her eyes off the screen before asking “How was class?”
“Same old,” You shrug.
“Same old? You’ve only been twice. How in tune are you with the coach for it to—” Your groan stops her teasing, as she smirks at your tired form squatting against the floor, hands clutching at the door and your hair in frustration.
“Could you have at least let me get home first before frying my brain?” Your hand falls to your face, and that’s when you feel the residue of your sweat from earlier, having turned into oil. The urge to shower now tenfold, you attempt to raise yourself and pass out in the shower.
“I’m gonna wash up now, and probably go to sleep,” You mutter just loud enough for Juda to hear, to which she hums while you retrieve a towel.
“Oh wait, before you go,” She calls just as you inch towards your room, “Do you know where my umbrella went? I’m going to campus tomorrow and I think it’s gonna rain again. I tried calling you but I don’t think it went through,” 
“Oh yeah, It’s by the door.” You recall taking the umbrella to class today, as the forecast has been filled with rain symbols with the Autumn weather. Digging in your bag, you push past your essentials in order to find your phone which Juda’s called. “That’s weird, my phone is not here.”
“Did you take it with you today?” Juda mumbles as she munches on a few more chips, rubbing her fingers against her pants after every serving. 
“I’m sure I did,” You ponder out loud, as you remove your hands from your bag in favour of patting at your pants and jacket resting on the clothing hanger, in case you somehow shoved it in your pockets without knowing.
“Did you forget it?” As soon as the words leave your roommate's mouth, you are met with a vivid picture of your phone, abandoned on the bench in the badminton court you left in a hurry. You sigh, placing your towel on the bathroom counter briefly before grabbing your house keys while putting your shoes on.
“I’ll be back Juda,”
“Good luck,” She waves.
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You’re beyond tired, and a little frustrated at yourself for being impatient and forgetting your phone. You can’t risk losing such a thing, hence you’re glad that the lights were still on when you arrived at the building, giving a wave to the receptionist. 
Stepping onto the court, you immediately zero in on your phone which is perched on the bench, the black shade of the screen a contrast against the silver metal bar. But a squeak of a sole against the floor earns a squeal out of your mid-march, as you clutch your shirt next to your heart and turn towards the perpetrator.
“Oh my god,” Jisung’s gaze is what you’re met with as you let out a sigh of relief, the man in question only turning around as you mutter under your breath. 
“Sorry,” That’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all day, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that calms your heart down just a bit.
“What are you still doing here?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, your forgotten phone laying there, continuing to be overlooked as you question the presence of your classmate.
His eyes squint ever so slightly at your question, as his eyes ghost over you, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “I’m practising,”
Practising? After two hours of badminton class, he didn’t seem like he did much then, but he’s still staying back to practice. You hum in slight adulation, rocking back and forth on your feet as he turns back around and runs through steps you’re unfamiliar with. As you inch towards your phone, you think more about his prominent presence in the court; is he too shy in class? Or maybe he gets private classes from the coach?
But as you scan your eyes around the court, you’re met with a near-empty court, as the only thing in sight is his bottle and slim bag. You’re not sure exactly what you’re waiting for as you hold onto your phone, fidgeting on your spot as your eyes follow Jisung’s swift movements. He seems more tired now than he ever was in the two classes you’ve shared with him, as his shoulders ride up more with an attempt of regaining stability with his breaths.
You’re not sure how long you’ve loitered around, but it must be a long amount of time for Jisung to look at you with disdain and shock.
“. . . Why are you still here?” He seems more reserved — something you didn’t know could happen — as he asks you this question, holding his racket subconsciously closer to his body. Your eyes widen at the prospect of being caught, as you shake your hands vehemently, stumbling back a bit. 
“Sorry, I wasn’t—” You didn’t know how you were going to explain yourself, but one glance at the door of the court is all you need.
Bowing your head as quickly as you can in a lieu of a goodbye, Jisung could barely apprehend what you did before you’re bolting out of the badminton court.
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A week later, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to face Jisung with your awkward encounter, and it is evident that the incident has been plaguing your mind as you stand at the door of the sports centre, both hands gripping the strap do your bag. 
“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo for just standing there and stalking him?” Your wandering mind does nothing to help ease the situation, as more arbitrary scenarios flow after one another. Maybe he told the coach how much of a creep you are and now when you step in, you’ll be banned from class.
“Oh dear god,” You let your head fall forwards, trying to tip over the thought out of your head. Closing your eyes, you try to think of the things you can do once the class is over when a tap on your shoulder brings you out of your reverie. You turn to look behind your shoulder, fearing that it's someone robbing you or worse— Jisung; only to see coach Son, smiling at you with a hint of worry laced on his forehead. 
Your shoulders sag with relief. “Hi coach,” you wince internally at your response, voice coming out high-pitched as you clench your grip on your bag. 
“Let's go in and start some warm-ups, yeah?” And as you follow the coach to the class, you make sure to subtly hide behind him in case you catch s glimpse of Jisung anywhere, not wanting to run into him. As you quietly peek your head over his right shoulder once and his left shoulder next, you feel like a secret agent sneaking up on your target. A clearing of someone's throat snaps you out of your act, as your shoulders bunch up and in shock and you quickly turn, only to be met with the feared man of the night.
It seems like he’s been trying to go up to the coach and maybe say hi, but your lurking figure both stopped and perplexed him, not knowing why you were just peeking your head around like a mole rat.
“Sorry,” You mumble slightly, eyes wide as you back away towards the closest wall, wanting to blend into it and live with the bricks. Maybe you’ll face less embarrassment that way but knowing you, anything is possible.
“It’s okay,” His voice is as unassuming as always, eyes looking anywhere but you now that he’s caught your attention. You think his shyness is quite cute, but not for long as you think back to being scared of him from last week to being jealous of him, also from last week. That’s a lot of emotion for you to process. 
He pulls up his hands, now shaped into a fist and looks past you, but you know he’s talking to you when he mutters, “Fighting,” before fully facing away and walking past you as if the mortification of his action has caught up to him. You barely contain your shocked expression behind your hand.
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“Good job today guys, now we all have a basic grasp of the initial steps and our skills when it comes to badminton.” You brace your hands on your knees, just having done a set of wall squats as a way to build stamina, or so you’ve been told. You thought that maybe a month into these classes and you would’ve had some sort of energy stashed away in you when attending class, but it’s week five and you’re fighting for your life three seconds into a plank.
“Now I don’t wanna treat this class academically, but for those of you who truly care, there will be an assessment in the midst of this course to reevaluate your standing and see if you can advance from your group! But other than that, remember that this class can be solely for fun reasons too . . .” The rest of coach's words were white noise to your ears. Reevaluation? Does that mean that you can advance? That you’ll have a shot? 
“Are you okay?” Soojin leans in toward you, whispering while pointing to what you assume would be the shock on your face. You turn to her, drawing a thumbs up to reassure her. And before you know it class is done and you’re pulled to do a series of cool-down moves. You eagerly follow through, now somehow charged with motivation to stay back and go over your moves a few times. You figure that the least you can do to move up a rank is to spend an extra hour going over your moves, even when you sometimes think about the significance of them.
You tread up to the coach and ask in your kindest voice if it was possible for you to stay back. “Of course, are you gonna go through the steps again?” He questions as he shifts his bag from one hand to another. You give a nod and wave goodbye, watching as everyone litters out of the court.
Well, almost everyone.
You can feel, more than anything, Jisung’s gaze piercing your figure through the hood of his jumper, while you give your best attempt at stretching. You’re not sure really what stretches best help with reducing the ache in your muscles the day after, but you figure the endeavour of reaching your toes should do.
Even after a few minutes of trying to appear mellow, Jisung’s presence alone makes you feel on edge as if you’ve stolen his territory. But you figure that nothing will change and that all you can really do right now is, well, practice.
The squeak of your shoes echoes every now and then, followed by a whip sound of the racket you’re flinging in the air. If you do this quickly enough, surely your skills will improve, right? From what your coach Son demonstrated earlier, you realised that as he would start off the steps slowly for your group to get a hang of, he was able to transition the speed to his liking, doing each step quickly and efficiently. 
“Okay, should be easy,” You’re careful not to speak too loud in the almost quiet hall, giving yourself words of encouragement. Hand braced in the first position, then in the second, then a slight step back, and then your hand straight and quickly bend.
You finish the routine with its final step of hitting the imaginary shuttle as fast and as straight as your hand can go with such speed. With one round done, you brace yourself in the initial position to do it again. One, two, three and four.
You only get to pump out four, maybe five rounds of this pattern before a clearing of someone's throat scares the daylights out of you. With a barely contained shout, you’d forgotten — however briefly — that you weren’t alone. You’re looking at Jisung, who seems shocked at accidentally shaking you up so much, before he says something to you.
“What?” Even with the stillness of the court, the man’s words were barely comprehensible, as yours echoed slightly throughout the court. 
“You’re doing it wrong,” Oh, so the first comment he ever mutters to you are words of criticism. You furrow your brows, head tilting slightly out of habit as you encourage him to go on.
“When you’re recoiling from hitting the shuttle, your racket still faces forward instead of down,” He explains, but none of it makes sense to you and it must be evident in your face, with Jisung looking slightly frustrated that the words did not register in your head.
“If you keep your racket facing forward, the ball isn’t going to go down but head straight, which allows your opponent to retaliate better.” He continues, and you somewhat understand where he’s getting at, but he’s not really helping you at all. All he did was point out your mistake, which makes you feel that he’s just trying to show off his knowledge.
“Well, what should I do then?” You can’t help but seem a bit agitated, as you slump your shoulders and let the racket settle by your ankles, your hold on the handle tightening ever so slightly.
“Hit it face down,” He raises his arm and demonstrated the step to you, causing the head of his hoodie to fall, shining the light of the court on his face. You’re briefly stuck looking at his face instead of his step, but were reeled back in when he makes eye contact. You clear your throat as he goes through the step again, which you think were exactly the steps you were doing a second ago.
“But, how was I any different?” You say as you mimic his steps, bracing yourself in the positions without much thinking, and hitting the imaginary shuttle right as when he does.
“No- see, you did it again,” He steps a bit closer as he gestures to the racket in your hand. “You’re hitting it straight on. You’re supposed to go down.” You sigh as he says this, feeling a bit irked that a mere student is trying to tell you what to do. He is in the top rank, so maybe he has a point.
Attempting to set your implicit annoyance aside, you intently look at his hand and the way he moves his wrist at the end of the step, trying your best to imprint this into your head. He looks a bit flustered with how much your gaze is focused on him, but still goes on two more times before nodding his head at you, encouraging you to try once more. 
You look at the position of your hand this time instead of him, going through the initial steps and tweaking your wrist to face more downwards this time than your last few attempts, before your eyes quickly flit towards Jisung, looking for some sort of confirmation with your try. The subdued purse of his lips assures your suspicion, which is that you’re doing it right this time round.
“Good, did you kinda find out what you were doing wrong?” The words come out on reflex, and you don’t think twice this time about him being in the same class as you and yet trying to coach your steps, as you ponder on his question.
“I mean, I found out I was doing something wrong when you pointed it out, but I’m not quite sure what you meant when you said I was hitting it straight on.”
“Wow, you were really into him weren’t you?”
“Shut up Chenle, I was into the badminton technicality.”
Jisung steps forward a little bit and is about to say something before he hesitates. You look at him sceptically, waiting to see what he was gonna say before he shakes his head and seemingly snaps himself out of it. “Can you go back to the third position?” He asks of you, which you raise your hand and assume the position. Your racket and arm are raised pointed straight to the ceiling, while he positions his fisted hand in front of you. Your questioning look doesn’t go unnoticed, as a slight smile appears on Jisungs face before he nods at you, saying, “Okay, now gently go down like you would and stop at my hand.” 
You do as you’re told, with Jisung’s eyes settled on your concentrated face following his orders, as the face of your racket meets his fist, the white of his knuckles colouring for a bit. 
“See, you’re hitting the front of my knuckles, but that will send the shuttle forward.” He demonstrates by pulling his fist back, “That will give the other player a better opportunity of retaliating.” He then readjusts your racket by the throat, having the net hit the top of his fist. “This gives you a better chance.”
“But like, how am I giving them a better shot?” 
You’re not sure what was funny or amusing about your question, but it seems that there must be something there for Jisung to sport a cute small smile, as he picks his racket back up and moves to one of the set-up nets, and funnily enough, you find yourself following him subconsciously. He picks up a shuttlecock on his way to the net and positions himself, as you stand at his side.
“See, let’s say the shuttle is coming at you this way,” He holds the shuttle with one hand as if the opposing player had shot it at him over the net. “If I hit it the way you had— actually, why don’t you try receiving the ball.” And so you shuffle over, standing opposite of his ready stance with your arms crossed, intrigued.
“I’ll throw the shuttle back to you and try seeing if you can hit it back.” You realise that this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the past five weeks that you’ve attended the class together. You bring your hand up and stand in the ready position you remember coach telling you about when initiating a game, and Jisung takes that as a sign that you’re ready and hits the shuttle at a moderate speed. You hit the ball back with ease, as it goes over back to Jisung’s side, who catches it with his other hand. You let out a long ‘ahh’ sound of understanding, hand clutched at your side. 
“You’re right, that was hell easy,” You brood aloud, but not before asking one of your other endless questions. “But then, how would the other way be any different?”
From the looks of it, Jisung seems over the moon that you asked such a question, holding back a smile by biting on his lips lightly and quipping his head to the side. He holds up the shuttle and looks at you, gauging to see if you’re ready to receive the ball once again. As you regain your ready position, you see the ball suspended in the air briefly before Jisung hits it at the ‘better’ angle, which is seemingly from the head of it, but before you can process anything else a zip sounds past you and the ball has landed behind you.
Your gasp resonates through the hall as you look behind you to where the shuttle has landed, with a hand coming to your mouth as you look at Jisung. The latter contains his smug smile behind his own hand, as you point at the ball and look back and forth. “What did you just do?”
“Ah, that’s a technique that's called smash.” You falter slightly.
“That’s a weird fucking name I’m not gonna lie,” You glance at the ball once more with a look of disgust, before shaking yourself out of it. “Oh my god, that was so cool.”
You didn’t think that you would be getting a one-on-one lesson when you decided to stay behind today, but you’re quite surprised with how he was able to spot such a little detail so quickly. And that gives you an idea.
“Jisung,” You call his name for the first time since you met him five weeks ago, which surprises the said man, as you see his eyes startle and a few strands of his hair jerk. “Do you stay after class every week?”
He’s a bit quiet for some time, processing your question thoroughly. He nods his head briefly, but not before a bit of hesitation. 
“Is it . . . Can you help me improve?” You’re a bit shy now that you voice your question out loud, but you’re determined to move up at least one rank and land second place; or even just have a good academic score, even in badminton. 
Seeing the blank face that Jisung is now sporting, you think about the unfair offer you’ve just made to him. Why would he spend his extra time after class to teach you, his potential competitor, without getting anything out of it? You’re not sure what you can offer him, maybe some sort of payment? But before you can ponder even more, you catch a slight nod of his head from the corner of your eye.
“Is that . . .  a yes?” You lock eye contact, as he nods his head once more but with more vigour and confirmation. 
“Why?” It’s your turn to look at him with confusion.
“Are you asking me?” He points to himself, as he slightly tilts his head as if he was going to look as if you were talking to someone else. You shake your head quickly once he asks the question, raising even more questions.
“Actually, no. I take back what I said. You said yes, right? You can’t change your mind. Or, I mean you can but like I would be pretty bummed about it because you already said yes but I’d respect your choice.” You take a deep breath in once you finish, looking at him and clasping your hands together a bit too harshly.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you with what you need.” Relief washes over you and you can’t help but smile in thanks.
“Oh, and there’s one more thing too.” Jisung hums for you to continue, as he goes towards his bag and retrieves his bottle to take a sip.
“Can you teach me how to smash?” And maybe you should’ve waited for him to be done with that bottle first.
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You think you’re quite good at being subtle and on the low, no matter how much Juda and Chenle counter that argument. You can be sneaky if you put your mind to it, and it's been proven many times in high school when you would sneak your favourite snack during the middle of the class without your strict teacher finding out.
So you’re not sure where you went wrong when you held out a snack bar in Jisungs direction, only for the whole court to look at you weirdly. You merely strutted up to him with maximum placidity and poked out the bar from your hand into his torso, looking away and hoping he would get the memo and take from you as with a mutter of something that sounds really close to the word ‘thanks’.
But it’s been a solid fifteen seconds and not only is the bar still in your hand, but everyone in the class has slowed down their activities in favour of looking at you two. Even coach’s staring as if he’s trying to solve a very complex puzzle.
“Is this . . . for me?” Jisung’s voice comes out as a rumble, not knowing if he should whisper or talk normally, sounding out something in between instead. 
Of course this is for you, idiot. Why am I holding it in your direction??
You ignore his question and shake the bar in your hand with a bit more intensity, hoping that he would finally get the memo. It isn’t until ten more seconds pass that you lose all hope and turn to him, grabbing his hand and placing your gratitude in his open palm, closing his fist around the energy snack.
You stomp your way to start your warm-ups before Jisung could say anything.
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“When you aim your hand, you’re not really looking at the shuttle,” Jisung starts after a few rounds of one-on-one games you’ve started after class. “Your eyes are just hovering around it for a few seconds before you look around and put yourself in position. You’re supposed to go in position without looking, it should be intuitive.” You huff at his explanation, dropping your hands by your sides.
“How do I ‘look’ at it more, then?” You’re grateful that Jisung is helping you, but it’s just the tiniest bit unnerving for him to recognise your every move and be able to point out your mishaps. He moves back from the net, creating a decent amount of space in his playing circle. He starts throwing the shuttle up with his badminton racket, the distance from the shuttle and its net growing with each hit.
“Practising this move helps,” He says as he works through what you remember the coach demonstrating the first few classes. As the shuttlecock goes higher and higher with each impact, your eyes catch on the silver of skin poking out as Jisung lifts his hand to meet the shuttle, his shirt rising for a few seconds every time. 
“I think it would be better if you looked at the shuttle?” His words catch you off guard, as you look up and meet his gaze already settled on your, eyes gleaming as he pokes at his cheek with his tongue. 
“Shut up,” You look away, flustered that you got caught, before attempting the moves, refusing to look back at him.
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The condensation of the electrolyte drink is addled with the dampness of your hand, as you make your way to class the week after. You see Ryujin talking to the coach as you enter, and Jisung at his bag, seeming to ruffle through it in order to retrieve something. You strut your way up quietly, not wanting to attract any awkward attention by giving gratitude in the form of a drink to your unofficial instructor. As you open your mouth to call Jisungs name, the tall man turns around and gives you the faintest hint of a smile, before his eyes land on your hand.
“Hi, here.” You spout, as you extend your hand straight towards him, some of the condensation dropping on the floor and finding solace in the gaps of your fingers. His hands feel dry and warm as it brushes against yours, retrieving the drink from your grasp.
“You didn’t have to. Thank you; for last time too,” Your cheeks heat up at his words as you avert your gaze away, opting to look at the playing net instead. “Don’t mention it,” Your damp hand wrings against the dry one behind your back, as you slowly let your gaze wander back to Jisung, who’s now looking at the blue bottle in his hand.
“Did you know,” He twists the drink in his hand and looks at what you think is the nutrition information. “Electrolyte doesn’t actually help when you exercise.” Your expression sullens as he continues to look at the drink you gave him. “Your body loses more water than electrolytes when you exercise, and so there is no use consuming more electrolytes. Water helps way more in comparison,” The scowl on your face makes Jisung stop in his tracks as he looks up after finishing his bite-sized lecture.
“Well, if you’re so ungrateful—” You reach your hand out to snatch the bottle from him but are stopped short as his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “No!” He exclaims and a chuckle slips past as your struggle to get the drink, reaching out your other hand before he captures that too, now both of your wrists trapped in his hand. Your eyes widen, with your wrist bound and fighting up a struggle, all impaired with Jisung’s hand wrapped. Before your mind can wander to what other scenarios can result in him bounding up your hands, he continues; “I’m very grateful. You don’t have to give me these things just because I give you a few tips after class.”
You pause your struggle, letting your hands be weighed down. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been helping you at all. Sometimes I even set you back, so it’s the least I can do.” You say truthfully. You do sometimes feel like a burden when Jisung gives you a tip and you don’t adapt immediately, sometimes it takes you maybe two after-class lessons until you can successfully cast back the shuttle over the net with a short distance. The only way you could think about paying him back was through these pick-me-up snacks.
“Okay, how about this,” You miss the warmth and pressure of his hand against your wrist as soon as he lets go to put the drink down behind him and straightens back up, looking away as he slowly grows flustered with what he’s about to say next. “Treat me to ice cream maybe?”
You smile at his antics, happy to have been told how you could repay him. “Deal,” He visibly deflates with relief as you zealously agree, putting your bag down next to his as you both start to unpack. 
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You shuffle to the bathroom as soon as practice is over, giving Jisung a quick point towards the direction you’re going to ease his worries about you running away. Once inside, you’re met with the cool breeze and a mirror that reflects your spent figure. Oh god, how were you gonna go out like this? Is this what you looked like this entire time? Shuffling to the sink, you shoulder your bag back as you lean over the sink and lightly dab at your face with some water, before cleaning yourself up and dabbing the paper towel against your face. 
You don’t know why you were so nervous to do this; it’s truly just some ice cream with your temporary and unofficial coach. But you truly wanted him to see your gratitude, and soon enough you’re thinking if ice cream isn’t enough, and budgeting how you can come up with enough money for an all-you-can-eat buffet at this time of the night. But before you could even add up the numbers on your fingers - it was a two in one hand and three in another, not quite sure what they meant - the sound of the door opening echoes in the bathroom, jumping you out of your reverie. 
Turning around, you just catch Minji stepping in, looking taken aback at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to enter this public bathroom. “You okay?” She calls after you, and you can only hope that the smile on your face is convincing enough.
“Yup! Just . . . tired,” You cringe a bit at the overused excuse, but your shoulders slump when she just smiles back at you. 
“It’s okay, maybe your date with Jisung would cheer you up?” You feel something lodge in your throat, coughing out in surprise.
“No!” You retort, hands coming out from behind you as if to stop all ideas from forming. “We’re- It’s not like that. He’s just-” Minji looks at you with amusement, as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms, urging you to continue. The mind blank you’re sporting is not at all helping with a way to express what you truly are doing with Jisung, and so you try: “I just owe him something for smashing his racket.” And that was the best you could do.
Minji’s smile falls, as her arms drop at her sides. “You . . . smashed his racket?” 
You don’t know why her voice was laced with such concern, but you figure that you have to finish what you started. “Yeah, to pieces actually. Sometimes the adrenaline truly gets to you, right?” You chuckle a bit, trying to find a gap in the conversation where you can squeeze back out of the bathroom.
“Well, I’ll see you next week,” You clench the strap of your bag and exit the bathroom, ready to dart out of the place. As you turn a sharp right, you are immediately met with a sheet of white, which suspiciously looks like the colour of the shirt Jisung was wearing today. Hands are placed at your shoulder and you’re quickly set back half a step from the wall, or at least enough to recognise that it wasn’t a wall, but rather Jisung’s tall figure.
“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, catching a few veins adorning his forearm. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit. 
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The white lights of the LED sign of the ice cream place illuminate most of the dark street, with most businesses having closed earlier in the day save for a few convenience stores littered with tired college students like yourselves. You eye the shop and its extravagant decor, sceptical about being brought to such a high-end ice cream shop.
“You know, when you said ice cream, I thought you had wanted me to buy you some popsicles from some convenience store. Not someplace about exorbitant ice cream with fifty years of craft in making,” You nudge your elbow a bit to Jisung’s side, to which he responds by twisting his head in your direction.
He splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry I forgot that, you know you were gonna pay,” You notice his hands move as he speaks, something you’ve picked up from when you would talk to him or notice him talking to coach; it’s as if his words are spelt with his hands first and then brought out through his lips, now adorning a pout as he tries explaining himself.
“. . . I thought we were just, going out.” Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise at his words. Going out? As in, going out on a date? 
You wonder if your thought bubble is something he can see, as he quickly puts out his hands again, shaking them vehemently. “Not on a date! It’s just, I didn’t know what-”
“Jisung, it’s okay. I was just messing with you,” You decide to put him out of his misery, reassuring him before continuing, “I’ve never been here but I’ve been meaning to try it out, so I’m glad you suggested this place. Let me treat you to something good,” And without thinking, you link your arm through his and push through the door, the cool of the interior washing over both of you. The shop was mostly white, with white tiles placed as half-walls as well as the flooring, the only hint of colour being the green of a few plants and of course the various ice creams. The employee, who seems to be the only person in the shop, straightens up ever so slightly at the sight of the two of you entering, before slumping back down when you head towards the self-serve ice cream booths. Picking up two cups, you hand one to Jisung who’s at your right, before you pick up the scooper from a mini bucket of water, waving it around your choices.
“Tell me which flavour you want me to pick out for you,” You eye the various flavours of ice creams, seeing if you can find your favourite. You look at Jisung to see if he’s doing the same, only to see his eye zeroed in on one bucket which is contrastingly fuller than the different flavours around it.
“Mint chocolate ice cream?” Your question has JIsung nodding his head as he looks at you sheepishly. “I can’t believe you would choose the most controversial ice cream. You’re so original.” You tease, to which Jisung nudges you in retaliation.
“It’s a good flavour, if people stop comparing the mint and the chocolate and instead choose to see how much they complement each other, we would be one step closer to world peace.”
“That’s a bold claim, what’s your source?” Jisung grabs the scoop out of your hands with mock aggressiveness, opting to scoop his serving of the mint chocolate ice cream. “Your references? Where is your citation—” He cuts you off by placing his hand on your mouth after taking a scoop of his ice cream, as his chest meets your arm. 
He shushes you, “Just get your ice cream, yeah? I’ll go get my toppings,” He nods and lets go of your mouth, missing the way your cheeks heat up from his proximity and touch on your face. You bring the back of your hand to your face, prying the heat to go away as you shake your head and pick the scooper back up, reaching for your favourite flavour of ice cream.
Meeting Jisung at the counter, you place your cup of ice cream next to his on the weigh and fish through your bag as you wait for the person behind the counter to calculate your total. However, as soon as you probed your wallet out of your bag, the sound of a completed transaction peals out, making you turn your head up just to see Jisung putting his wallet back into his sweatpants.
“It was supposed to be my treat,” You insist, looking towards Jisung’s direction to generate some sort of guilt for his action. Instead, the man avoids your gaze, picks up two spoons, and places them in your cups, grabbing yours when he spots you not budging from the corner of his eye and turning to head for the door. You grab at his sleeve to force out his reasoning but are slowly pulled with him as he heads out, quickly turning around and bidding goodbye to the staff before he opens the door.
“Well, maybe you can pay next time,” At the mention of another time of you and Jisung hanging out, your initial sorrow washes over by a wave of giddiness. 
“Then give me your number,” You propose, fishing your phone out. “So I can see when you’re next free and make it up to you,” With wide eyes, Jisung’s hands hesitate as they reach out for your phone; before either of you can second-guess yourselves, he takes the phone and smiles shyly, typing in his details. Handing the phone back to you, you take a look at his contact before pocketing your phone as Jisung starts to speak.
You scoop a spoon of your ice cream into your mouth to hide your smile, but from a light chuckle that emits from your left side, you don’t think your efforts amounted to much.
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You stretch your arm to reach the end of your leg, warming up your body before the mass class warmup, more so to have something to do instead of staring at Jisung who’s also here early and is also doing his own unique sets of warm-ups. 
Nothing about badminton is sexy; there’s nothing sexy about moving your wrist just in time to deliver some sort of groundbreaking delivery with the shuttlecock. Even the word shuttlecock grosses you out, as you suppress the urge to shiver at this very moment. 
So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung grunts every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. His quick movements allow for his loose clothing today to move around freely, exposing toned skin every now and then. It takes a lot of your willpower to have you not to drool right then and there, as if you were back in high school once more.
One hit, in particular, bounced off high and far from the wall, the sound of the shuttlecock smacking against the wall echoing louder as it heads for Jisung’s left side, a direction that you’re situated in although with a safe amount of distance. The tall player retaliates by turning his body a whole hundred-and-eighty degree, facing away from the wall and essentially towards you as he tries to continue his streak of hits. Briefly, you see his eyes look at you and back at the shuttles descend, but his focus on the said thing falters when he looks at you again, realising that you’ve been watching him play. 
The shame of being caught should’ve arrived by now, as your shoulders stiffen with being onslaught by Jisung’s intense gaze. But before the chagrin could fully settle in, Jisung has completely passed the point of positioning his racket, causing the shuttle to fall and bounce off of his head and onto his feet. Gently clasping your hand at your mouth, you stop your giggles at the warning glare that Jisung sends to you; although his flushed cheeks aren’t making it any better.
“Say something and see what happens,” He points at you with the tip of his racket. You remove your hand and open your mouth, curious to see where this goes.
“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You can’t help it this time when your gaze follows towards the gap in the collar of his shirt, showing the sharp cut of his collarbone peeking through. It’s when your gaze is caught on his chain necklace dangling from his neck that the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here. 
The ball lightly hits Jisung’s calf, who simply picks it up and passes it back to the boy who’s seemingly frozen in place. As soon as the ball arrives at his own feet, he quickly picks it up and dashes out of the place. 
“Do you wanna bet to see who can reach past their toes?” Your question snaps Jisung out of his thought. The boy chuckles and sits down to your right, stretching out his legs and shaking them out as a form of warm-up.
“You’re so on,”
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Your hands are clasped behind your back as you strut up to Jisung, who’s at his bag, taking out his needed items. With a tap on his shoulder, he turns to face you, giving you a smile as a greeting before scanning you.
“What are you doing this time?” You gasp in mock offence.
“This time? I haven’t even done anything yet?” 
“But you’re going to,” He points his fingers at your hidden hands. “You’re either gonna scare me or pull the lamest prank ever known to date.” Your smile drops and a scowl replaces it instead. 
When Jisung fully turns to face you, you smile once more and lean your shoulders in. “I actually brought you something to thank you. Again.” You shift the item from your left to your right hand, feeling nervous and embarrassed for saying it all out loud. “Because of you, I can hit a backhand serve and not smack myself.” The boy stands taller with your gratitude, a blush sporting on his face as his eyes look anywhere but at you. You must look like high schoolers confessing to one another with the way you’re both flustered and shy, which isn’t a thought you’re fully opposed to.
He nods his head, still avoiding looking directly at you, as he reaches his hands out, ready to receive what you’ve brought for him. You giggle slightly as he shuts his eyes and shakes his hands in anticipation, “Since you said electrolyte drinks don’t really help, and you like your proteins after class, I thought of a better third option and brought you,” You reach your hands out and place the gift on his palms, urging him to open his eyes.
Cold and dripping with condensation, the plastic water bottle perched on his hands seem small as his hands close around them to keep from falling. His eyes fall as he looks dimly at the bottle in his hands, and you look away briefly to keep from laughing straight in his face.
“Now I know what that kid felt like when he got gifted an avocado for Christmas.”
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“Wait,” Chenle plops down next to Juda as he says this, but is quickly shoved to the other end of the couch with a complaint ‘It’s too hot for you to stick your gross body next to me’.
“What’s his deal then?” 
“What?” You turn to look at Juda first as if to check that you’re the only one confused. The furrow of the girls’ eyebrows proves the fact that you aren’t alone, as you both look at Chenle with visible empty thought bubbles surrounding you.
“Well, he’s a badminton prodigy according to you. Seems to have surprased all the basics and is just a step away from being a professional.” The initial shove and retort from Juda barely set him off, as he goes back to his original position and maybe squeezes himself even more to her side and pulls a spoon out, digging into her tub of ice cream.
“Why is he still coming to class if he’s qualified enough to teach you?” Unfortunately, for once Chenle does have a point. You’ve thought about this a few times at the beginning of the semester when you were a little more than irritated by the fact that he joined the class and made you rank down a notch; ever since he agreed to lend you a hand, you’re sometimes even happy when you see him come in.
“He has a point sadly,” Juda waves her spoon towards Chenle’s direction. “If he’s as good as you say he is, why bother coming to class?”
“Maybe you should ask him that on your next date,” The boy wiggles his eyebrows at you, squealing out a laugh when you pull your fist back in a threatening manner. 
“Maybe I will,” you blurt out, attempting an aggressive tone. Before you could let anyone, even yourself, comprehend what you said, you pressed play on the tv and snuggled up to Juda’s arm on her right, with Chenle leaching off of her to her left. 
“The things I put up with,” She huffs as she stabs her spoon into her ice cream tub, feeding you diligently.
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[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]
you: you
jwisung: ?
jwisung: what happened to hello
jwisung: ‘how was your day’
jwisung: wheres ur decorum
you: shut up you dont even know what that means
jwisung: :(
you: >.<
you: are you free this saturday at 9
jwisung: you mean
jwisung: the saturday 9pm where we just finish our badminton class?
jwisung: idk i gotta check my schedule to see if i have a badminton class around that time 
jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me 
you: 😐
you: yes but not anymore
you: bye
jwisung: WAIR
jwisung: pleahse im soreu
you: not forgiven <3
you: i know this place that actually has good mint choc ice cream
you: not too minty not too chocolatey 
jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?
you: dont do this to me
jwisung: okay i wont 😁
you: good boy
jwisung: …
you: ?
you: oh! 
jwisung: no
you: ill remember this too 😋
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Your bag is bigger this time when you go to class, having packed an extra set of clothes and a towel to have a quick rinse after class before your not-date with Jisung. Arriving just in time for the warm-up session, you’re met with gloomy faces left and right. Plopping your bag down next to Soojin’s, you whisper when you ask, “Why does everyone look like they’ve been kicked?”
She looks up to you with a pout adorning her features. “Coach declared today a ‘cardio’ day. Something about wanting to boost our stamina or whatever the fuck.” She sighs as she shoves her stuff back into her bag, sadly shuffling across the court to do her designated warmups. You grimace as you follow, hoping your travel-size soap is enough.
Turns out Coach’s definition of cardio was way more intense than what you remember your gym friends raving about, as you put your hands on your knees to keep yourself from collapsing. A whistle from the coach signals a shift in your rep, making you change stations and do the next cycle of workout.
“Coach, how much longer are we gonna do this—”
“Until I start sweating, Jaemin. Now keep up!” Coach demands, which is absurd, because he isn’t doing anything but watching you do push-up planks and try not to collapse.
“Okay, stop,” He blows the whistle once more and you fall to your hands and knees, with everyone else modelling a variation of your position. Haechan’s high-pitched groan startles you, but not as much as the coach’s yelling that follows after.
“Don’t sit down guys! Sitting down after exercise is terrible for your stamina,”
“This sounds like some facebook myth my mom would tell me,” Ryujin pants as she shoves her fringe out of her face.
Coach smiles as he claps this time around. “You guys were great today, well done! As a gift, you can only do the stretching cool-down activities and I’ll finish class earlier today,” At that, the class erupts in out-of-breath cheers and barely lasting claps. 
You look to find Jisung, just to see how he’s holding up after this exercise round from hell, and you find yourself more than relieved to see him affected for once. Halfway through class, he’s opted to take off his hoodie, which left him in a white shirt and navy sweatpants, with sleeves bunched up to show his biceps and their carvings. The sight of him adorned with sweat and panting sends a twist to your stomach, and you’re quickly reminded that you’re supposed to go out with him after this.
Shuffling to your bag as quickly as you can with the ache pulsing through your legs, you’re about to head for the courts' public showers when you’re met with Jisung’s figure. 
“You can’t leave that easily, I have to try that ice cream,” He murmurs with a crooked smile. You smack at his shoulder.
“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung falls a bit quiet at your words, as you visibly see him suddenly deep in thought. Before you get to question it, he beats you to it by straightening up and looking directly at you with an idea in mind.
“Why don’t you come to mine?” You blanch at his words but aren’t allowed to react more than that as he continues. “I live really close, and you can just use the shower before heading out. You have your stuff with you and I need a rinse too.” He points at your bag behind you, making you flush and subconsciously move to cover up your efforts. His idea doesn’t seem too bad, and you think this could be another excuse for you to make up to him. Let’s go out one more time because I used up all your hot water. Couldn’t think of a better idea. 
With a nod and a smile, you’re quickly guided out of the building shoulder to shoulder.
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Jisung’s apartment really wasn’t far at all, as you arrive at the complex within a five-minute walk from the sports grounds. Living in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who Jisungs said to have gone home this winter season, the place looks relatively clean with the effort of one person living in the area. He directs you to his room, where you place your bags and pick up your clothes before he points towards the bathroom.
“You can use my shampoo and soap, they’re both in some type of white bottle. Don’t use the blue ones because they’re my roommates’ and he has a sixth sense when it comes to these things,” You salute him and shuffle to the bathroom, trying your best to be as quick as possible to not leave him waiting and to not actually use up all his hot water. The bathroom was just slightly messy, with towels stacked on one another in a haphazard manner and shaving bottle caps abandoned and soap remnants staining the sink, you feel warm with the idea of getting to see this side of Jisung. A university student trying his best, not some badminton prodigy.
Rinsing your body one last time, you close the water tap and open the glass door of the shower, reaching out your hand blindly to retrieve your towel. After a few seconds of mindlessly flinging your arm and only coming back with a bang of your knuckle against the metal towel holder, you don’t really recall pulling out the towel from your bag, much less hanging it anywhere near the bathroom.
“Oh my god, why today?” The cold of the world outside the shower cubicle washes shivers over you as you open the door wide enough to fit your head around, scanning to see if there’s any alternative you can use instead. All you’re met with is bundles of toilet paper rolls stacked on top of one another and used toilet paper rolls dumped into a basket haphazardly. Your panic settles a bit quicker as your mind blanks from solutions, but not before a knock is heard through the door with your name being called.
“Yes?” You hide the waver in your voice as best as you can, closing the glass door just a bit more.
“Is everything okay?” Jisung’s voice rumbles through the door. Your hand flies to your body, suddenly feeling exposed with the reminder of Jisung’s presence. Slipping back into the shower, you raise your voice as much as you can to be heard through the door; “Yup! Everything’s fine. Just . . .” It’s just I’m dripping and naked in your house and the only remedy is a towel, which I don’t have.
“I noticed you forgot your towel,” The muffle of his voice cuts you out of your trance, “I can give it to you— I mean of course I won’t look! I can just— maybe I’ll stick my hand in?” You laugh slightly at the fact that he’s just as flustered as you, before replying with an agreement. 
As he opens the door with the smallest gap to fit the towel and then his wrist, the cold air of the outside reminds you again of your stark nakedness, one hand going across your chest as you reach your other to grab at the towel. With a skim of your wet fingers against his warm and dry ones, you retrieve your towel with a shy thanks, as Jisung quickly goes to close the door.
While getting ready as quickly as you could in the bathroom, your mind was filled with thoughts of how you were supposed to face Jisung after that whole incident. You couldn’t think if it was better to joke about it and get it over with or forget about it and have to come back one day for some form of closure. You hoped there was no need for closure.
But before your overthinking could get to you, Jisung regarded you like he would any other day when you stepped out of his bathroom — with a shy look and awkward hands — and you immediately relax, shoulders slumping as you go up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Jisung’s eyes flit towards it, but not for long before he opens the door and lets you lead the way.
The trip to the ice cream store was a short one, requiring only a train ride to the han rivers’ skirts where the shop is situated. The store itself was busy with people sitting all around snacking on its offerings, but once you get your respective ice creams and head out back towards the river, it’s a bit quieter; a breeze slips past you as you wrap an arm around yourself. With spring in the air, the trees’ full bloom flowers scatter around the pavement and are imprinted by the soles of your hoses as you walk by.
Finding a bench by the tree, the two of settle down on it, as you turn and face Jisung in anticipation of his first try.
“It’s really good, trust me. And it’s like a bit thicker with its mint rather than the chocolate bits which is a bit hard to do when you eat mint chocolate ice cream because it’s always the chocolate that's richer and you get si—” a spoonful of your ice cream is stuffed into your mouth, spluttering you to a stop as you glare at Jisung whos laughing at your expression.
“I had to shut you up one way,” You fist your hand at him in faux aggression, pulling out your spoon and placing it back into your cup.
“Just eat it quickly before it melts,” You exclaim with a hurried expression, feet bouncing up at down in anticipation. Jisung glances at you while he picks up his spoon, prodding at his ice cream before he picks up a spoonful of his ice cream, slowly bringing it to his mouth as he looks at your expression. He only laughs and detours his spoon once, bringing the spoon back up to his lips when the expression on your face shifts to a deadpan.
The pink of his lip contrasts with the mint colour of the ice cream dripping slightly from the spoon, as he finally fits the ice cream in and gives it a taste. Looking at his eyes with suspense, Jisung’s default expression of scepticism is what you see first, before it shifts into surprise, into confusion, and finally into the same expression as a kid getting candy. The glint in his eyes shines bright in the dim lighting that you’re in, as Jisung points to the ice cream while he continues consuming the ice cream.
“It’s good,”
“Of course it’s good. I wouldn’t bring you to try good mint chocolate if it wasn’t actually good mint chocolate,” You stifle a giggle when Jisung throws you a glower.
“You know what I mean,” At his positive reaction, you comfortably dug into your own ice cream, a comfortable silence blanketing you two with background noises of cyclers whizzing by and people talking in the distance.
“You’re doing really well,” Jisung starts with his eyes darted away, suddenly shy to look at you as he says, “In badminton, I mean. Your overhead shots are cleaner than mine.” Eyes still averted, he elbows you lightly with his compliment. You preen at his praise, leaning forward subconsciously to him with a thank you.
“It’s all thanks to you. If you weren’t as good as you are I wouldn’t even know that there are two methods of serving the shuttle.” 
Jisung’s laugh sounds less humorous, “Yeah, it must’ve been weird seeing me play alone during class,” There's a heavy pause as you visibly detect the boy sort through his next words. “I didn’t think you guys were . . . fond of me. When we first started,” You feel your stomach go white, colours flush from your face from his words. Did he know? Were you that blatant? You feel bad, remembering how isolated the boy was at that time as everyone distanced themselves since learning his level of expertise. You weren’t any better, the bitter feeling you harboured when you got ranked into the third group now coming back to you after three months of attending practice.
At the glum expression on your face, Jisung quickly goes to wave his hand. “Ah, it was— it wasn’t your fault or anything. I secluded myself too, so of course it would’ve been hard to talk as comfortably.” He rests his hand on yours that’s pressed against the bench, comforting you as if you’re the one whos been wronged, and not the other way around. Frowning at his consolation, you don’t know what comes over you as you flip your hand around, making your palm face his as you clasp his hands in yours.
You avoid looking at his expression as you make your bold move, looking at the river as you start. “If it makes you feel better, Jaemin always talks about how jealous he is of you whenever you do a smash,” Gathering the courage, you squeeze his fingers as you look at him, another question popping up in your head.
“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course, but—” You cut yourself short when Jisung nods his head at you, looking at you with a calm demeanour.
“Why do you still come to class if you’re already so good? I mean, I swear you’re at national levels at least,” Jisung snorts at your words, growing shy from your praise.
“I’m being serious, don’t laugh!” Even as you say your words with furrowed eyebrows, your efforts barely last as you smile at his bashful posture. Puffing his cheeks, he ponders a bit on how to answer your question; you’re about to tell him to just forget it, not wanting him to answer something so personal, when he straightens his posture and stares ahead with a determined expression.
“The first time I played badminton was at a family gathering for new years, and I might’ve been four or maybe five when my dad put a racket in my hand and swung my arm around to hit at the throws my cousins would send my way. Then when I got older and was forced to play actual sports in school, the only thing that I was willing to play was badminton. I didn’t try hard in the beginning and was there because I heard that the teacher conducting it didn’t really care,” You snort at the picture of young Jisung barely lifting his hand to play, or letting the shuttle zoom right past him while flinching away entirely.
“But when the interschool competitions came around and I was ranked in the last group to play, I had won by pure luck,” He rubs his hands up and down his pants as he reminisces, shoulder rubbing against your subconsciously. “And then everyone started cheering me on because apparently, my accidental win had helped us accelerate to the next round. It made me feel good that I was the cause of such a thing, so I tried a bit harder the next time. Then I asked the higher ranking kids to help me with my serving, and then my mom to admit me to a badminton class, and I ranked up from F to D, and then to B and then A. My class started to admit me to local competitions outside of school hours, and then it had become such a big part of my life that I was determined to get to a national scale.”
“Did you?” Your voice was quiet when you spoke, ending with a bit of a rasp from its lack of use. You were on the edge of your seat if your position meant anything, arms wrapped around your knees, thighs pressed to your chest, making the waistband of your shorts dig a bit higher. Jisung’s smile is a sentimental one, reminiscent of a win resulting from years of effort.
“I was fifteen when I was cast by a racket sports centre, which focused on training people ranging from kids to young adults to get to national competitions and even more. I was over the moon and became one of those kids you barely see in class and when you do, they’re just sleeping through the subject. My first competition was scheduled three months after my admission, which was unheard of; even kids who have been learning at the place for two years would struggle to pass the first rounds for the entry.” Your eyes move along Jisung’s hand, as he comically explains his words through the movement of his fingers, expanding and collapsing joints onto one another.
“I didn’t win the first one, but I won the second, and the third, and built a streak - although short, just four months into training. In the beginning, it was all so exhilarating, the thrill of winning the title of first place with all these people who were just as gifted, if not even more. And so I would win because I was capable, I didn’t win because I was it was expected of me.”
“But,” You murmur as Jisung halts, bringing his hand down as his fingers fiddle with the texture of the bench. 
“But,” His excitement has burnt down to a sort of nostalgia, and you reach your hand down and clasp your hand over his again, before he looks down and turns his hand, palm facing yours as he links your fingers together. “But then, when I was seventeen, I had passed the initial rounds for the national Olympic competition. It was big news; our centre hadn’t had someone do that in decades, and that was when the pressure was tangible.
“My parents would schedule my day down to the minutes, and my coach made my diet strict, telling me what exactly I should eat each day until the competition. I loved the order and agenda that was set for me; I didn’t have to think what’s next? I just had to keep doing what I was good at. But then came the first round of the match, and the people were ruthless. No one was there to watch two teenagers play badminton, but instead fight for their lives. I didn’t think much about it until my third round that day when the kid I was playing against deliberately tried to hit the ball to my face.” 
You couldn’t help it, your laugh had spilt out before you could even think of stopping it, but Jisung’s squeeze against your hand assured you that it was fine, as he chuckled with you.
“Who the fuck practices hitting the ball at someone's face?” Your voice was pitched higher with exasperation. “Do you reckon he had a cardboard cutout of you to practice on? I doubt someone can do the calculations of face-hitting range that quickly under pressure.” Jisung contemplates your idea teasingly, tilting his head and measuring random angels with his free hand. Seeing that, the weight of your hand held against his now weighs tenfold, as the butterfly in your stomach flutters with the subconscious squeeze of his fingers. You bump at his shoulder as you squeeze yourself closer, bringing your linked hands to rest against your stomach, wanting to hold him closer. 
“It was definitely weird, but it didn’t set me off my rhythm, I just thought that it was a way to rile people up. But my coach was the one irritated, and when the boy had almost hit my eye, that was when my coach started to interfere,” You can only imagine the noise surrounding seventeen-year-old Jisung, his coach stepping forward to halt the game and talking to the referee to take some sort of action, pointing accusing fingers at the opponent and their mentors. 
“The place that we were competing at was big, bigger than what I was used to back then, and there were a lot of people and so it was noisy;  but the noise that my coach and the kid were making was something else. When my coach came back to me, all riled up, I couldn’t do much but take in his energy. I remember being very tense, thinking that I should just step my ground a bit more next time ‘round so they wouldn’t think of doing something like aiming the shuttle at my face.
“I think it was either the fifth? Or the sixth round, when I was in the zone of playing ‘professionally’ rather than doing what I was already good at. I would do overhead deliveries and front-hand serves even though I’d rather do a simple back-hand. Then there was an opening for a smash, it was a weak point for the guy— and I was over the moon with the opportunity. I’d only done the smash successfully maybe enough to count off of my fingers, but I knew that if I timed it right I would get it,” Dread fills your stomach at the direction that Jisung is going, You’re sure if you clench your fingers any harder there would be an imprint left of the poor boy's hand, but Jisung either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.
Jisung’s chuckle drifts lightly in the air, “I was too enthusiastic, and I bunched up all my energy into hitting the ball that I’d missed the perfect time and instead had delivered a simple overhead. It would’ve been okay otherwise, I mean, I was able to deliver something instead of losing a measly point, but before I could recover, the shuttle had travelled to the back end of the court, and in my attempt of getting it, I’d tripped and landed pretty badly,” While telling the story, Jisung’s free hand had been wandering over his clothed knee, fingers fiddling with the fabric and one another. Bunching up the fabric at the end of his pant, he pushes up the lax fabric up and over his knee, where a pink and slightly faded surgical scar paints the inner side of his knee. Your hand clasps over your mouth once met with the scar, and your heart fills with admiration as you see him trace his healed gash with sentimentality. Bringing your linked hands to rest on your knee, you prop your cheek against it while looking at him, sparkling eyes encouraging him to continue.
“I couldn’t play anymore after that, not with the same vigour I had before. Suddenly I had to go back to class regularly and didn’t have to do any sort of reps just so I don’t fall behind on my weekly plan. My schedule had more free time than anything, and so I had enough time to get to thinking; what if I hadn’t misstepped? Would I have won? But I knew that all of that thinking wouldn’t do me any good. So when I was watching the Olympics months later, I remember seeing the camera pan onto the coaches, and how happy they were to see their student playing. I missed the joy of playing for the thrill and adrenaline of moving around, and so I thought, why not become a coach?” Understanding fills you as you realise why Jisung is going through all this effort of attending a class that he’s exponentially overqualified for. His cheeks go red as he realises your gaze settling over his figure, now looking away from you and onto the still water. 
You can’t help it, you find it simply so endearing that he’s set his time into achieving something to allow people to have fun with badminton. Feeling overwhelmed with affection from his story and words and actions, you lean over and place a peck on to his cheek. 
The contact was brief, as your lips barely took in the smoothness of his skin before you’re coming back with a start. “Oh my god, Jisung. That’s so cute, you’re generous and you’re going out of your way to do such good things, and you didn't deserve to go through that at such a young age—” Your words were smushed together as you barely reach the end of your sentence, the cause being Jisung’s big hands gently attacking your cheeks at once. His wide eyes stare straight at yours as his colder hands warm against the puff of your cheeks; and you are seconds away from voicing your confusion before you see his gaze settling on your pouted lips, glistening and redder from the ice cream. 
You couldn’t even smile teasingly at him, as his hands refrain you from doing so. The nervous adrenaline running in your vein might be another reason too, but you don’t get to ponder on that for long before you see Jisung’s tilted head leaning closer, hooded eyes glancing at your eyes before focusing back on your lips, wanting to imprint it’s cute pouted shape.
The warmth of his lips lands on your cold ones, sending a wave of warmth to wash over you. You can feel his desire through the pressure of his lips against you, his soft lips fitting over yours lovingly. You mourn the loss as soon as Jisung pulls back, but not for long before he presses another close-mouthed kiss, this time with his hand tilting your head the other way, fingers slipping and cupping your jaw gently. Your stomach warms as you feel the fervour within Jisung, from the tip of his cold fingers on your heated cheeks to the push of his body towards you, wanting to get closer with each passing second. 
When he pulls back, his eyes are clouded with the haze of your kiss and a bit of timidity. Your giggle bubbles between you, causing him to smile along with you, his shyness catching up. Not wanting his hand to stray far as they fall from your face, you clasp at his palm and lace your fingers, pulling down to get his face closer to yours, placing a peck at his nose first, scrunched from being bashful, and then one on his lips. And another, and another, then it’s him who’s leaning in and slotting his lips against yours, and you’re pulling your linked hands behind your back and let go, opting to slot your hand behind his neck.
After two, three, and four more kisses to the cheek, forehead and lips, you tuck your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, feeling shy from doing all of this in public. Jisung’s laugh is sweet to your ears, hands rubbing up and down your back before brushing at the ends of your hair. 
“Give a warning next time round, will you?” You tease as you pull back, hand falling on his forearms, eyes looking everywhere but at his.
“Sorry, you just looked too cute. I felt this sudden urge to either bite you or kiss you,”
You pull back even more, hands coming up to shield yourself in mock reservation. “I don’t know if I should be thankful you chose the second option or fear for when the first option will happen,”
Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”
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Your pinkies are linked as you walk along the river, basking in each other's presence as you talk, shoulders brushing every now and then. It’s when you’re both childishly debating about who had fallen first when Jisung suddenly points his finger at you accusingly.
“Is that why you forgot your towel?” His question comes out more genuine than anything, as he tilts his head quickly in thought. With a light gasp, you smack at his shoulder before your arm falls back and crosses on your shoulders, scandalised. “I didn’t!”
“Was that how you were gonna seduce me? By forgetting your towel and having me bring it to you? What was next, you wanted me to lotion your legs for you too?” You can tell he’s teasing this time around, as his tongue pokes at his cheek ever so slightly to withhold the grin that was blooming across his features.
You point your finger at him, catching on. “You probably distracted me with your whole ‘which bottle of shampoo’ debacle just to make me forget it.” Poking at his chest with eyes squinted in suspicion, “You wanted to see me naked on the first date? That’s not very decorum of you.”
Jisung scoffs and rolls his eyes at your accusation, shoulders squaring to better defend himself. “I don’t need to go through all of that just to get to you,” He throws you a quick glance from the corner of his eye, a rush of giddiness washing over him with the look of your flustered expression.
“You’re right,” This time, you’re looking at his lips as you say this, catching Jisung off-guard with your compliance. Moving closer, you rest your hands on his arms, pushing yourself up and closer to his body, chests brushing. Your voice, barely above a whisper, brushes against his ear, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get to me, baby.” 
You know the smile on your face is menacing if Jisung’s gaze on you is anything to go by, partly annoyed and part timid. Ghosting one of your hands down his arm, you slip your fingers in between his and give them a squeeze, giggling as you swing your arm back a forth a bit like a school couple.
Jisung’s next sentence takes a bit of effort to say if his demeanour is anything to go by. With his gaze settled on your intertwined hands and a slightly open mouth— as if to say something, you give his hand another gentle squeeze to encourage him. 
The gleam in his eyes looks more assured as he straightens his posture and looks directly into your eyes, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”
Leaning in, you give another peck on his cheek, his scent pleasantly wafting through your nose. “I’d love to,”
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You can feel the tension grow with the sound of the door closing and sounding its locking chime, toeing off your shoes as you look up at Jisung. He reaches out a hand towards you once you straighten up, pulling you close and guiding you towards the door of his bedroom.
Like the rest of the house, Jisung’s room is clean but still spotted with signs of use, with his desk having papers and laptop wires strewn around while a plethora of empty hangers are placed at the foot of his closet. As he sits on the bed, with his hand still holding yours, he tugs you forward, his free hand going to your thigh, clasping above your knee. 
His eyes glisten as he looks up at you, “This okay?” his touch ghosts on you as he asks this. You nod your head, wanting him to touch you, needing him to touch you more. His fingers grow bolder and heavier in weight, as his hand clasps at the back of your thigh, bending your leg and resting it next to his thigh. Understanding his movements, you follow suit, settling yourself on his thighs with your linked hands resting on his stomach. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against you, easing in with feathery light touches. The slot of your mouths against each other starts a small fire in your stomach, as you push yourself onto him more, needing him to know that you crave more. 
He sighs against your lips as you settle down more, the pressure not far from where he wants it the most. He kisses you feverishly, the smack of your lips growing louder with each plant of his lips. His touches grow heavier as his fingers go from grazing against your knees to tracing lines up your thighs, barely a touch away from settling under the seem of your skirt. Knitting your fingers in his hair, his hand flies to your love handles, squeezing them in an attempt to ground himself. A sigh leaves his lips when you separate just the slightest bit, taking a breather as you kiss the corner of his lips, hands falling from the ends of his hair down to his collarbones and at the bottom of his shirt. Your spread your fingers on the skin of his stomach, nails skimming ever so slightly making Jisung’s breath hitch, his stomach tensing under your touch, eyes still closed as he takes in your touch, his stomach knotting from finally being able to do this with you.
With his grip already tight on your waist, he maneuvers you off his lap and sits you on his bed, crawling between your legs, making you open them and welcome him in as you lie down on his bed. He kisses you again, his hands now staking claim everywhere he can, pushing your shirt up to your ribs, fingers grazing against your bud form under your bra before he brings his hands down and kneads at your thighs.
“Jisung,” You sigh when he swipes his tongue against your lips. He takes your tongue in his mouth, humming against it at your call, its vibration sending hot waves down your body. His touches on your body take you higher, but you need more.
And so you say just as much, “More, give me more.”
“Fuck,” He sighs against your lip, “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give you more, anything for you,” Pressing one last peck against your lip, you see his body slide down your figure, his fingers going to unhook your bra as you arch your back. He groans at the sight of your breasts free from your bra. “I love your tits, so much,”  His hands are big against you, but they fit perfectly against the cup of your breasts, squeezing them together as he smothers himself against your cleavage. He licks a stripe of each bud, before focusing on your left one with his mouth, tongue lapping around the swell as he sucks, opting to circle his fingers on your other tit before pinching it harshly, making you keen against him.
You rake your fingers in his hair, petting him. “Such a good boy, you make me feel so good,” Your words make him whine against your breast, making his hip stutter against the mattress,  for some sort of friction. He releases one hand from cupping your breasts, opting to use one hand while his now free hand dances its way down your torso, unzipping your skirt and taking it off, before meeting the seam of your panties. With his pointer finger, he hovers a line ever so slightly on your slit, eyes wide as he glances at the pleasure breaking out on your face and the wetness of your underwear spreading.
He keeps his touch light, drawing circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear, frustrating you. You huff when he uses the point of his fingers and presses the slightest amount into your hole, the fabric refraining you from feeling his direct touch. You pull at his hair that’s winded through your fingers, urging him on; he moans at the pull, getting the memo once he looks up at your face with an eye squeezed closed from pain or pleasure. Or both.
He licks at your entrance briefly through your panties, the heat and wetness making you moan, before his fingers finally fit themselves into the seam, sliding them down your legs. You feel more than see his gaze on your core, hooded eyes watching it squeeze around nothing as his fingers tease around it. He comes back up to you and presses his lips against yours, lips slotting together briefly before you feel his thumb rub against your sensitive nub, his middle finger prodding at your hole, eyes watching your face as he pushes the pad of his finger against you. You keen when his finger fills you, as he pushes his finger back and forth, his thumb following by pressing into your clit and pulling away rhythmically. He brings his head against your neck, licking a stripe against you before his teeth catch on your skin, lips wrapping themselves around you straight after, sucking into you before parting and finding another part of your skin to taint. He quickens his pace with his one finger, but it’s not enough, you can barely get enough of him.
Hugging his head that’s still tucked at your neck, you scratch at his scalp soothingly before pulling at strands of his hair. “Jisung,” You pant, “Another one, fill me up, please,”
“You want more?” He bites at your jaw lightly, before he pecks your lips lovingly, as if he isn’t trying to have you come undone with his fingers alone. You nod your head, “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You beg as your cup the side of his face, your eyes looking at his blown-out pupils, probably no different than yours.
Jisung gronas at your words. “You’ve been so good, such a good girl.” He pulls his finger out so just the tip of it hangs onto your gaping hole, before he joins in another finger, two fingers now filling you. You whimper out a thank you, hands clutching at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, hand now slapping against your cunt, fingers curling inside your sopping pussy. Your body feels like it’s floating and coiling into itself all at once, with Jisung’s unrelenting fingers contrasting his gentle pecks and scrape of teeth against your skin. Every few thrusts and squeeze against his fingers have his hips grind down, sometimes grazing against your leg, making you feel his hard-on.
You bring your hand down from his shoulder, curling it at the bottom of his shirt before tugging at it, mumbling the word off. He pulls back slightly and pulls his shirt off with his free hand while you help with getting it over his head. You scratch your nails against the lines of his stomach, eliciting a hiss out of his before you palm at the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. “You listen so well, don't you? Always doing your best,” You pant out, testing the waters as you tuck the tips of your finger under his waistband. His moan comes out higher in pitch with your words, hips jutting forward and into your touch.
“Good for you,” he breathes against your cheek, eyes squeezed shut at the brush of your fingers against his clothed cock, muttering another fuck under his breath, rutting into your palm for more. 
You’re losing your patience, as Jisung speeds up his hand even more, the pleasure bordering with pain from his pace and harsher bites Jisung plants on you, too far gone with pleasuring you to be mindful of his strength. 
You can feel your orgasm reaching, breath hitching and your stomachs coil tightening further and further. You wrap your hand around Jisung’s wrist, slowing him down slowly before prodding them out of you. You whine at the emptiness briefly but are soothed when Jisung plants wet kisses against your collarbone. You push yourself up onto your shoulders, making Jisung shuffle back slightly in order to not lose touch with you, Reaching over, you dig through your bag and pull out a condom, shaking it between your bodies to bring Jisung’s attention to it.
The sound of the plastic wrapper catches his gaze, “You’re gonna let me put it in?” He grabs the packet from your hand before gently pushing you back down. He kisses you again, seeming to not get enough, as he pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, his tip smacking against the soft lines of his stomach and leaving a glisten. The rip of the packet sounds before he rolls it on, and you shift closer when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your pussy.
The sheets ruffle around you as Jisung comes down and places a kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes. “Ready?” He asks, and with a nod of your head, you feel him slowly ease himself into you. The stretch feels amazing, as you both moan into each other mouths, your hands squeezing and wandering everywhere around Jisung’s shoulders, back, torso. 
Jisung sighs, “Fuck,” His grip on your waist tightens, the pressure turning you on even more, squeezing around his cock. “You feel so good, so tight,”
“Fuck, Jisung,” You groan out as he quickens his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against your skin picking up. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Stretching me out so good,” Jisung throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut at the pulse of your pussy around his member. He looks back down, wanting to see the join of your bodies, pulling out till his tip, before ramming himself back in, losing himself to the blissful feeling.
The knot in your stomach tightens. “Jisung, I’m close—” You’re cut off by your own moan as Jisung starts rubbing at your clit again, building a rhythm to his thrusts into you. 
“Yeah? Fuck, let go baby,” He grunts as he bends down, his cock twitching inside of you as he kisses your lips before tucking his head back into your neck, lapping at your skin as he keeps up his speed with his fingers on your clit and his thrusts inside you. Your body curls up as your orgasm crashes into you, hands hugging at Jisung’s shoulders tighter as your thighs squeeze around his hips, keeping him in your pulsing core. Panting, you release your grip from his hip, bringing your leg down and patting Jisung’s head, wanting to kiss him again. 
As he pulls away from you, you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips, chest bursting with the affection you feel while coming down. Jisung pulls his cock out from you, going slow as to not overwhelm you. He pulls off his condom, not having cum yet as his cock smacks against his stomach, the precum from the tip joining the light sheen of sweat covering his body. He fists his hand around his cock, tugging and pumping himself to a finish. You’re too spent to give him a helping hand, but you decide you haven’t spent your mouth enough.
“Pretty boy, you’re doing so well,” He hunches over your body at your words. “Looks so good fisting your own cock like that,”
“Fuck,” He groans, “If you keep going I’m gonna—”
“Cum baby, make a mess on me,” You run your hand up his thigh, before pulling up and grabbing at his hair and combing through the strands. His moan comes out high pitched as his hips stutter into his fist, before a spurt of come shoots out and lands on your stomach. He twists his fist around the head of his cock as he milks it out, before heaving a sigh and slumping down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before he lies by your side, cupping his body into yours. You continue running your hand in his hair as he settles on your shoulder, his cheek poking out which makes you poke at it. A giggle is shared as the giddiness of you two being together in the moment settles in, and when you go to place a kiss at his forehead, you’re reminded of the wetness of sweat all over your body and the slowly drying cum on your stomach.
“Oh, let me go get something,” He gets up and goes to his bathroom, coming back with a few paper towels and a wet cloth. Rubbing down your spent body, he pats you dry with the paper towel before putting them away and plopping down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and tucking himself close.
“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type,” You say as you hug at his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down as a faux massage.
“Well, I mean, I can let go?” Jisung’s nervous front grows again, as he goes to put some distance between the two of you. But before he could get far, you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder as you hook your leg around his, stopping him from pulling away.
“I never said it was bad; I like this girlfriend bonus.” Jisung’s hair bounces as he pops his head up to look at you.
“Girlfriend bonus? Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”
“Only if you agree to my boyfriend bonuses,” You shrug. He laughs as he places his head back on your shoulder. “What are these so-called ‘boyfriend bonuses’ of yours?” You tap at your chin mockingly as you think.
“You can fuck my boobs next time?” You shrug again. His head whips up faster this time ‘round.
“Are you serious? Don’t joke about it, because if you are I won’t be—” You smack your hands on his cheeks, squeezing his lips into a pout. His shoulders slump at your attempt of shutting him up, eyebrows drooping as he gazes at you, making you laugh at his expression as you squish his cheeks repeatedly.
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“Okay, good job guys, take a water break.” Coach Son claps, as everyone shuffles to their bags and grab at their bottles. Jisung’s elbow brushes against yours as he grabs his bottle from his bag next to yours, taking a few light sips before he places it down, looking at you with his cheeks full of water. It takes all his might to not spit the water out as you elbow him back and raise your fingers tauntingly, moving closer as if you’re about to tickle him.
Before you can successfully begin your quest, Coach lets out a sound as to gather you guys back ‘round, clapping his hands twice before waving you guys in.
“Since we’re coming to the end of the semester and you guys have proved to work really hard, I’m gonna conduct one last test to see how much your levels have changed since the beginning of the semester!”
“Oh my god,” You whisper out to Jisung as your hand cups your mouth, wide eyes looking at his as his eyebrows raise in surprise. This could finally be the moment that you can prove yourself, advancing onto a higher level to have an overall better ranking.
“Who wants to go first?” Jaemin steps up and raises his hand, confidently wanting to prove his skills. 
He plays a round with the coach, showing signs of trying his best and knowing how to play, but his reaction speed comes a bit too late as he misses the shuttles by a step. Sometimes two. Sometimes he mixes up his left from his right, but that’s just occasionally. Minji and Ryujin play a round each, and show good improvement throughout the semester.
“You should go next,” Jisung leans into as he whispers, both of your gazes settled on the coach and Ryujin going back and forth with clears being delivered. Your blood rushes quicker at the thought of playing an official round, thinking of all the mistakes you can make that would cost you. 
Sensing your nerves, Jisung places his hand on yours, grabbing it before giving the palm of your hand soothing rubs. “To help with the nerves,” He says when you look at your joint hands questioningly.
“Alright, next player?” Giving your hand a light squeeze, Jisung lets go and ushers you forward onto the court, as you raise your hand slightly, grabbing at your racket once Coach nods you in.
Arranging yourself, you pick up the shuttle left at your side and get into your serve position. You hit the shuttle and serve, commencing the game. You are able to reciprocate most of coach’s deliveries, stepping left and right when needed and angling your racket to optimise your own delivery, but it’s when you’re halfway through the game with Coach Son’s and your score being eleven and ten respectively, coach starts playing with a more advanced method. The drops become more frequent, catching you off guard as you have to run from the back to the front of the court in order to make it to the shuttle, as well as the clears going in different angles making you almost trip a few times as you attempt to make it to them.
Jisung has his fist at his mouth as he watches you from the side, with everyone else in awe at how quickly you’re moving compared to the last time they played officially.
“How did she get so good?” Haechan questions with his hand pressed on his racket. The whole class shifts their head from left to right at the sidelines as they watch you battling it out with their coach, the shuttle relentlessly being delivered with neither of you wanting to lose touch of it.
“It’s the perks she gets for having an almost professional-level badminton player of a boyfriend.” Ryujin’s smile is devoid of any callousness, patting at Jisung’s shoulder as she says this. Jisung can feel his cheeks grow red as he splutters into his sleeve, hiding his flustered expression as the rest of them shout out their reactions.
“All credit goes to her, she’s just a diligent student.” 
“I can be diligent too,” Jaemin bats his lashes as he leans in from Jisung’s other side, but flinches and clutches at his shoulder when Soojin smacks him.
Back on the court, you’re starting to lose your breath when Coach delivers another serve to the back of the court, shuttle going straight as you attempt to create enough distance to successfully hit back. As he does a clear delivery, you position yourself at the back fo the court in order to meet his hit, before quickly centring yourself, preparing for his next move. From a steady pattern of his serves growing in your head, you were more than ready to reciprocate his short hit of the shuttle near the net, as you step forward and hit back.
Usually, you would’ve stumbled to hit the shuttle back at maximum velocity, sending it flying up and giving Coach more than enough time to think of his next move. But from your extra hours of playing with Jisung, you’re picked up the knack of delivering a short end with another short end, making the shuttle travel only the slightest bit over the net and plummeting down into the court. Coach Son is caught off guard when you do this, but his reflexes from years of practise kicks in, and before he could process his actions, he delivers a lob, sending the shuttle high in the air. Jisung gasps from the sidelines, making everyone alert.
He calls out your name, “Smash! Do a smash!” 
With your eye settled on the descending shuttle, you think back to the one class you had with Jisung.
“You hit a clear when the shuttle can meet your hand at twelve o’clock. You have to wait for it to drop to the same level that you’re hand would be at a ten o’clock position to be able to deliver a smash; but remember that you have to keep going with your delivery until your hand reaches six o’clock.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
You’re still not sure what he meant, but with the fall of the shuttle, you’re not really at the privilege of recalling things for a long amount of time. 
Positioning your hand at the first base, you wait for the shuttle to be at least a few inches from your head before you reach out, smacking at the shuttle and aiming at the bottom of the court. Coach, who was ready for you to hit the shuttle to the back of the court like you usually do, was not ready for the shuttle which was arriving at a quick pace. In a blink, the shuttle lands just past his ankles, and you’ve officially scored a point.
“Jisung!” You scream once the shuttle lands, looking at your boyfriend who was staring intently at your match. A look of victory glows across his face as his mouth drops in disbelief, eyebrows raised and fists clenched, over the moon at what you had just accomplished.
“I smashed! I did it! I smashed so hard oh my god, I think my arms gonna fall off,” The game is far from done for you to be celebrating like this, but you’re without care when the rest of the class cheers for you, Minji running up to you to give you a hug. You both start jumping with giddy while the rest join in, all while the coach looks at your huddled bunch with a smile on his face.
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“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”
“Why’d you talk about me as if I was a dog?”
“Because you are,” Juda shrugs before she plucks out a Yakult bottle from the packet in her hand, swingin it above Chenle’s face. “Who wants a treat? You do! Who’s a good boy?”
“Nice to . . . meet you guys too?” Jisung’s wave hangs mid air as he looks at Chenle slowly shift from a expressionless face to enthusiastically nodding his head up and down, wanting the drink.
“What did I tell you? You’ll fit just right in with us,” You link your arm through Jisung’s elbow, pulling him into your shared house with Juda before sitting him down on the couch. Juda and Chenle follow after, with the latter having his own bottle open and already emptied halfway. Juda offers Jisung yakult bottle, and goes to pick up the remote, going through the movies to put something on. You quickly grab a few snacks from the kitchen and come back, settling yourself right next to Jisung, leaving no space between the both of you.
“Wait,” Chenle turns to look at you from his positon on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight of you two cuddled up, before continuing. “What happened with the new ranking then?” Your smile is shy when you look at him and Juda looking back at you expectantly. 
“I got into group B.”
“YES!” Chenle whoops, grabbing Juda and shaking her by the shoulders. “No more whining and complaining and whinging about the class!” You chuckle as you cheer alongside him, with Jisung looking at your interactions with raised eyebrows. 
Laughing, you tuck yourself into his side, linking your arms again as you rest your head on his shoulder. With Juda and Chenle bickering about settling on what movie to watch, you press a quick kiss on his cheek in appreciation.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” You smile at him, to which he grins shyly at. “Even though I lost, the smash pulled me through. Your smashing abilities were so flawless that even I, a young duckling was able to smash through,”
“Okay, thank you for the compliment but maybe don’t say how good my smashing abilities are—”
“You just smash so hard and so well—”
“Please—”
“Jisung the smash master!”
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if you liked this, dont be afraid to tell me !
3K notes · View notes
mypimpademia · 7 months
Text
— Croissants, Cookies, & Coffee
Pro Hero! Bakugo x Cafe Worker! Black! Fem! Reader
Synopsis: Jagged edged pro hero Dynamight begins to show up to his local cafe just a little too much.
TW: Swearing
“Next in line, please,”
Customers and passerby’s gawked a the man you only smiled politely at. His tall, hulking figure towered over everyone, sticking out like a sore thumb, and his reputation did nothing to help the attention. He seemed tense about it all, the prolonged stares irritating him to no end. But seeing you unfazed, warm lights glowing on your brownskin, gave him some sort of grounding.
“Good afternoon Mr. Dynamight. Should I ring up your usual, or would you like to try one of our new items?” The words fell off your glossed lips so casually, as if you weren’t speaking to the most powerful man in Japan.
“Don’t call me that,” he snarled. “It’s policy,” you said in unison with him, his eyes rolling in annoyance as he kissed his teeth.
“I don’t give a shit about policy, you know what to call me,” he told you, before humming in thought. “I’ll try that fuckin’ peach shit, but only if you make it for me.”
“One pretty peach refresher,” you said, smiling whilst typing the order into the screen in front of you. “What size?”
“Large, and that’ll be all,” he said, reaching into his pockets for his wallet as he mumbled to himself. “Fuckin’ pretty peach refresher, who the fuck comes up with these names?”
You stifled a laugh, lips curling inward. He swiped his card on the reader before you could even tell him the price, huffing as he put his wallet away.
“Thank you, I’ll bring your order over as soon as it’s done,” you chimed.
Swapping places with one of your coworkers, you took on drinks for the moment. To anyone who didn’t know better, you were only doing this because if someone like the explosive pro hero Dynamight says, you do. And in a way, they weren’t wrong.
But your drinks are the only ones he’ll take. Hell, that’s the only time he takes anything, even the pre made baked goods, anything else gets sent back. Your coworkers were convinced your quirk had some magical touch aspect to it. How the hell could he tell if a cappuccino was made by you or not?
A scoop of ice, a cup of dehydrated peach, a cup of peach juice, some water, and a blend later, his order was ready. As you approached, his attention was turned towards the window, simply watching as people and cars passed.
“Katsuki,” you uttered, handing the drink over. “Enjoy your pretty peach refresher.”
Your emphasis on the three words made him roll his eyes again, but you didn’t miss the smile he covered with his cup as he took a sip.
For months, that’s how your interactions went. If you ever asked Katsuki why he progressed passed this in the manner he did, he’d be far to ashamed to say.
Sure, he made nearly daily visits, sometimes coming twice a day. Once in the morning, and then again on the way back home. But his visits soon became erratic, as if he was going for reasons he didn’t want anyone to know.
“Good morning, Katsuki,” you hummed, placing his plate in front of him. “One eggs, ham, and cheese croissant sandwich for you.”
You walked away too fast to see it, only focused on getting through the morning rush of people. Had you stayed a second longer, you’d have caught him watching the morning sun illuminate your features.
That was his first visit of the day. You knew he’d be back soon, as he’d been coming more frequently, just not as soon as he did.
“Since when did you guys have cookies?” The blond asked, nodding over to the display of baked goods.
“Always,” you told him. “I can ring them up for you if you wanna try?”
“Only if you bring them to me,” he smirked.
The aroma of warm chocolate chip cookies had you salivating as you walked them over to his usual window booth. You needed to remind yourself to steal some before clocking out.
“Here are your cookies. And this is your second time back in,” you checked the clock. “Six hours? You beat your record from last time.”
“Yeah?” Katsuki asked, fake surprised at his own timing as he bit into a cookie, humming in satisfaction.
“Yeah,” you smirked, running your hand over pulled back coils to make sure your hair was still neatly in its bun. “Were you hungry or did you just miss me?”
You were standing just feet away from him, and even now he missed you.
“Fucking starving,” he teased, making you kiss your teeth. “You just happen to make all the shit I like.”
You raised your eyebrow in amusement, bearing your teeth in a glossy lipped smile.
“Oh? Like the cookies I only put onto a plate for you?” You asked, pointing to the now empty plate.
“It’s just different when you put it on a plate,” he shrugged.
“Right, right,” you nodded. “Gotta get back to work, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Katsuki came back just two hours later.
“Y’know, I was joking before, but this is getting concerning,” you huffed, placing the mug of coffee onto the table. “This is your third time back, and you were here just two hours ago. And who orders coffee at noon?”
Unbotheredly, he takes a sip from his coffee and says nothing.
“I know you hear me,” you huffed.
You folded your arms over your chest, annoyed that he wouldn’t give you a straight answer. Something was obviously bothersome him, and he was itching to get it off his chest.
“Don’t get me mad on shift Katsuki,” you said sternly. “What’s actually going on.”
“Honestly? I just missed you,” he shrugged.
You were just ready to go off on him, but he sounded so genuine that you held your tongue. This was far from your usual dynamic, and the sudden shift had you at a loss for words
“You free after work?”
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aluciahaz · 9 days
Note
may i just say that your character writing is AMAZING! i honestly don’t check up on your blog a lot but when i do i’m left SHAKING because your shit is soooo hot.
Anyways i humbly come requesting mommy kink with vox because you know i’m all about that. he’s so desperate for validation and scared of rejection i feel like he’d be weeping at a domme mommy type reader. Anyways, do what you want with this!
once again i love your work! sincerely, bimbo <3
oh my god it's one of my favorite writers on tumblr🦅 thank you so much for the compliment it means a lot 😭 also i loved writing this ive desperately needed more vox asks! hope you enjoy! (kinda went ham on metaphors 💀 mb)
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greed never stops
—vox x f!reader
—includes: overstim, tons of crying, begging, light bondage
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vox was a walking, living(?) juxtaposition.
he’ll go barking orders to his subordinates, control most situations with smooth, quick thinking, and command his business with an iron fist.
but with you, the other side of his screen is on full display. his vulnerable, attention-desperate, failure-fearful self. you’ve seen it enough times to notice how it seeps into his daily life. how his control is really just a mechanism to take hold of his vulnerability, hiding it behind a mess of steel wires to make anyone who would try and reach it get tangled in its grasp.
but the moments he lets you untangle his facade, allowing you to see his true self, he feels free. even if most of the time it was during more intimate moments in the night. it was where he could truly indulge in his unfamiliar desires, crying and begging for the validation he was always seeking.
and you were the one he needed it from.
your praise was one of the highest in the hierarchy of compliments, making him feel like he was burning up, frying his brain in a way that made him feel like he’s short-circuited, but the feeling of fuzziness was intoxicating. he could never give up the taste of your compliments.
“come on, aren’t you a good boy? you can hold out for a little longer.”
those words were like rich liquor, and vox was an eager drinker. it swirled his thoughts into a never-ending spiral, and he could only cry in response as you touched his face with a gentleness that rivals an angel’s.
“b-but, mommy—!” he sobs as your fingers drive into him for what seems the thousandth time, his voice module starting to struggle as he tries to speak.
“oh?” you raise your eyebrow, feigning shock before narrowing your eyes, pressing him further down the sheets in disdain. is he still being ungrateful?
“but what, huh? don’t tell me you need more already! you’re such a greedy fucking slut,” you spit out, watching his eyes shoot open from the whiplash of your cruel words. “maybe i should stop—,”
“NO! nono, please! no! i’m sorry—!” he keens as your fingers slowly start to slip out of him, the sound so indecent it makes him shiver.
he pushes his hips up into your hand, trying to follow them only for your other hand to shove his hips back down on the sheets, your fingers twisting nearly all the way out before ramming back in, curling in wickedly that seems to shut him up briefly as he catches a breath that ran away.
vox weeps, unable to do anything else as his claws rip into the mattress, his legs shake and tremble as though they weren’t practically crushing you before. he seems so fragile at this moment, yet you knew he could take much more.
he just didn’t deserve it.
he whines and screams at your touch, tears starting to fall down his pretty little face as the small amount of dignity he had seems to get lost, overrun by your torturous fingers and unyielding pleasure that shoots through his body like a current.
“mommy—ha—please jus—zz—t fuck me, oh, god!” his head drops back down onto the pillows as your fingers wrap around his weeping cock, making his back arch as he sobs out noncoherent pleads. it’s beautifully pathetic.
his legs, weak and feeble, were strewn across the bed with previous markings trailing up his inner thigh, his neck even more decorated with a necklace of red, the glimmer of sweat that covers his whole body making those bites shine similar to crude rubies.
his hands, now tied with his own wires behind the bed (he charges there before he goes to sleep) were sullied with crimson from the tightness of the metal around his wrist, but not as bright crimson as his eyes, which flashed with bright red hearts intermittently. it was always a pleasant surprise, and a sign that he fucking loved this. no matter how much he complained at the start, his eyes spoke the truth.
which is why now, as you replace your fingers with his favorite strap, you know he’s absolutely overjoyed as those beating hearts seem to overtake his pupils once more, pulsating with a hypnotizing spiral.
“finally—! oh—zzz—FUCK!” his last word is practically inaudible with the airiness in his voice, his tone starting to distort, yet, your pace was slow. shallow, even. tears of frustration started to form at the ends of his eyes, his whines more pitiful as he tries to fuck himself back on your strap, only to be stopped by your sturdy grip on his hips.
“what do you say, vox?“ you asked, irritation slipping into your voice. how could he still be so ungrateful? but, he catches on fast, looking up at you with round, glossy eyes.
“thank you! thank—thank you, mommy!” he stumbles out before you switch up your pace instantly, brutally ramming into him just how he likes it. it makes him unable to fathom he could have been known to be anything but yours, surrendering his well-built persona to you. all of it, for your praise.
“such a good boy.”
those words were priceless, but he always ends up trying to buy them with obedience. and even though he’s successfully checked out with such praise, they still have the same effect on him every time.
he shudders and wails with ruined pitch, his screen flickering in and out of error messages and his lovely expression as he gets his reward. there was just something so satisfying about earning your praise.
sure, he can buy pretty much anything, and yes, he can get people to kneel at his feet, but he can’t cry without shame, or indulge in his true desires of being completely wrecked with soft words and fast hips with anyone. no, it could only be you. and even if he practically has everything under his hands, he will always be greedy for your affection, begging, screaming for a chance to have it set his whole body ablaze with its foreign warm feeling.
it makes him lost. no matter how much intelligence vox has, he always finds himself unable to search his way out of the feeling of pure lust overtaking his senses when you fuck him with abandon, his need to keep face seemingly never being there in the first place as tears make him short-circuit, and pleads for you to never stop. he doesn’t want to leave this labyrinth of carnality. he wants to stay lost in it forever.
it’s why even after he cums with a high-pitch sob so loud you thought his volume module broke, he kept weeping incoherently as the lights flicker in the room, his legs practically numb. and finally, he looks up at you, sniffling and choking on his words he’ll pretend to regret the next morning.
“m-more. please, mommy—! AH!” his whole body jolts as you heed his wishes, leaving him to fall back into the pleasure that he craves. he babbles on and on with thank yous and nonsensical sentences, the night seeming to become never-ending even with daybreak inching closer and closer.
vox is unable to speak at the end, and god does everything fucking hurt. his arms ache and his legs are definitely going to be an issue when he has to walk. there are marks all over his skin that will never see the light of day, yet be around for plenty of nights.
but you both know he’ll come back for more. his greed is an unquenchable thirst, and your praise is the only fountain that seems to satiate it, even if only for a little while.
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(i totally didnt forget to tag)
tags: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @mvskedxrtist @drlucichen @luciferspetduck
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scholastic-dragon · 11 months
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I saw "a soft and unsure kiss" and immediately thought of Bayverse Leonardo. Maybe the kiss gets a little more sure/desperate as it develops? (If yanno what I mean *wink-wonk*)
Ooooooooh I'm picking up what you're putting down anon 😏
Bay!Leo x Fem!reader
Breaking Point
Warnings: leo and reader are over 18. Don't be weird. Tension, kissing in the dojo 🫢, spelling mistakes, pinning the other down, smootching, I went a bit ham, sorry I just love kissing leo,
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Leo never thought getting a new sparing partner would be a bad thing.
After years of fighting his brothers, his father had no some reason, allowed you to join the training sessions.
You, a long-time friend of the turtles, had sat in on many, many sparing sessions. Always sitting on the sidelines, bouncing with energy of wanting to try.
But the boys never let you. It was too dangerous, given you didn't have the training like they did.
So you took matters into your own hands. You and April became gym buddies, going a few times a week, learning and building up muscles to prove your testosterone driven friends wrong.
Then you enlisted Raphs help with some exercises, and before long, you went to Splinter and asked the all-important quiestion.
Which was now three weeks ago, and it was the worst best weeks of his life.
When he first met you, Leo was drawn to you. You were smart, brave, and so determined. You cared so much about him and his family, and he fell head over heels for you.
So now he was screwed. Very screwed.
His brothers never really cared for sparing, choosing to go do their own things after training ended and Splinter went off to meditate.
Which meant another hour....alone in the dojo....with you.
The hot, sweaty, cramped dojo where Leo was certain your cropped top kept getting smaller and smaller.
It was a simple white V-neck shirt, but whenever you lifted your arms above your head, he saw the underside of your sports bra peeking out. And sweat that dribbled from your temple went down your neck. And he could see its whole trail as it disappeared down your chest.
Get yourself together, Leo!
He shook his head, turning away from you to continue stretching.
"So, how was it?" Your shadow casted over his shoulder. He tensed, looking up at you, illuminated by the ceiling light.
"How was what?" God, his mouth was so dry.
"The training!" You bounced on your feet, playfully punching his shoulder. "Raph said I'm really getting better, and I'm not as worn out as I normally am! That means I'm getting better...." as he continued to stare blankly up at you from the floor, your confidence wavered. "....I am getting better, right?"
His heart fluttered. You were looking to him for reassurance.
He shot up, towering over you, trying not to stare at the blush on your neck and chest. "Yes! Yeah, you're doing awesome."
You smiled in return.
"It's nice actually having a sparing partner who wants to be here, the others are kinda just over it," Leo kept talking, rubbing his sweaty palms on his sweatpants.
"Yeah, it's fun!" You always had a lot of energy. It's one of the reasons you got along so well with Mikey. It was also why the rule existed that you and Mikey will not be left alone unsupervised.
Leo then realized that it had been the extra hour, and you would return to the surface. And today, he felt a strange feeling come over him.
"Wanna go again?" He panted. You looked up, thought about it, then smiled.
"Sure, why not?" You shrugged. "I have no other plans today."
It started off with simple moves and blocks, Leo couldn't really spar with you out of fear of hurting you, but he could push you around.
You, on the other hand, had to use almost all your strength just to...to well do anything to him.
But the others had let you in on a few secrets about their brothers sparring patterns.
Leo turned slightly away from you. You moved your leg, hooking it around his ankle and pulling your leg back.
He yelled, losing his balance, arms flailing. You grabbed his wrists, using your knee, pressed into his side, and you pushed him to the floor. Your hands pressing his wrists beside his head, you practically sitting on his chest.
Breathing heavy, you looked at each other. Faces inches apart, chests heaving. Suddenly, the red flush on your skin wasn't from excersion.
Realizing what exactly was happening, you lessened your grip on his wrists.
"Sorry...I-" you cut yourself off, unsure of what to do. You know you should move, but did you want to?
He licked his lips, eyes wide, and craned his neck up. Leaning down, your lips met.
Unlike the....steamy....dreams you'd had about the brave leader in blue, your first kiss wasn't hard and firm.
But soft, like a summer breeze or a feather. He was so tense under you, clearly waiting for you to pull away and smack him.
Bless him, he was so nervous.
Pulling away, you smile down at him. "If that was supposed to convince me to throw this round, it didn't work,"
"You drive me insane," He growled, biting at your bottom lip before taking your lips in a firmer, more confident kiss.
"Is that such a bad thing?" You mumbled against his lips. Your hands let go of his wrists, cupping his face and deepening the kiss.
His hands grabbed your wrists, thumb rubbing your pulse point.
"It wouldn't have to be." Leo panted, pulling away and giving you the most honest and sincere face you'd ever seen from him. "If you were mine,"
"Good, thing I already am," You kissed him hard, biting his lip, making him groan as you slipped your tongue into his mouth.
In a calculated move, you were rolled over onto your back, Leo hovering over you. Spreading your legs, he nestled himself between them, laying on his forearms, pulling you as close as humanly possible.
You ran your hands up and down his sides, making him shiver.
His tongue led the dance, moving and pushing against your own, making you moan softly against him.
The room felt even hotter and cramped now, with him using just enough of his weight to keep you pressed to the floor.
He pulled away, sucking down air, then peppered your jaw and neck with kisses.
And even though it was fantastic, you could still feel Leo holding back. You kissed his neck, going up his jaw. Speaking softly, you felt his body shiver.
"Can't believe Mr. Honor Boy himself would defile the dojo in such a way,"
He pulled away, one hand grabbing your hair and pulling your head back to expose your neck.
He bit in the flesh, leaving little marks. "If you think this is bad, waiting till I have you in my room,"
tags: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @eveandtheturtles @sketch-and-write-lover @mysticboombox @happymoonangel @dilucsflame33 @m1dnyt3-w0lf @tmnt-tychou @leosgirl82
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leo-muscle · 1 month
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I’ve heard a little bit about this King Leon guy. Who does he think he is to call himself a king? Seems far to pretentious if you ask me. I wouldn’t be caught dead bowing to someone like that. Not in a million years.
Sure I’m the most basic looking white dude on the planet. My face gets lost in the crowd and my body is light enough to be blown by a breeze. But a king can’t change that, and I would like to see him or any of his subjects try to.
"Are you sure about that?" The bartender told you. You had just arrived on your vacation in Haiti, and the resort's bartender had decided to strike up a conversation with you over drinks. He was enormous, seven feet of pure surfer boy muscle, with a thick gut that was the very picture of strength. He would have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen, if you weren't in the middle of a massive rant.
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"Oh, absolutely." You continued. "Whoever these 'kings' are, I don't want anything to do with 'em. Who are they to declare rule over the entire world, and who are we to listen to them?"
It was true, of course. Much of Africa, the British Isles, Central America, and even the islands you were now in had been united under the rule of these Kings. While many praised them for their novel social reforms and exponential increase to quality of life in their domains, many others, yourself included, remained attached to the old ways. Even this vacation was a scouting trip, to see if whatever propaganda these Kings were putting out was true.
"On the contrary, my friend, I am perfectly happy to listen to the rule of my King. You should have seen this island before King Kai came here. Homelessness, poverty... it's all been amended since he arrived."
"Really?" You asked, taking a big swig of your drink, savoring its tingle on your lips. "And NO one's uncomfortable being ruled by just one person?"
"People love King Kai. He is kind and just, like any good king should be. You'll see that soon enough." The bartender said.
"What do you mean by that?" You asked, your heart racing.
"Oh, nothing much. Just give it a few seconds."
"What are you-- UGH!" You doubled over, your skin on fire with a sensation entirely alien to you.
The bartender walked out from behind the bar, and soon, his magical hands went to work. With his kingly essence in your system, you could be molded into a respectable citizen of the world.
He started with your pecs, cupping them from behind as they burst through your tropical shirt with new strength. They were enormous, voluptuous pillows, jiggling with muscle and a thin layer of fat.
He then moved his hands along your shoulders, pumping them into cannonballs of strength. The moment his hands reached your arms, they pulled and pushed, leaving your twiggy biceps and forearms as but a fleeting memory, replacing them with pulsing, powerful cannons of strength. In awe, you flexed your right arm, forming a mound easily as big as a baseball if not more.
You moaned softly as King Kai's beautiful hands lightly traced a six-pack onto your stomach, each ab popping into existence, forming an impenetrable wall of strength.
Soon, his hands navigated south, one massive hand palming your flat ass, while the other grabbed your tiny three-inch cock. You moaned, long, low, and hard as both of his hands began to move out from your body, pulling your cock and ass with them. Your cheeks rounded out into a big, bouncy bubble butt, bigger than most women's. It shook with strength and sexuality with every slight movement you made, much like your cock, which had grown so big with the King's touch that no pair of pants could conceal your enormous bulge. His touch was electric on your shaft, causing you to pre almost endlessly.
Your mind was in heaven as he continued to your legs. Your cock was at full mast at its enormous eleven inches as he took his hands to your legs, and blew them up into corded steel pillars as big as any christmas ham. You moaned, your cock firing blanks as he looked you deep into your eyes, placing one hand to completely cover your currently-unchanged face.
"As much as I love my people, we cannot be a global community if all my citizens are homogenous." King Kai said. "Hmm, where should I send you..."
Your skin flickered through thousands of shades in a single moment, before settling on a tone a few shades darker than your original. Your hair darkened to black, and you instantly sprouted a thick dark mustache, and a chinstrap beard to match. Your eyes became narrower and monolid, your stare intensifying into a sexy smolder. As King Kai leaned in and kissed you, your bulk increased, and your muscle became padded with a thin sexy layer of fat.
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"Cum." King Kai commanded you, his voice sexy enough to send you over the edge.
You had been reborn, a Vietnamese stud in the Carribean. Your brain was aflame with new neurons, making connections faster and better than ever before. You knew you had been improved, in every conceivable way. You were stronger, smarter, wiser, and you had no one but your new king to thank.
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Text
MORE Spider Society Headcanons
Halloween: Spiderween
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First of all: DECORATIONS??????
The ENTIRE campus done up with jack-o'-lanterns and lights and smoke machines and COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF SPIDERWEBS for the Spooky vibes???!!!
Spider decorations EVERYWHERE. From October 1st.
There's a haunted house on campus - filled with volunteers AND REALLY REALLY good jumpscare holograms made by Lyla
The food court starts serving Halloween specific food. Like a Vampire Miguel Milkshake at McMiguels.
COSTUMES??!!! COSTUMES BUT OVER THE SUITS.
TRICK OR TREATING Some people stay home at their universe and people portal over for candy and they get to see a glimpse of your universe
Or you get to hop universe to universe dressed like a Spider-person dressed like a giraffe. And since it's Halloween, it's fine if a bunch of Spider-people are running around dressed ridiculous because so is everyone else on most Earth's, Miguel's like 'yeah sure okay'
BIG BONUS POINTS if they dress up like ANOTHER Spider-person but like... Still over the suit.
Like wearing the crappy costume Miles had over your actual suit and 'acting' like someone else.
And EVERY TIME you see someone dressed as you, or wearing the same costume -
You know what you must to do.
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One year Hobie comes as Ben Reilly. All dressed up in punk but with a blue hoodie crop top to match . He spends the whole day wailing about the harrowing memories and crouching on ledges. Dramatically collapsing in people's arms
Is your Spidersona small? Imagine them dressed as Miguel. Walking around acting and irritated and fake angry and DOING THIS TO MIGUEL
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Miguels like 'are you serious? Cut that out-'
"aRe yOu SeRiOuS?? cUt ThAt OuT'
(and Lyla's like 'oooo that was good. They sound JUST like you Migs')
Lyla being a very popular costume
A bunch of Spider-people wearing fur coats and heart glass and they just decide to spend the whole day being useless to Miguel.
Which LYLA ADORES SHE'S LOVES ATTENTION
They all lounge around on all the seats like her, some even in bob cut wigs, and they follow Miguel and trying to get selfies with him LMAO
The Lyla with the cutest or funniest Miguel selfie gets put in the Campus newspaper
MJs A POPULAR ONE TOO -
ALL the lazy Spider-people wanna throw a red party city wig over their suit and be like 'I'm MJ'. NO YOU'RE NOT.
Or some will even wear their MJ's clothes. Walking around calling everybody, Tiger. (Mayday gets the joke - they're supposed to be her mom - she thinks it's HILARIOUS and giggles the whole day)
Sidebar - can you image Gwen with a wig over her suit BUT LIKE under her hood??? SO SHE WOULDN'T LOOK BALD?? I'M SCREAMING AIRPOD LOOKING AHH
VILLAIN COSTUMES - Spider people dressed as Doc Ock over their suits, coming in with fish bowls on their head and going 'Look, I'm Mysterio!! Lol'
While the caged villains are looking at them like
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('y'all mfers got a lotta nerve')
I bet some people get REALLY REALLY into it and go all out, designing everything to a T. (Like the perfectionist!pavitr)
Some friends even do joint costumes - WebSlinger makes a costume for Willow so they match. Hobie does all his costumes DIY and it's like the ONE thing on campus he participates in.
Because he loves the DIY spirit. And the chance to mock his bosses on company hours.
Goes ALL IN on him and Gwen's (he wants to match) costumes. Or maybe he doesn't participate cause-
What's even better is people 'Punkifying' their suit to be like Spider-punk is a popular costume too!!
They throw together their own vest and jeans and jewelry and boots. And follow Hobie around, hands in pockets, and they all act all cool and fake punk all day , Hobie hams up the act for the occasion
Hobie of course weaponizes this by annoying Miguel with his 'clones'.
Ten Hobies outside his office sturming untuned guitars REALLY badly and Hobies likes 'Keep it up you !! U sound great!!'
Miguel's office full of Hobies and Lylas, Last year Margo went as Jess and Jess was touched
Then there's some Spider-people that are broke as hell. But since they all have top tier humor they make the intentionally cheap or out of the closet costumes. that ends up being stupidly hilarious.
Like wearing boxes and drawing a Spider-suit on it. Boom - Lego Spider-man.
Sometimes people might wear their makeshift suit over their new suit. So like a Spider-person having this as their costume OVER their suit
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And arguably the funniest of them all - having a really elaborate overdone homemade costume of a specific hero on campus, and everyone is like woah so cool have they seen you in it yet?
And you take off the costume mask... And it's just you... AS YOURSELF Like it's just the same mask underneath LIKE A HAT ON A HAT
THERE'S SO MANY POSSIBILITIES THIS JUST BRINGS ME JOY
But the ONLY TWO THINGS YOU CAN'T DRESS AS AT ALL-
Venom and Deadpool.
Venom is too risky. Deadpool is not allowed on campus and if THE REAL ONES seen they have to evacuate and deploy the capture team cause he gets too excited (you'd be surprised of what one man is capable of in the need of Spider-attention)
Anything else is fine though-
CAN YOU SEE IT ARE YOU SEEING SPIDERWEEN????? HUH
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