You found the Acappella groups at your college absolutely corny, and that it was for weird kids who hadn’t grown out of their middle school choir phase. Sure, they can do what they want, whatever. But you still found it was meant for fucking weirdos.

Well, Bumper obviously thought the opposite.

“C’mon,” He whined, his smooth, lotioned hands giving your shoulders a gentle massage. “It’s such a short little show. And I promise you’ll love my part. Those chicks won’t know what hit ‘em, baby. You just gotta come see it.”

Bumper was currently trying to persuade you into coming to one of his competitions by sweetening you up, giving you a back massage and watching stupid (and in his opinion, childish) cartoons alongside you.

“Y’know, you can even leave after I’m all done, promise. Or not. You could stay, too.” He cooed softly, his large hands trailing down to your waist, squeezing your bare sides gently.

“C’mon. Please? Pleaseee?” He pestered, beginning to kiss softly down your back.