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heevanly · 1 month

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LATE NIGHT TALKS : LEE HEESEUNG (이희승)

𝐬yn. : being the host of a college late night radio talk show was a passion project since freshman year of college, but now as a senior, y/n hadn't expected the fame it brought to herself on campus... but maybe it was the recent string of murders that caused more tuning in than ever seen before.

𝐰arnings. / 𝐭ags. : (18+!). small series. gore. horror. college au. similar to a murder mystery au. swearing. mentions of wanting to vomit (no vomiting occurs). humor. mildly suggestive. no smut. main character death. side character death. heeseung and jay are manipulators. jay and heeseung have a small argument. enha members as main / side characters. lsf members as side characters. ive members as side characters. pet names used mockingly (baby, sweetheart, honey). more to be added as parts come out.

𝐧ote. : warnings are just overall, not everything mentioned is in this part in particular (like 98% is tho). also welcome to my first fully published work, i hope you guys like it. everything is also in lowercase, not sure why but that's just how things ended up happening haha.

𝐭aglist. : @livsateez @velvethana @ilyjxdz

WC : 6.7k

Part Two. (TBD)

walking towards the music building on your campus was always the worst trek for you. it was the furthest building from your on-campus apartment and it was a combination of uphill walking, stairs, and loose gravel sidewalk that for some reason the school had yet to get fixed. you kick a loose rock and grumble incoherently, watching the rock hit the bottom stair leading up to the building. letting out a sigh you begin walking up the last of the stairs that leads towards the building.

the night was serene at least, a bit chilly but it was still early spring, you’re just glad the hoodie you’re currently wearing is enough to block out the wind blowing past every so often. with the last bit of sunlight fading behind the horizon, you scan your fob into the building’s sensor, unlocking the doors.

a small noise crunches somewhere from behind you and your head immediately turns in the direction of the sound yet nothing is there. eyebrows furrowing, you rescan the fob and head inside the building shaking your head, “i hate walking at night, curse heeseung and his off-campus apartment, if only he’d pick me up.”

you head into the hallway that holds the elevators that lead into the basement. it’s never been the most ideal location to record, but it offered a few rooms that had equipment and space you needed to borrow.

after the trip down from the elevator you walk into the room the four of you have continuously used for the radio show. setting your bag down you start cleaning up the space, trashing old papers left behind, wiping the tables, doing simple tests on the mics to just make sure they work, overall just getting the place ready. you leave jay and jake's stuff mainly untouched, as they have their own way of setting up the lights, mic sensitivities, and what all else.

the door opens up behind you as you continue to do tasks around the rooms, not bothering to look at the door, you glance at the clock instead, “hey guys, you’re a bit earlier than when you normally get here.. we still got an hour.. but since you’re here could you,” your voice quiets down as you turn to address whoever was behind you directly, however no one is in the room.

“what the hell,” you mutter out scratching your head, “i swear i heard the door open.”

you quickly scan the room you’re in, checking under the table to see if one of the four decided to fool around a bit. seeing no one under there you move to the other room where jay and jake usually stay in, but no one is seen there either. a sense of unease begins to grow in your stomach but you decide to keep yourself busy by finishing up tasks in the room. printing out the schedule and loose script for the recording, you skim through, making sure you didn’t leave anything out and once satisfied you set the schedules and script in heeseung’s and your spot.

the clock reads 9:27 pm and you sit down on the couch, getting comfortable, getting ready for the other three to walk in at any moment. your phone rings and seeing jake’s contact pop up, you answer.

“hey jake, what’s up, did something happen?”

jake clears his throat on the other side, “y/n! glad you answered, couldn’t get a hold of heeseung, but i told jay already- wait is he there yet?”

“er, no.. well at least i don’t think so.” you scan the room once before playing with the charms on your nails.

“what..?” jake asks, confusion in his tone, “you don’t think so? y/nnie i hate to break it to ya but i think you’d know if someone was in the room with you.”

you let out a puff of air out through your noise in fake annoyance, “yes i’m well aware of that jake sim. but i heard the door open up behind me a little bit ago and i figured it was one of you guys stopping in a little early but no one was there so..”

“well.. i’m sure it’s just your pretty little mind playin tricks then, anyways jay should be there soon though, he left the flat a bit ago- oh right! since he isn’t there i guess i should tell you. i can’t make it tonight, forgot i overscheduled myself with my plans so i have somewhere else i need to be tonight.”

“what? jake why didn’t you say anything earlier today? i mean it’s fine, i got the room mainly all ready anyway but a warning other than being like five minutes before you get here would’ve been nice.” you click your tongue in annoyance to further drive the point in. frankly, you didn’t mind that much but teasing jake a little bit was something you couldn’t pass up.

you hear jake give a dejected sigh and stifle a laugh, “ok listen i know i know, i’ll make it up to you i promise but just this night i can’t make it alright?”

“yeah yeah, you have fun with your plans or whatever.”

jake chuckles, “oh i will, see ya y/n.”

the call ends just as jay walks in, he gives you a little wave and sets his stuff by yours, “here like always, before everyone else is.”

you drum your nails along the couch’s arm rest as you watch jay get situated in the room, “someone has to get everything ready, and it sure ain’t gonna be jake with the way he bailed on us tonight. and we’re lucky if heeseung shows up 10 minutes before we go on air.”

jay lets put a small laugh, “he told you he’d be gone? thought i was gonna have to be the one to tell you.”

“nah he told me, think he’s trying to get a hold of hee right now too.”

“eugh, good luck to him then.”

you raise your eyebrows in understanding, “yeah.. anyhow i printed out the schedules and cleaned everything up so..”

jay sits in his seat and turns to you, “you emailed me my schedule right?”

“yup, did it before i left my apartment.”

“perfect, alright you go get set up and i’ll test your mic and make sure feedback is clear.” upon hearing jay’s words you get up from the couch and move to sit down in your chair, jay gives you a thumbs up and you test your microphone, “test test test.”

jay fiddles around with a few notches and motions with his hand to try once again, “test test test.” you repeat into the microphone, which you receive a thumbs up and lean in your seat. all thats left was to wait for heeseung.

a few minutes later and he walks in, dragging his bag behind him, “woah dude you look like shit.” jay says, looking heeseung up and down.

“this assignment for prof kim is killing me,” heeseung groans out, exasperated, “i swear she wants me dead.”

your jaw drops slightly at the look of heeseung, “have you slept recently?”

heeseung drops his bag with everyone else’s, “just did, i was supposed to work on the assignment, fell asleep, woke up and sprinted over here.”

his hair was all tousled up and his shirt was slightly stained but his jacket managed to cover most of it up and his pants looked as if in some places dust or dirt got smeared onto it.

jay does one more look at heeseung before turning around in his seat, “alright well man, go get situated next, we’ll test your mic.”

heeseung simply nods before walking to his seat next, once jay gives him the go ahead he speaks up in the microphone, “test test.” jay gives the thumbs up to heeseung and you look up at the clock, 9:58 pm, almost time to go live.

you turn to heeseung, “you sure you’re alright? if you’re that tired i can handle doing a night alone.”

hee gives you a small smile, “promise im all good, that nap was like.. one of those ones where you wake up not knowing who you are or where you are kind, so i’m like.. oddly rejuvenated right now. think i could even fight off a werewolf and win.”

blinking once and then twice you look at him and slowly nod your head, “oohhhhhh kay mister tough guy.. whatever you say..”

“you not believing me is not very kind you know.” heeseung frowns, his lips forming a pout.

“i know, oh-! we’re going live.. 3.. 2..”

"welcome welcome welcome toooo SCU 101.85, you’re currently tuning in to the 10 o’clock pm talk show. i’m your host y/n and i’m here with my co-host..” you turn away from the microphone and glance at your co-host, lee heeseung.

“heeseung.” he speaks up into his microphone, shuffling a few of the papers around.

“and it’s currently a friday night, it’s 67 degrees out with a small breeze too so make sure you wear that jacket!” you chirp.

heeseung snorts and you pass him a look which he returns with a shrug, “you just sound chipper.. s’all.”

“ah.. well our ratings have been going up again.. it’s better than we’ve been seeing these past four months.. so.”

the past four months have been rather difficult for you and heeseung and the radio show. when you started this project sophomore year, it had just been you and your roommate kim chaewon, your ratings were steady in the beginning but had started declining after two months, which made your at the time co-host and roommate, quit. you don’t blame her, you nearly stopped too, which was before heeseung hit you up asking if you still needed another co-host.

accepting his help was the best thing you had done, his roommates jake and jay were all about the technical jargon behind running a radio show, which the reasoning was apparently the three had thoughts about starting a podcast but couldn’t get the timing right to actually get it started, so here they were willing to help you out.

production took off and the four of you found yourselves seeing steady viewers and got to even open a talk line, which was a segment that both you and heeseung took seriously, finding fun in chatting with anonymous students with various complaints they had of others, professors, relationships, or whatever else going on in their lives.

then, out of nowhere four months ago, the viewers started thinning out, causing your small team of four’s good feelings to falter. having been used to success it was shocking to be randomly met with a hard wall and seemingly, no way of getting out.

heeseung and your’s efforts were all in vain as you tried advertising the radio talk show, you had chaewon talk to her friends about spreading the show, heeseung talked to about it to his other friends and also had them spread the word. jake would mention it at his part time job, and jay even mentioned it at a small on-campus event, which he texted that he was never doing again out of sheer embarrassment.

heeseung hums, “well.. i could imagine people have been feeling a bit safer because of us, due to…” he trails off.

right, there's been a few recent deaths that have plagued not only your campus, but the town. you claim they’re very obviously murders while heeseung’s been claiming it’s been various unfortunate accidents. so far the death toll has hit only four, two on campus, one at a campus nearby, and one on the outskirts of town.

“the murders.” you finish his sentence off, gravelly.

heeseung rolls his eyes, but remembers that the listeners can’t actually see that, “you’re so obsessed with these being murders,” he teases.

“well.. it’s quite obvious, no?” you ask, tilting your head a little bit.

“ehh, i wouldn’t really say so, besides the two on campus cause they were ruled as a murder-suicide. regardless that was two months ago and the one at KTU was concluded to be an unfortunate accident.. shit what did they say about how she died again?” heeseung racks his brain, trying to remember how the girl from KTU died two weeks ago.

you scatter your papers around, “wasn’t it something about a lab issue..? their school got to close down because of it, that’s.. uh.. kind of all i remember about that.”

“oh you’re going to hell, haven’t you been following this whole thing since the murder-suicide on campus..?” heeseung laughs loudly and you slump in your chair, embarrassment flooding your system.

you sit back up and clear your throat, “in my defense..”

heeseung accusing points at you, “you! don’t have one.”

“pause, yes i do! rude…. my defense is that the fourth one’s been throwing me off with this whole thing, that i focused a little less on the third girl.” you huff out.

the fourth death was the weirdest in the whole thing so far, it happened a few days ago and it’s been the only one where the person involved wasn’t in the same age range and died supposedly.. well.. naturalistically. it had been a middle aged man, who was on his way home from work. apparently the report and the news claimed his tire gotten flat and when he had gotten out to check on it, he had been mauled by a pack of wolves wandering through.

the police and how they concluded it just didn’t make sense to you, you stayed up for two days trying to determine it all. first, wolves hadn’t been sighted in that area for several months so a random pack coming through didn’t make sense. second, the blood inside the car, how did it even manage to get in there if the man was supposedly outside? the third rea-

heeseung snaps his fingers to try and get your attention back to the talk show, “hey, y/n, quit thinking about it, you’re just gonna make yourself paranoid.. or worse.. really obsessive over this.”

you sigh, biting at your lip as you mull over his words, “my bad, i just need to stay up on all this, our viewers need the information, they deserve the best after all.”

“and the best of the best is from two college seniors..?” heeseung raises an eyebrow.

“absolutely!” you respond, “we’re the only ones giving multiple sides to these events and ways to stay safe.”

“i’m sure the news have been doin all that too though.”

“pff, news schmooze,” you wave your hand at heeseung, “college students don’t care about tuning into the morning news before classes or turning the evening news on, we’re a source of entertainment AND murder mystery, and that’s what eats up.”

“you’re greedy, y/n, soo greedy.” heeseung shoots a grin your way, a way to let you know he doesn’t mean it.

trying to stop a grin from making its way on your face, you roll your eyes, “oh suck my dick lee heeseung.”

“gladlyyy..” he sings out, wiggling his eyebrows and chuckles into his microphone.

“you’re a freak..” you gather your papers back up and glance up at the clock, 10:26 pm, time to open up the first talk line segment of the night.

you give a small nod towards heeseung and he nods back and clears his throat, “well well well SCU you are listening on 101.85 and it’s rolling up to 10:30 pm, we got a two minute sponsor for y’all and when we come back live, our callers will be up discussin’ random whatever with us. give us a call at +82 70-5208-6001 and see if you’re lucky enough. again that is +82 70-5208-6001. see you soon.”

both you and heeseung give a thumbs up to the room in front of you and jay switches your sets off, rolling the sponsor. a few seconds pass and before you’re able to turn to heeseung to just casually chat, the switchboard for the phone calls light up, more so than you’ve ever seen before.

turning to heeseung you give him a look of wonder, his eyebrows are furrowed as if hes wondering the same thing you are, why are there so many callers tonight? jay clicks off the sponsor and puts on a jazzy song before stepping into the room, “what’s up with the callers tonight?”

heeseung looks up at jay, “not sure bro, we’re just as confused as you are. we haven’t seen anything like this before.”

the calls keep coming through, lighting up the board until nearly all have popped up, indicating that people are on the line waiting to chat.

jay takes a glance at his set up and back at the two of you and the board, “well you guys got about a minute before we go on air, can’t keep them waiting for too long so just…” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “just… i suppose keep their talking segments shorter..? man i wish jake was here right now he could help weed through the callers with me on my end.”

heeseung raises an eyebrow at jay, “he’s not here today at all? i thought he was just late?”

“nah, up and bailed last second, said somethin’ about a date but i think he’s lying.” jay rolls his eyes, “30 seconds, you’re both up soon.”

jay closes the door and you look over at heeseung, frowning “why the hell did he schedule a date during the same time he’s supposed to be here? he told me it was important, not that a date isn’t but i was thinking something with his parents or.. i don’t know..”

heeseung mulls it over for a few seconds, “i mean unless he was planning on bringin her home..”

“dude.”

“it’s jake we’re talking about, y/n.”

“okay, yeah you’re right, well you wanna go first with the calls then..?”

heeseung nods, the on air button lights up and he clicks on a random caller, “hey lucky number one, congratulations you’re on air with us on STU 101.85, what’s your name?”

“hey guys it’s yunjin!” yunjin’s voice is heard through the speaker.

you sit up in your seat a little bit, “oh my god, hey girl! thanks for calling, how you been tonight?”

“same old same old, prof jeon is an asshole still and said my submitted designs lacks the ‘creative theme’ of what he asked for. the problem is, is that he gave us no theme, aside from it being wearable. so i based it off of 1960’s greek spring chic wear and now he’s denied my third design.”

heeseung nods his head, “we’ve heard from other fashion design majors that prof jeon is the worst, i guess this goes to show to any sophomores and juniors to not finish your semesters as a senior with prof jeon.”

yunjin scoffs, “you could say that again, i wish i took prof song’s class, apparently shes at least nicer with going about denying designs.”

“isn’t she tough to impress though..? i hear her students always come back with lower scores than those who take prof jeon?” you ask, “wouldn’t that be.. worse?”

“oh you’re right.. ugh just don’t be a fashion design major, worst choice ever.”

heeseung lets out a laugh, “alright well we’re gonna let you go and head to the next caller, good luck on the rest of your assignment.”

a hum is heard through the speaker, “yeah i should really get to finish on working with the fourth design, you guys have fun, i’ll still be tuned in too.”

the line clicks and heeseung switches to another caller, “and listeners that was miss yunjin, another senior here at STU, you may have seen her around workin tirelessly at the sewing machines in the fashion department, so send some luck her way for dealing with prof jeon. now we got our next caller with us, you’re on air!”

silence fills the studio and jay looks at you two through the window, mouthing a “the fuck?” and you two shrug, confusion on the both of your faces.

“uh.. dude? you there?” heeseung looks annoyed as he shuffles around in his seat.

more silence fills the room and now you can also feel annoyance creep into your body, “hey, listen if you’re not gonna talk we’ll move on. not sure if you stepped away from your phone at all or what kind of prank you’re trying to pull but you can cut it out, it’s not funny and it just holds us and everyone else up.”

“..01101000,” a gravelly, raw voice crackles through.

heeseung sits up, “okay i’m changing the caller, you’re a weirdo and can get off our line.”

the voice continues, “..01100101.. 01101100–”

heeseung cuts the line, cutting the voice off too.

“freak.” you mutter, “what the hell was that?”

heeseung shrugs, “sounded like binary code, probably someone from comp sci deciding to pull a prank on us.”

“well they’re not funny, that was weird and kind of scary.” a shiver runs down your spine as you think about the voice that crackled through, whoever it was managed to perfectly replicate fear in their voice.

“oh don’t worry, i can protect you.” heeseung winks at you.

“i think my chances of survival lay better with jay, hee.” you look down to choose the next caller as heeseung makes a noise of offense, taking your words to heart.

“he would not-”

you connect to the caller, “and you’re the third caller of the night, thank you for spending your night here with us at STU 101.85, may we get your name?”

“uh, yeah hi it’s yang jungwon.. i’m a sports medicine major.”

your eyes lit up in recognition at the name and voice, “oh yeah! you’re on the journalism club right? i’ve seen you there frequently.”

“yeah, thanks for helping us out, y/n. uhm, you know i wasn’t positive that i’d get picked so i guess i’m unsure of how to say this.”

heeseung leans closer to his mic, “what do you mean, jungwon?”

“uh, well it’s just, that last caller and then the mysterious figure on campus is what i wanted to talk to you about."

that made you sit up straighter in your seat and from your glance at heeseung, his interest piqued as well.

“go ahead jungwon, we’re interested and i’m sure all the other listeners are too.” you give the green light for jungwon to essentially take over the whole talking segment.

jungwon takes a deep breath and you can hear some shuffling in the background as he gets ready to speak,“okay well, i’ve been staying late on campus for the last week because i work on the sports section of the campus news website right? and i’m not sure what’s been going on but i’ve noticed this shrouded figure walking late at night. they seem to be following any student late at night leaving the stem building.”

you look up at jay and then over to heeseung, the both of them listening to jungwon’s words intently you look back down at the board as jungwon continues, “i think it’s cause they often stay behind the latest right? i’m not sure, i felt it was better to be here and say it as a warning, in case the man was dangerous.”

heeseung speaks up, “you’re saying something now? didn’t you say it’s been the past week?”

jungwon is silent for a few seconds before breathing out, “okay yeah i figured someone would ask that, honestly i thought it was a prank at first, especially because it was a costume the person was wearing.”

“costume?” you ask, “what sort’ve costume?”

“it was that ghostface costume, you know like the scream movies one?”

“ghostface?” heeseung asks, skepticism in his tone, “you saw a dude in a ghostface costume? in spring?”

jungwon clicks his tongue, “that’s why i didn’t say anything, because it just sounds stupid. i really thought it was just a prank someone was pullin on a friend.”

you nervously pick at your nails as you think about jungwon’s words, “you’re saying something now though aren’t you? what made you change your mind?”

jungwon hesitates before saying anything, “the call.”

you raise an eyebrow, “what’s the call got anything to do with the ghostface random?”

“i.. got a weird call yesterday night, it was the same voice that just called you guys. honestly if i wasn’t seeing the costume dude on campus i wouldn’t have thought much of it or if i wasn’t tuned into the radio show tonight.”

“why don’t you go to the police or campus security? dude like campus security should and would kick the guy off campus, even if what he’s doing is harmless, he’s being creepy.” heeseung sighs out and rubs his forehead a little.

“i did, they think i’m sleep deprived and seein shit, apparently they can’t find ‘any evidence’ that supports that someone's walking around being weird so they think i just need more sleep.”

“what about that phone call? isn’t it logged?” you’re honestly a bit worried for jungwon, something weird is happening, the murders, the calls, and the shrouded costume ghostface guy.

jungwon speaks a bit faster, trying to get all the information he can into the hands of however many people are listening, “thought it was, i re-called the number two days ago and it just immediately disconnects, then the number was gone from my phone yesterday. poof up and deleted from my call log.”

“oh what the hell..” you breathe out, heeseung looks pale as he listens to jungwon’s words.

“dude.. does that not remind you of the damn scream movies? like at least in some way?” heeseung shakingly asks, “it literally sounds like you’re being hunted jungwon.”

a clang is heard and a quiet “fuck” before some shuffling, “sorry dropped my phone, you kinda freaked me there with that heeseung.” jungwon lets out a sardonic laugh.

you turn to heeseung and lightly smack his arm, “no for real, why would you say some shit like that.”

heeseung splutters, “well.. like does it not? i don’t want to sound grave or mean about this right now but genuinely this shit sounds like jungwon is in danger.”

“not helping, dude.” jungwon speaks into his phone, voice low.

“no he’s got a point jungwon. with what hee’s talking about, you could really be in some serious danger. i mean a famous point of scream was the calls to the victims and if you’re really seeing someone run around in the ghostface costume..” you trail off unable to voice the rest of your concerns aloud.

“well thanks for helping me out you two,” the sarcasm in jungwon’s voice is clear and you flinch out of guilt. you didn’t mean to freak jungwon out a bit more, he really wanted to just warn people on campus who were out late. “regardless thanks for warning everyone on this, listeners tell your friends or if you know of any late night students, tell them they should be careful on campus now if they’re out late, just in case. jungwon this goes for you too you know?”

“yeah i know, i’m already off campus now so i should be fine.”

heeseung picks at his jacket’s sleeves, “still man, sounds like you gotta keep yourself safe anywhere.”

“i will, thanks for letting me stay for a while longer than you normally let your callers on.” from the background noise going on in jungwon’s call it sounds like someone coming in through his door, “i’ll go ahead and get going now, my roommate brought food and we’re gonna eat, thanks for having me guys!”

jungwon ends the call and you glance up at the clock which reads 11:07 pm, “alright we have time for one more caller, normally we’d have ended this by 11:00pm and done another segment at 11:30pm as you are all aware but i guess we’ll just have one long talk segment today. heeseung you wanna do the honors for the last lucky caller.”

heeseung nods and clicks on the next caller, “lucky number four, you are live with us at STU 101.85, you get to be the last call of the night with us, anything on your mind that you’d like to chat with us about?” heeseung and you are met with heavy breathing into the phone’s microphone.

“hello..?” you call out tentatively and heeseung groans out beside you, “alright i’m really getting sick of the people who decide to prank us.”

the breathing stops abruptly at heeseung’s words and your breath hitches in the back of the throat. you’re unsure as to why the caller made you nervous, heeseung is right, prank calls have been weirdly often tonight, this was the second one of the night after all. heeseung’s hands reach to change the caller and that’s when a weird low static sounding voice filters through, “don’t hang me up, lee heeseung.”

heeseung stops his movement’s mid way and your head whips into his direction quickly, the voice continues, “why don’t you put your hand back down. we’re going to chat.” heeseung quickly obliges and fear has overtaken everyone in the room, jay from where he is, is even frozen from the voice.

“much better. thank you for having me on your lovely radio show. you know, i’m not exactly the happiest at having been the last caller, but i suppose only the best are chosen as the final right?” the voice takes a shaky breath before continuing, “y/n,” you freeze as your name comes out, “don’t you think being the final one is best too..?”

you don’t answer, unsure if that’s the best course of action, you just can’t bring yourself to say any words at this moment, but the mysterious caller decides he’ll make you answer, “answer me y/n. you get to choose the fate of someone very important tonight after all.”

your blood runs cold at his words, eyes shaking and tears even start to brim, you stutter out, “what.. what do you mean?”

“i’m so glad you asked honey, let’s bring out my special guest out.” the sounds of a muffled cry and cloth are heard before jake’s voice faint and hoarse comes out of the phone, “let us go man, just please let us go.”

you gasp loudly, heeseung slams his fist down at the table, and jay upon hearing jake’s voice runs into the room, a look you’ve never seen before on his face, either of their faces. jay looks like he may faint yet angry while heeseung looks as if he’s never experienced anger in the way he’s had before.

“i’m sure you know now who is with me.” the voice chuckles and you can hear some crying from a girl as well in the background, “i managed to get a two for one deal tonight for you all.”

“the fuck do you want with us?” heeseung grits out and the caller laughs.

“it’s not so what i want with your group, it’s what i want done with you, lee heeseung.”

heeseung’s bravado falters slightly, “what are you talking about? what could i offer you?”

“i wanna know why.. scratch that i think.. everyone here tonight deserves to know why actually, about the things you’ve done for your beloved radio show.”

you slowly turn your head to heeseung and he’s pale, hands slightly shaking, “hee? what is this guy talking about?”

heeseung looks up at you, pupils blown wide in fear and you feel your heart break at how scared he is, you know you’re not much better either, “i.. i don’t know, this doesn’t make any sense, i.. there’s.. i don’t know.” he’s panicking and you reach over to grab his hand to calm him down some. his hands are clammy but given the situation you understand, you squeeze and he squeezes back.

the voice scoffs, “oh please, get that fake shit out of my face. heeseung knows what he did sweetheart and if i were you i would think twice about holding his hands when all they know are acts of violence.”

jay speaks up before you have the choice to ask what they meant, “i’m calling the police, sick freak.”

“ah ah ah..” the caller tuts out, “if any of you three call the police, your beloved pal jake is getting gutted. i’ll even string out his body parts so prettily for you. send some lovely pictures, y/n you’d appreciate my art for you? right?”

you frankly feel like throwing up and you shake your head frantically, “no.. no..”

the caller lets out a cackle and speaks in a mocking tone, “aww… poor thing is so scared, heeseung why don’t you comfort your poor girl, after all you’ve done sooooo much for her.”

“fuck. off.” heeseung snarls out, hand not holding yours gripping the table and the strength behind it shocks you.

“no fun, either of you, jay’s always been a bit boring anyways, wanting the police involved in our fun so early. however i’m aware we are live.. so i guess we should speed things up. besides jake here i have someone important to jay here. say hello to jay.”

the sobbing girl is heard more clearly and the pit in your stomach is ever growing, the feeling of vomiting coming back tenfold, “why.. why are you doing this.. please i never did anything to you, please please please, let me go i won’t say anything. please j-”

a loud bang and a shriek is heard and jakes voice is screaming, “stop! stop just let her go, man. what is wrong with you?!”

some more shuffling and the caller is heard better, “what’s wrong with me? me..? you were the one who brought your dear friend’s ex out on a date.”

jay slams his hands on the table, leaning forward, “my EX? you were out with fucking yujin?”

more sobs from yujin, you suppose, comes through the phone, “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i wanted to make you jealous. i wanted you back, that was it i’m sorry i’m so sorry.”

rubbing his jaw, jay paces around the room, shouting out a “fuck” and slamming his fist against the wall, “jay! this isn’t the time! this asshole WANTS us to act like this, you’re playing into his hands!” heeseung calls out, standing up quickly, “he WANTS you to get angry, he’s enjoying this.”

“yeah?” jay spins around and lets out a shaky laugh, “really? and how do you know that heeseung? you know this guy or something? i wouldn’t be surprised considering you’ve got some fucking secrets of your own now.” jay jabs at heeseung’s chest and he stumbles back in surprise.

you put your head in your hands and yell, “stop! just stop you two! a sadistic killer has jake and yujin and you’re fighting?! what the fuck. just what the fuck?!”

“yeahh.. you two, what the fuck..?” the voice giggles, “you should be more like y/n and focus on the two that’s with me. maybe you can make y/n’s job easier and help her with her choice.”

your whip your head up, tears streaming down your face, “what the hell do you mean help you, you sick fuck?!”

“that’s not very kind now baby… and i mean helping me choose who i kill for everyone tonight of course.”

oh. oh no. no no no no no. absolutely not, you would not choose that, there’s no way you could bring yourself to do that. you shakingly look at the board and whimper out a “no” which the caller barks out a laugh in return, “i’m afraid it’s non negotiable. if you don’t.. i choose at random then and the other person lives with the information that they were saved because of me! or… i just kill both.”

the two men in the room with you freeze at the information they’re hearing, heeseung slowly walks to you, pushes your mic away and crouches down to your level, putting his hands around your body to help the tremors going through your body, he rubs your back soothingly and jay’s jaw clenches as he angrily blows air out of his nose.

heeseung lowly whispers into your ear, “it’s okay y/n.. you.. you gotta do it.. you can do this.. make the choice.. it’s easy right..? you don’t know yujin.. jake needs to be saved y/nnie. jay will understand.. yujin cheated on him anyways.”

you’re not sure why heeseung is calmly telling you this information, you’re not sure why jay won’t look at you directly, you’re not sure why it has to be you that makes this choice, but as heeseung whispers more into your ear about how you can do it and he believes you’d make the right choice you start thinking that doesn’t matter and heeseung’s right. jake needs to be saved. jake is your friend. you don’t know yujin. yujin was a bad girlfriend to jay. you don’t question heeseung’s whispers, you don’t question heeseung at all.

“jake..” you quietly mutter out.

“what was that? i couldn’t hear you..?” the killer sings out and you almost throw up for what feels like the thirteenth time that night.

“jake..!” you speak up a little louder and heeseung squeezes your body comfortingly, “i choose to save jake.”

yujin screams in anguish and you flinch in guilt. “excellent choice, y/n. saving your friends.. how heroic.” the killer praises and you put your head in the crook of heeseung’s neck, wishing this nightmare would just end, he just rubs your back, but you miss the grin he sends jay’s way.

the phone is set down and you can hear yujin plead for her life with the killer, “i just did what you wanted! you said.. you said j- no no stop don’t come any closer i swear i swear no one will know. let me go please. please. i’m sorry,” she cries louder and starts pleading to you all, “jay please.. convince her to save me. jay please we can be happy again. no. no. no! NO! JA–”

the wet sounds of a knife meeting flesh is loud, yujin’s cries become louder and you breakingly sob into heeseung’s shoulder, he grips your body stronger and continues to rub your back. the squelch noise of multiple stabs into yujins poor body ring in your ears. her choked back sobs and cries as her throat fills with her blood causes your sobs to bellow out even louder, heeseung whispers that everything’ll be alright, his constant whispering so soothing you try to focus on them instead of yujin’s dying noises.

it feels like an eternity later but the noises quiet down and all that’s left is silence in the room and the killer’s heavy breathing. “thank you, for allowing me the opportunity to give you and your listeners a show.”

more silence fills the room and you can hear jay’s footsteps in the background pacing once more but you don’t dare look up, an irrational fear that the killer is in the room with you playing in your mind.

heeseung’s eyes darken as he looks down at your shaking body, the small whimpers you let out ignites a fire in his body that he’s only ever gotten killing others and he has stop the smile from forming on his face as he thinks how quick you were to just trust him. his eyes flicker towards jay as he turns off the equipment in the radio show, jay nods once everything is off and they’re no longer live.

the voice speaks up once more and your body stills, having believed the killer dropped the call, “you’re always so sweet y/nnie. so so so kind. the best player for our games. sweet dreams.”

you slowly lift your head in confusion but a small pinch to your neck makes your head drop back down, your eyes blearing together as the only thing you can make out is heeseung’s necklace and white shirt, the feeling of his steady breathing and whatever just stung you luring you into the dark and away from the sick and twisted situation.

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natti-ice · 4 months

Text

Never Been Kissed- Tom Riddle.

Pairing: Tom Riddle x fem!reader

You go out at night to meet a friend, and end up forming a new relationship.

Warnings: OOC Tom riddle, set in the Marauders era!

Author’s note: this is a reuploaded and modified fic I wrote a while ago!

Reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated<3

Sneaking out of your dorm room, you make your way up to the astronomy to meet Sirius Black. This was a normal occurrence, you two would meet every Friday to talk about what happened that week or what's been bothering them and just goof off. You and Sirius have been friends since first year and last year you two started this tradition of meeting weekly. Since you're both in your last year at Hogwarts, it's hard to make time to see each other during normal hours.

Crossing the castle careful not to run into Filch or worse Mrs. Norris... the biggest snitch in town. Thankfully you have never been caught, can't say the same for Sirius, that boy makes so much noise wherever he goes. After climbing the crazy amount of stairs to the top of the tower finally you see the clear night sky. It was truly a beautiful sight, the early November night was chilly but not bad enough for a jacket.

You're always the first one there, arriving at around 11:40 pm, but Sirius shows up fashionably late at midnight, making you wait.

Tonight he seemed to be taking his sweet time because your watch is reading 12:18 am. Maybe he's having a hard time picking out an outfit or got attacked by a wild banshee, maybe he just forgot? You thought to yourself. Knowing him, he probably had some superficial reason as to why he didn't come to see his favorite person at Hogwarts. You waited until 12:40 a whole hour late and finally decided Sirius Black had flaked on you.

It didn't hurt your feelings much since it was the first time it ever happened, but you're a little irritated that you wasted an hour doing nothing. You're a night owl so you aren't very tired, you decide to explore the school for a while. Standing up from the wood-paneled floor, you let your legs take you wherever.

You walk down many corridors, peaking into abandoned classrooms here and there while also keeping an eye out for Filtch. Eventually, you find yourself outside of the castle and decide to go by the lake, you always wondered what it looked like at night. Walking around the lake at night is kinda creepy when you think about it but you also find it oddly calming. You don't stray too far away from the castle just in case you need to make a run for it, you find a tall oak tree and sit under it.

Lost in thought thinking about everything and nothing, you failed to hear the footsteps approaching you rather quickly.

"Good evening." A voice pulls you out of your thoughts, You look up and see it's the one and only Tom Riddle. He was hovering above you, his signature smirk on his face.

"Uh... hi Tom" You reply a little startled

"Why are you out here so late?" He asks calmly

"Oh um, no reason, I normally-" you say when something comes to mind "Hang on, aren't you a prefect?"

"I am." He says with a hint of arrogance and pride in his voice

"You're not gonna write me up are you?" You ask calmly but on the inside you're praying he'll cut you some slack.

"No, no I'm off duty right now." With a slight smirk on his face, he replied "I'm breaking curfew as well" he whispers almost playfully

You chuckle softly, feeling immediately relieved "Alright then... would you like to sit?"

He doesn't reply with words but with actions, he sits down next to you. Not too close but not too far, a respectable distance.

You and Tom weren't close by any means, you had only met this year in potions class. Tom being known as the introverted Slytherin who had a way with the teachers. You who laughed with your friends and wasn't an overachiever but still had good grades nonetheless. Slughorn decided to pair people who he thought would sort of yin Yang each other so that's why you two sat together.

Not speaking, you sat in awkward silence. The wind tussling the trees filling the air, the night got colder since you left your dorm, now you wished you had brought a jacket. You rub your hands up and down your arms trying to warm up

"Are you cold?" Tom asks noticing your slight shivering

"Kinda... yeah" you replied

"Here take my sweater" he said pulling off his grey cable knit sweater

"Oh you don't have to-"

"Just take it... please." He said the last part softer

He had a hard time controlling his temper at times, he was working on not letting little things get to him.

"Thank you." You softly smiled at him, a small silence falls over you two as you put on his sweater. Wanting the conversation to continue you ask, "Did you see professor Dumbledore's outfit today?"

The both of you engrossed yourselves in conversation for 15 minutes straight jumping from topic to topic. Once you started talking it felt like you had been talking to each other for years.

"And then I bit her." You admitted embarrassedly after telling him a story of an altercation you had with a girl a few years ago.

"You bit her?!?" Tom asks with a shocked expression

"I did, I didn't mean to it was just instinct I guess."

"Wow remind me never to do that to you" Tom laughs

"It was so embarrassing it keeps me up at night" you sigh as you remember the embarrassment. "Okay, I have to know something embarrassing about you now." You say trying to divert the attention off of you

"What? Why?" He says with a puzzled look

"I mean, it's only fair"

He sighs "Ok ok fine, umm... I haven't had my first kiss." He swallowed

"I'm being serious Tom." You chuckle not believing him for one second

"So am I." Tom said with a straight face

"Oh." Your laughter immediately stops

"Is that so surprising?" He asks, almost sounding irritated by your response

"Actually yes, yes it is" You stated

"How?" He was genuinely curious about what she thought of him

"I mean, I figured you would've had a girlfriend or something. Like you're attractive and not terribly hard to get along with." You laugh softly while explaining

He suppressed his smile before he spoke next to not let you know how much your words affect him.

"No, no girlfriend. It's not that I'm waiting or anything, the moment just hasn't come I guess. Sometimes I just want to get it over with"

A pause

"I'll do it." You speak, not knowing what came over you

"Excuse me?" He questioned

"I'll kiss you" you offer

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, friends help each other out, right? It's up to you" you say not wanting to push him into anything.

He wondered if he should or not, he always thought you beautiful. He never had the courage to talk to you until he was paired with you in potions. What if I suck at it? What if she doesn't like it and tells all her friends? He thought. No, stop you'll be fine just go for it.

"Okay" he replied

He said yes, he actually said yes. You didn't think he would actually say yes but he did. You were very thankful he did because that would've been embarrassing if he said no.

You scoot closer to him slightly to close the gap between you. You search his eyes trying to find any ounce of doubt, you felt butterflies as what was about to happen hits you completely.

"Ready?" You whisper

"Yeah" he whispers back flicking his eyes down at your lips then back to your gaze. Slowly moving his head forward.

Copying his motion you lean in. As your lips connect your eyes flutters closed, Tom brings his right hand up to gently cradle your face. Rhythmically you two move your mouths as one, in a sweet gentle kiss.

After a few seconds he pulls away, both of your faces feel red hot. Not sure what to do next Tom clears his throat and looks down at his watch.

"It's late... we should probably go back to the castle" he says

"Yeah you're right" you agree feeling embarrassed

Tom rises first, he offers you a hand. You hesitate a moment before accepting it, allowing him to pull you up. Tom hand lingers on yours for a second too long before releasing.

Walking side by side into the castle headed toward your dorm. Tom insisted on dropping you off. You both walked together in a thick silence.

Making it to your common room entrance, it's time to say goodnight.

"I had fun tonight" you spoke first

"Yeah I did too" he smiles very softly

"I uh, I guess this is Goodnight" you smile "Goodnight Tom"

"Goodnight Y/N"Tom turns around walking a few steps before you notice you still have on his sweater.

"Wait, Tom, your sweater." You call out to him

He turns to face her with that same small smile

"Keep it, it looks better on you."Tom walks away.

You smile to yourself and think to yourself I think I like Tom Riddle.

#tom riddle x fem!reader #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x you #tom riddle #tom riddle x y/n #harry potter #tom riddle fluff

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daizymax · 11 months

Text

a fanciful affair | hjs (m)

summary: your sister is getting married, and you are the maid of honor in the wedding party. to your surprise, the only other person in the wedding party is a previous fling whom you would have rather never encountered again, so maybe it's the “love in the air” that makes you agree to round two.

pairing: jisung x fem reader

genre: some angst, smut

word count: 8.9k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: profanity; alcohol consumption; mentions of sibling favoritism; mentions of societal/parental pressures; some heteronormativity; the wedding takes place in a church but there aren’t any heavy religious elements; pessimistic views towards marriage; jisung and the reader have poor communication at first but eventually they start to get on the right track; graphic sexual content; mentions of (past) casual & drunken sex; some dirty talk; a little bit of foot play; vaginal fingering; oral sex; semi-public sex

author’s note: reuploaded from my old blog and rewritten for stray kids bc i wanted to. i hope you enjoy!

( click here to read on AO3 instead )

---

“I’m on my way right now.”

That part is essentially true.

“Yeah, I’m in the car.”

That part is a downright lie.

“Yes! Stop worrying so much. It's just the rehearsal, isn’t it?”

It takes two heartbeats for you to realize your mistake, at which point your heart practically stops. You close your eyes curse your loose lips. You hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud — it just slipped.

Detonation imminent in three... two... one...

“Just the rehearsal?!” Jihye screeches. “Are you kidding me right now? I mean, yeah, I guess it's just the rehearsal. …For my goddamn wedding! It’s only the practice for the most important event of my life. It needs to be perfect, and my Maid of Honor is probably still at home, probably not even dressed yet, telling me it's just the rehearsal. So typical of you, Y/N. Oh, and for the record, Mom and Dad aren't happy about you not being here yet, either.”

You reopen your eyes just to roll them, then return to fishing your car keys out of your bag.

They may not be happy, but it's not like your parents can be surprised by your tardiness. It’s their younger daughter — the perfect student, the perfect athlete, the perfect musician — who is the stable, reliable one.

Sure, you know for a fact that your mother and father love you. They’d do anything for you, give you anything and everything they can. But you’re also well aware that Jihye’s compliant, placating nature takes a lot less of a toll on them. Your parents must be beyond grateful for her. Their nerves are frayed and frazzled from suffering through your rambunctious “phase” that still hasn’t passed.

Your teenage years can be summed up in a series of jaundiced words, whiny protests, and indignant groans from your side of the ring, and stern lectures tapering off to exhausted sighs from your parents’ end. Whenever your attitude became too much, your mother and father would turn their attention to Jihye. She would present them with yet another trophy or academic achievement to soothe their souls and assure them that they were capable of raising a “successful” human being in the eyes of society.

These days, you are keeping your trend alive and well by refusing to conform to your parents’ expectations of settling down in a monogamous heterosexual relationship for the purpose of “stability” and starting a family of your own. And, just like always, your parents have turned to Jihye for comfort. They are spending a fortune on your baby sister’s wedding, a clear display that they favor the direction her life is going.

But Jihye — like most everyone else in the world — deserves happiness, of course, so why not try to make this special day as perfect as possible for her? If she wants to get married, she is certainly entitled to her dream wedding.

Just shy of four months ago, in a show of sibling camaraderie and familial commitment you knew would please your parents, you had promised to be nothing but supportive of all of your sister’s wedding plans, from the humblest of requests to the most exorbitant demands. Your stamina had kept up fairly well, but you are gradually losing steam as the end draws nearer.

Only a little over twenty-four more hours to go, you remind yourself with dull cheer.

Though, if you’re being completely honest, you aren’t even sure that Jihye getting married is such a good idea. At least not so soon, anyway.

She and her boyfriend (fiancé now, of course) had only been dating for eight months when he proposed. Surely that was not a long enough period of time to truly get to know another person, and you blatantly told her as much. But Jihye was over the moon and she couldn’t — wouldn’t — hear of it. She swore up and down that she knew in her bones Chris is definitely the one, which took you aback. Your sister was never one to be overly romantic. Jihye always, always keeps a calm, disciplined, pragmatic head on her shoulders. So even while you are quite skeptical of her declaration of having found her so-called soul mate, you also trust her judgment. She is the smartest person you know, after all.

Besides, you can’t deny that by the rigid standards of society which your parents hold in such high esteem, Chris is everything a husband “should” be. He is charming, handsome, clever, funny, financially stable, and the epitome of etiquette. And, above all, he seems to make Jihye genuinely happy. He hasn’t changed her, but he does get your uptight, austere little sister to giggle and joke and relax and adore life. You have to admit you’d be hard-pressed to find a better partner for her to spend the rest of her life with.

But do they have to be so hasty about it? And do they have to get married on their one-year-anniversary? It makes you want to gag.

Presently, you collect yourself and say, “I know, honey, I'm sorry. Still trying to get my shit together and act like I’m the older sister here.”

Jihye sighs quietly on the other end of the line. When she speaks again, her voice is much calmer and softer. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“Yeah, I know,” you say. “I'll be there in ten minutes, okay? And for the record, I am dressed.”

She giggles, and you know you’re on your way to being forgiven. “Okay. Drive safely, Y/N. See you soon.”

---

Everyone who arrived at the church on time gives you peculiar looks when you join them inside seventeen minutes later.

It takes a moment for you to realize it is because they all dressed up for the rehearsal while you are still clad in a pair of ripped, black denim shorts and a white tank top with the name of your favorite band advertised across your chest. Evidently the universe decided you just needed something else to mentally kick yourself over today. You only hope that Jihye and your parents will be too absorbed in other, more crucial details to waste energy scolding you.

No such luck.

In a flash, your mother is on you like a vulture to carrion.

“I thought we told you this would be semi-formal!” she whisper-hisses in your ear as she hugs you.

“Hi Mom,” you say with an unapologetic smirk. “Hi Dad.”

“Hi pumpkin, glad you could make it,” says your father. He leans down and pecks the air near your temple.

“Oh look, hon!” your mother exclaims to your father. Something behind you has caught her attention. “That must be Chris’s sister and her two kids. When did they get here? Let’s go say hello...”

As quickly as that, your mother ushers your father away to leave you standing alone, but only for a second.

“There you are!”

Oh no, it’s the Bridezilla! you panic playfully, turning towards the sound. Jihye waves excitedly and hurries towards you with quick and dainty stiletto’d steps. Her fiancé follows her at a much more leisurely pace, hands in his pockets.

Chris catches your gaze and smiles. Then he glances at the back of Jihye’s head, gives a slight shrug of his shoulders, and looks to you again with raised eyebrows as if to fondly say, Yeah, she’s been a little much today, but we love her.

You grin back at him from over your sister’s shoulder as she slams her frame into yours and wraps her arms around your neck affectionately. The scent of her signature shampoo makes you think of home.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you say. “I'm the worst.”

“You are not, don’t say that. It’s fine, Y/N.” She might be reassuring herself more than you, but you’ll take it.

Jihye pulls back and squeezes your bare biceps. Her eyes sweep over your outfit in the same judging manner as your mother’s did, but she manages to hold her tongue. She’s trying to keep it together for the rest of the day.

“I’m just glad you’re here now,” she says instead, smiling warmly. “This should all be really simple. The minister already talked me, Chris, Mom, and Dad through most of it. We just need to ‘act it out.’ If we can just find your partner now, I think we’ll be ready to get started...”

By “partner” you know she means whoever Chris elected as his Best Man, whom you have never met before. His and Jihye’s relationship has been such a whirlwind that you’ve never gotten the chance.

It will just be you and the Best Man in the wedding party, which is one decision of Jihye’s for which you are admittedly thankful. Large wedding parties are typically too ostentatious in your opinion. Though you can’t help but wonder if there would have been more people involved if your sister had only given herself more time to plan.

Jihye peers around with sharp eyes. “Darling, have you seen Jisung?”

Chris also makes a cursory inspection around the place at her request.

“Hmm... Well, I don’t- Ah, here he comes now, sweetheart,” he says with a gesture of his hand somewhere to your left and Jihye’s right. You look to where he is indicating and see a man making his way towards the three of you from between the pews.

The immediate thought that registers in your mind is that he is extremely good-looking. Thick dark hair parted slightly off-center, eyes the color of bitter coffee, wide shoulders. The sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up to his elbows, granting a nice view of veined and sinewy forearms. He isn’t especially tall, but his legs are a bit long for his body proportions. His smile is wide but a little nervous for some reason…

… Oh no ...

You’ve seen him somewhere before.

You’ve spoken with him before.

You’ve slept with him before.

And he was one of the worst one-night-stands you have ever had.

It was something around six months ago when you had gone out with a group of friends to one of the city’s hottest night clubs. It was a scene you felt like you were starting to outgrow, to be honest, but your mission success rate had always been one-hundred-percent, and you were in the mood to score that night. The mission was simple: get laid.

It was always easy to find someone to take home or leave with for the night, sometimes scarily so. It was nothing a form-flattering dress, sexy heels, and a boat load of confidence had ever failed to accomplish, in your experience.

It was two shots and half a cocktail into the night when you spotted his friends dragging him to the dance floor. He was laughing, that much was clear. You think you may have even heard the sound of it over the chatter and thumping music. Maybe that was why you continued to watch him.

He was awkward getting started, likely embarrassed, but he was good when he finally let himself go and really dance. His friends were objectively better — their moves were sharper, cleaner — but it was he who held your attention. Even from a distance, you could see his bangs were damp from his exertions and the heat of the suffocating crowd. His face was dewy and glowing. Even while dancing, he didn’t stop laughing and talking with his friends.

“He’s cute,” said one of your girlfriends. “And he looks like he’s having a good time.”

You didn’t need to follow her line of sight to know who she was talking about — you’d already been staring at him for minutes.

It was when you had finally lowered your eyes to the dregs at the bottom of your glass when your friend had leaned in closer and said, “He's looking at you!”

You remember snapping your eyes up to find she was right. The music had changed, and the man didn’t look awkward at all as he stared right back at you. He must have caught you staring.

The events between then and when you entered his apartment were a thrilling mix of drinking, laughter, and shameless flirting. Some memories have been blurred by the shots you consumed, but others you remember vividly. His touch on the small of your back when he ushered you out the door. The heavy cloud of stale smoke in the Uber to his place. The exact angle of the tent in his pants while taking the elevator up to his apartment.

If only the X-rated scenes that transpired after tumbling into his bed were as worthy of such detailed remembrance.

He had been a messy kisser, but that was something easily excused by the healthy stream of alcohol muddying his veins. Unfortunately, it did not help his head skills as you’d hoped it would. His fervent desire to go down on you had initially turned you on greatly, but you soon grew frustrated at the sloppy way his tongue lapped at your folds — never in the right spots, and never with the right consistency. Several times you had climbed close to your climax, only to never quite crest.

Frustrated, you opted for urging him to just fuck you already with the prayer that having him inside of you would be better. And it was better... until he came within five minutes of entering you, pulled out, then slumped to the side.

Unfortunately, he was not the first man you had hooked up with to finish so quickly and leave you unsatisfied, but he was the first one to fall dead asleep within seconds afterward. He didn't even bother to remove the soiled condom from his softening dick first. You also left it right where it was and fled his place as quickly as possible, feeling an odd sense of petty payback while thinking of the gross mess he would have to deal with in the morning.

On your way home, you sulked over the disappointing night that you thought held so much potential. There had been such chemistry between the two of you at first, after all. Sadly, he ended up just being some hot guy you enjoyed flirting with for a couple hours and a pitiful story you could tell your friends about later.

You never expected to see or hear from him again, yet here he is. What a small, funny world.

Except you are far from laughing.

Your heart kicks into overdrive with worry and fear over the impending awkward situation, but you do your best not to let it show on your face. In fact, you resolve not to mention your previous acquaintance with Jisung at all. Definitely not in front of your sister and her fiancé at their wedding rehearsal.

You manage to get your heart rate down to what you estimate to be a smooth one-hundred-ten beats per minute by the time Jisung the Terrible Lay is standing directly in front of you.

“Hi,” he says, still smiling. “I'm Jisung. You must be Jihye’s Maid of Honor?”

Oh, so he’s also going to play dumb. Good.

You nod and introduce yourself (again) while giving his outstretched hand the briefest of shakes.

“So, how do you know Chris?” You mentally applaud yourself for the calm steadiness of your voice.

“Best friends since middle school,” is Jisung’s simple answer.

“I wish you two could have met ahead of time,” Jihye chimes in apologetically. “It would have been nice if you had gotten to know each other at least a little bit before the wedding. I should have made the time for all of us to go out to lunch or something, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s no big deal,” says Jisung. His smiling eyes do not leave yours. “I mean, it’s not like we’re the ones getting married.”

He has the nerve to punctuate his stupid jest with a wink. You pretend to be flustered by forcing out a giggle in harmony with Jihye’s.

Your sister glances back and forth between you and Jisung for a moment, and you can practically see the gears turning in her head. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she took a stab at playing matchmaker at some point today to hook the two of you up.

Already beat you to it, you brood silently.

“Shall we get this show on the road, then?” Chris asks.

“Please,” agrees Jihye. She waves to the minister to signal she is ready, and he nods.

The minister takes his place near the alter and requests that everyone else congregate at the other end of the chapel. Jisung sidles up next to you at a proximity that is a bit too close to just be friendly, but you refuse to acknowledge him by even moving away.

It’s funny how senses work — a whiff of his cologne takes you straight back to that night. Your memory flashes you a vision of you leaning against his arm on wobbly legs, and you suddenly remember the feeling of his warm, slightly callused hands cupping your elbows to steady you. You swear you can even remember the sound of his amused laughter at your inelegant state, and the taste of his beer breath in the air.

You force yourself out of your reverie before you become lost in it.

“It’ll be very simple, everyone,” assures the minister, echoing Jihye’s earlier words. “I think everyone has already been made aware of the seating arrangements, so let’s just get straight into the processional order, and then do a rundown of what the ceremony itself will entail...”

As more instructions are given, Jisung leans into you and murmurs under his breath, “You look nice today.”

A laugh almost escapes you at his unexpected comment. He utters it with the perfect ratio of humor and sincerity.

You manage to play off the smile on your lips by flashing it towards the woman your mother said to be Chris’s sister when you suddenly catch her eye.

“Uh, thanks,” you say to Jisung in an equally hushed tone.

“I mean it,” he insists. “You look every bit as pretty as when I saw you in the club.”

You ignore his compliment and try to move your lips as little as possible as you say, “Can we please not talk about that here?”

Jisung lets out a soft snort of laughter. “Sure, no problem.”

He leaves your side when his turn comes to practice standing behind Chris near the alter, and you follow immediately after to take your place on the opposite side, all too aware of his eyes on you for the remainder of the rehearsal.

---

His eyes are still on you when you take a seat directly across from him at the dinner table.

Jihye, in her mildly Bridezilla-esque way, opted to forgo the big, customary rehearsal dinner with the families in favor of a more intimate meal with just her fiancé, her fiancé’s Best Man, and her Maid of Honor. Your parents were more than a little offended about not being included, and perhaps Chris’s were, too, but who were they to deny a bride’s request on the eve of her wedding day? What they don’t realize is that this is the cordial outing Jihye wished she’d planned for just the four of you months ago. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes when she suggested this arrangement back at the chapel, but you weren’t at liberty to reject her wishes any more than your parents were.

“Ah, I’m so glad we’re doing this now!” Jihye says buoyantly. She even bounces a little in her seat to show how physically overcome with joy she is. She beams back and forth between you, Jisung, Chris, and back to you again. Sometimes you still see your kid sister in her.

“Absolutely,” Chris agrees at once.

“Yeah, this is... lovely,” you decide unenthusiastically. You swivel your eyes back to your menu when your sister shoots you a scolding look that says: Be nice.

“So, have you guys been here before?” Jisung asks the betrothed couple conversationally, waving a hand through the air to show he is talking about the restaurant.

“We came here on our first date, actually,” Jihye answers in a chipper tone. She scrunches her nose at Chris in a cutesy way and proceeds to tell the table all about the memory.

In the spirit of neatly categorizing him back into place amongst your other lousy one-night stands and nothing more, you try not to grant Jisung too much of your attention when you fall into the conversation. It proves to be quite difficult, however. Listening to and observing him in this casual, non-sexually-charged scenario is intriguing. It also brings to mind a thought that had not occurred to you before: Jisung could make a wonderful boyfriend.

You had been so wrapped up in your mission of merely hooking up that night months ago that you never stopped to think about whether or not the person you went home with could be more than a one-night-stand, or could even be dating material.

But Jisung is.

He’s witty but not arrogant. Funny but not obnoxious. Charming but not cheesy. Gorgeous but not conceited. His smile is distracting and compelling. His stories are interesting and comical. His laughter is merry and infectious.

No wonder he’s best friends with perfect-fucking-Chris. But there has to be something wrong with him...

And then you remember there is, in fact, a catch: his bedroom manner.

That thought makes you snort out loud into your drink, and you sweep away the romantic notions clouding your mind.

Some time between dinner and dessert, a local band begins to play music near the dance floor, and Chris whisks a giggling Jihye away from the table. As soon as they are gone, you contemplate making up an excuse to slip out, but Jisung is already speaking to you.

“Good, we’re alone now,” he says.

“Good? How so?” The question spoken with a different tone could sound cute and flirty, but the flat disinterest in your mumbled words is moody and a bit harsh even to your own ears. It doesn’t appear to dampen Jisung’s sunny demeanor, though.

He simply grins and says, “Because now we can talk to each other.”

You shrug your shoulders. “We’ve been talking.”

“Don’t play coy with me, pretty lady,” he says. “You know what I mean. We can talk about the night we met, and why we haven’t met up since.”

You groan and cross your arms over your chest as you lean back in your chair. “I’d really rather not.”

Is he really that clueless? If he truly has no idea what went wrong that night, it is not worth your time explaining it to him. But god damn him for being so handsome and likable otherwise...

“Okay...” Jisung says slowly. “If you don’t want to talk, then how about a dance?”

“What, here? Now? I don't think so.”

“What if I put it this way: we can sit here and talk like adults, or we can dance and I won’t say a word. What do you think?”

The silent dance is definitely the lesser of two evils in your mind, but you are afraid of what other nostalgic feelings could be dredged up while in that intimate situation. Your only real option is to elude the decision he wants you to make.

“You can’t make me do either,” you say.

Jisung’s grin widens. “Is that a challenge? What if I picked you up and carried you to the dance floor?”

You allow yourself a laugh at his joke. “Do you think that would be cute or something? I think everyone else in this restaurant would throw your ass out for trying, especially if I was kicking and screaming the whole way.”

“You wouldn’t dare cause a scene like that, would you?”

“You wouldn't cause a scene like that, would you?” you throw back at him.

“I just might.”

“Do it, then. I dare you.”

The pair of you sit there smirking across the table at each other in a weird sort of stand-off, waiting for the other to make a move. He caves first by breaking the silence.

“Dance with me,” Jisung implores in a soft, honeyed tone. His eyes twinkle brightly. He looks wholly unafraid of being rejected.

God, he really is clueless, isn’t he?

“No, thank you,” you answer shortly, stubbornness getting the better of you.

“Would you dance with me if I was the last man on Earth?”

His follow-up question comes as a surprise. He must be determined to get some sort of positive answer from you tonight.

The best you can do is laugh away the silly question and wish him a good night. When you get up to leave, Jisung offers to at least walk you to your car, and after a moment of hesitation, you agree.

You both say hasty goodbyes to Jihye and Chris on your way out. Jihye pouts a little at your abrupt departure, but she doesn’t complain, and you know it is because she is pleased to see you walking out with Jisung. Everything looks to be going according to plan in her brilliant match-making mind.

When you and Jisung reach your car in the parking lot, you turn to tell him goodbye once again.

“You were really awful in bed,” you find yourself blurting, apparently unable to keep the words bottled a single second longer.

Jisung at least has the decency to flinch at your blunt assessment. The wrinkle of his face is noticeable before he turns his head away and takes a step back from you. You wait for him to retort, but he stays silent.

Unbelievable, you think. He’s not even going to defend himself.

Just as you turn to leave, his fingers close around your wrist. True to the nature of electricity, a spark jolts through you nearly instantaneously. His hold is delicate but it feels as though you are being branded. You whip your head around to regard him curiously.

“Sorry,” he says, letting go of your wrist as quickly as he grabbed it. “Just— please wait. Let me say something. Please.” He emphasizes the pleasantry as if it means all the difference. He takes a deep breath; it goes in shaky and comes out resigned. “I know I was terrible. I could make excuses about being drunk and about you being so fucking pretty that I couldn’t help myself from coming so quickly. Both of which are true, for the record, but they’re shitty excuses and you deserve better because from what I can tell, you’re a pretty great woman. All I can say is that I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Y/N, you don’t even know how sorry I am. And I know you don’t owe me anything, but I would love to have a chance for us to start over.”

At the end of his little speech, he reaches out for your wrist again and gives your hand a little squeeze. It is a soft gesture and over in a flash, but a warm tingle still ripples through your body and doesn’t fade.

You can still feel it on the drive home... in the shower... when you climb into bed.

You can still see his smile reflected in your windshield... against the tiles in your bathroom... in the blackness of your room.

You can still hear his laughter in the lonely car ride... over the drumming of the water in the tub... over the serenade of crickets outside your window.

And you can’t understand why it matters to you so much that he was terrible in bed that one single time.

---

The ceremony went off without a hitch.

The decorated chapel — stuffed with flowers, wreaths, streamers, candles, bows, as well as people donned in silk, lace, velvet, perfume, diamonds, gold and pearls — was a vision worthy of any bridal magazine showcasing the “ideal” wedding. Beyond the floor-length glass windows, the sky was dyed like cotton candy from the fading sunlight. A violinist stood to one side and played light, dreamy tones before and during the processional, then the classic Wedding March for the bride’s entrance.

Jihye played the part of the radiant bride beautifully. Seeing your little sister’s eyes coated in glassy tears as she walked down the aisle on your father’s arm, then hearing the tremble in her normally steady and authoritative voice as she vowed her devotion to another person (all while wearing a several-thousand-dollar dress meant for this one single occasion) was almost enough to make you cry, too.

Several times during the vows, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking across the aisle just to see the beautiful smile on Jisung’s face. It had been there since he met you at the other end of the aisle and presented you with a beautiful, white orchid corsage to match the boutonniere pinned to his lapel. When he slipped it onto your wrist, the touch of his slender fingers started to rekindle the spark the two of you had had months ago.

“You look beautiful,” Jisung had whispered in your ear. “You are beautiful.”

The same could have been said of him in his dapper black tuxedo and bow tie, but you could not locate your voice to tell him as much.

The nervous flutter of your heart was made visibly apparent in the way your fingers trembled when he lifted them to kiss the back of your hand, but Jisung couldn’t take notice because his gaze was fixed on your face, and yours was fixed on his in return. The pools of his eyes were so easy to drown in.

In that moment, immersed in the whimsical atmosphere all around you, you were prepared to give him the answer you couldn’t give him last night when he proposed to starting over. You were ready to tell him you had been foolish for not giving him a second thought all these months, and you would appreciate a do-over very much.

But then Jihye was hissing from somewhere off to the side for Jisung to get moving, and you lost the chance to speak your wishes. Something about the small bounce in Jisung’s gait down the aisle told you he already knew what you had wanted to say, however.

Now, here at the reception, it is time to forget about such sappy things and get drunk.

If only the waiter with the tray of champagne would circle back around so you don’t have to go chasing after him and start up some “alcoholic spinster” rumors for your family to enjoy at your expense.

“Hi!” Jisung appears at your side like a miracle, bearing a knowing grin and two flutes of the same champagne you were just ogling. “You looked like you needed a drink,” he says, letting you lift one from between his fingers.

Your lips are already around the edge of the glass. “Was it that obvious?”

“A little, but hey, who cares? It’s a party.” He pauses for a sip of his own drink, then says, “I liked your Maid of Honor speech, by the way. The story about your little car surfing adventure was hilarious.”

“Oh, thanks,” you giggle. “I’m afraid my parents didn’t find it quite as funny.”

“Well, no, but they wouldn’t, would they?” Jisung laughs. “But they did like the part when you said that Jihye getting married is far braver than all your teenage stunts combined.”

You hum in agreement. “Hm. Yeah. Luckily, they don’t seem to know the difference between bravery and stupidity.”

Jisung’s grin tilts lopsidedly at your comment. “Not a big, uh, proponent of the whole marriage thing, I take it?”

“Nah,” you dismiss at once. “There are billions and billions of people in this world, and folks want to tie themselves to just one with a sheet of paper recognized by the government? To some person they met in a teeny tiny corner of the world without ever having stepped outside of the thirty mile radius they’ve lived in for their entire life?” The bubbly alcohol in your glass sloshes haphazardly as your hands become animated, but you pay it no mind. “And so many marriages just end in divorce anyway, so then people have to go through that whole fuckery. Lose half their money, half their shit. And the things they do get to keep, they have to look at and get a big fat reminder of how they picked it out with their ex-spouse during a time when they thought they were in love. They probably went to the store that day hand-in-hand and had no idea things were going to totally implode spectacularly—”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Jisung interrupts, laughing loudly. “How drunk are you right now? Maybe I should take that back...”

“I'm not drunk!” you say hotly and a bit too loudly, jerking your glass away even though he isn’t actually reaching for it. A few nearby heads turn in your direction, so you lower your voice and grit, “I’m not drunk.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” The expression on his face does not look particularly sorry. “Can I ask you something else without you going off on a rant?”

You deflate with a sigh, calming yourself before saying, “Sure, what is it?”

“Dance with me?”

You force the corners of your mouth down a bit to prevent your smile from growing too wide at the sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Sure.”

He does take your drink now, setting it aside with his before taking your hand next.

If people are watching the two of you when you step onto the dance floor together, you are oblivious. The only thing you can focus on is the warmth of Jisung’s other hand radiating through your dress from its place on the small of your back when he pulls you in close, and the solid plane of his chest heating you from the front. You absently wonder if he can feel your heart racing. You think maybe you can feel his.

“I haven’t looked around in a minute,” Jisung says quietly when you both settle into the soft rhythm of the music and begin gently rotating. “But am I suddenly the last man on Earth?”

An ungraceful bark of laughter pops out of your mouth. Too late, you cover your lips with your fingers, but Jisung does not accept the movement of your hand. He reaches and brings it back to his shoulder, then gives it a few pats as if to embed it firmly into place.

“You’re not the last man on Earth,” you admit without looking at him.

“So you want to dance with me?” he presses, playfully ducking his face into your view to force your eyes on him.

You exhale a softer laugh. “I do.”

“Funny. Your sister said those exact same words a little while ago.”

“So did your best friend.”

Jisung curls his lips down and protrudes his chin thoughtfully. “I guess that makes them both stupid.”

“Or brave,” you argue matter-of-factly.

“Yeah. Or brave.”

A few silent twirls go by before he speaks up again.

“I have another question,” he begins slowly, then goes quiet for long enough that you eventually look at him questioningly. The resident smile is gone from his face because his lips are pressed together rather seriously.

“What’s your question, Jisung?”

He parts his tight lips and whispers, “If I were to kiss you right now, would you consider it brave or stupid of me?”

If he could not adequately feel your heartbeat a moment ago, he certainly should be able to now.

You take a moment to consider your words. “Neither,” you finally decide. “I’d consider it cliché.”

“Ah. Well, what do you think about cliché, then?”

You swallow hard. “I think I can handle it.”

To put that statement to the test, Jisung suddenly dips you backwards, and you squeak in surprise. He keeps his eyes locked on yours while waiting to see if you will protest. After a long enough moment of receiving no resistance, he leans in after you and matches his grinning lips to yours.

Several whistles and cat calls ring out all around you. The supportive sounds encourage Jisung to lift you back upright and continue the kiss ardently, which you reciprocate in full. Instead of simply enjoying it, your brain chooses to analyze the kiss and how much it differs from the last time you did this with him — in a good way. Either he has been practicing or alcohol completely abolishes all sense of his coordination.

With that thought, you start to laugh until you are unable to maintain contact with his lips. Jisung celebrates your laughter by beaming and squeezing you tightly.

The audience of people crowded around begins to applaud at the endearing display. Even the bride and groom — the people who should be the sole center of attention all night — are standing on the sidelines clapping their approval. It’s as if none of them have ever witnessed two people kissing before.

Then you see the unmistakably hopeful look on your parents’ faces, and it dawns on you that they are excited by the prospect of you entering an actual relationship with someone. You know how their minds work. No doubt they are already going so far as marrying you off to Jisung despite the fact that he is essentially a stranger to them — and to you.

Those bothersome thoughts threaten to spoil your cheerful mood, but Jisung reels you back in by pecking your mouth chastely. It feels like the punctuation to an unspoken agreement to a new start.

You gift him with a flattered smile and allow him to lead you back into another dance, and everyone else resumes their own business.

The fast pace of the next song immediately reminds you of the infamous night that has been on your mind ever since Jisung reappeared in your life yesterday. The way his eyes are following the motion of your hips tells you that he is remembering, too. With just a few well-timed shakes and some not-so-accidental brushes, things quickly alter from sweet and charming to hot and tense.

Jisung brings his lips to the edge of your cheek and whispers towards your earlobe, “You’re giving me some dangerous thoughts right now, baby.”

Boldly, you entreat, “Tell me.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’m thinking about asking if you want to get out of here, but I don’t think I should.”

The scent of his cologne tinged with just a hint of sweat is positively intoxicating. The tips of his fingers grazing along your hips makes you lightheaded in the best possible way.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Well, you see, the last time I left with you like that, I screwed up and didn’t see you for six months,” he tells you. The smile on his face is a bit forlorn. “I don’t want to make the mistake of sleeping with you too soon again. I want this new start to be perfect.”

His words are wise. You put your hormones on pause for a moment and envision yourself going on sweet dates with him in all the usual places — to the beach, to an amusement park, to his favorite café — before one night the two of you finally make love to each other in a perfectly romantic setting.

As darling as all of that would be, you have no patience for it now. There will be plenty of time for those fanciful scenarios later. Or at least, that’s what you’re planning on.

“The problem wasn’t us sleeping together too soon,” you explain. “The problem was that you were bad.” You pinch his earlobe to let him know you mean what you say, but in a playful manner.

Jisung snorts and shakes his head away from your fingers. He seems unwilling to say more on the matter, so you have to continue and make your desires known.

“Jisung, I’ve been waiting for months to get laid at this reception, and you’re the only one here I’m interested in following through with now,” you level seriously. “Besides, if we’re starting over, I need to know that the first time was a fluke.”

“It was a fluke,” he insists.

You press your lips to the shell of his ear. “So prove it.”

When you pull back, there is still a somewhat hesitant expression on Jisung’s face, but the desire in his eyes is growing; the brown that used to be there is being swallowed by black lust. His gentlemanly resolve is crumbling.

“Can the Best Man and the Maid of Honor even leave the reception?” he worries, still clinging to his better judgment.

Good question. Honestly, you have no idea what the standard protocol is for the wedding party’s attendance after the ceremony is finished and the obligatory speeches have already been made at the reception.

You contemplate just going to Jihye and telling her outright that you and Jisung are leaving. Certainly she has no further need for you to be here. But then again, there is probably something more you are supposed to be doing for her. Helping with the gifts or cleaning up the mess afterward, perhaps. But didn’t she hire a crew for that? You can’t remember. In any case, you can hear her incredulous tone now, scolding you for wanting to duck out early on her big night just to hook up with Jisung — even though she wants you two to become a thing.

You gaze around and spot your sister sitting beside her new husband at their specially reserved table, feeding him a bite from her fork and laughing. She seems distracted enough for the moment.

“We don’t have to leave. We just have to be quick,” you say, taking Jisung’s hand and tugging determinedly. “Come on.”

You half expect him to remain rooted in place and hiss another anxious remark at you, but he comes along willingly. The things you assume of him never go as expected; you should probably stop assuming things altogether.

Without stopping to survey the curious looks that you know are being shot in your direction — because it is clear that you are moving with a purpose and Jisung is along for the ride — you lead Jisung straight to a side room containing the gifts you were just wondering about and shut the door behind you. Not a second is spared before you grab the flaps of Jisung’s tuxedo jacket to pull him in for a more heated kiss.

“This is crazy,” he laughs after you release his lips again with a wet suction noise.

It is crazy, but it is also too thrilling to stop.

“Well, it wouldn’t be my sister’s wedding reception if I didn’t try to cause some sort of scandal,” you joke off-handedly.

“You mean your speech wasn’t inappropriate enou- hnghh, holy shit.” Jisung’s laughter dries up when he witnesses you sliding your panties off from beneath your dress. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps.

With a smirk, you say, “Come on, we have to be quick, remember?”

Your fingers work quickly at unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. Your hand slides past the band of his underwear to find him not very hard, but not completely soft, either. His breath hitches at your touch.

“Ffffuck,” Jisung breathes. “You really want it, don’t you?”

You grin wickedly. “Mhm. Really want to be fucked the way I should have been months ago.”

You give his cock a squeeze, earning a full moan from him. You rub him up and down as best as you can from the angle permitted by the confines of his clothing. His cock stiffens rapidly and a lustful sigh overflows from his mouth.

With a few quick shifts and yanks, you guide his erection out of his pants and boxers and drop to your knees in front of it. You don’t remember it being quite this thick, but you’re pleased. It looks so delicious. The head is ruby red, and the vein curving around the smooth underside looks fit to burst.

Jisung gasps at the first kittenish lick you draw on the slit of his cock. One of his hands comes down to hold the side of your face. You peer up at him through your lashes and smile as you press the head of his cock against the tip of your tongue. He groans lowly in his chest at the sight.

“We don’t have much time,” he tells you as though you haven’t already told him as much. His voice is already getting husky. “So we’d better make the most of it.”

Unexpectedly, he curls his hands around your arms and pulls you back up to your feet. The action utterly confuses you. No man you have ever been with has ever stopped a blowjob before it has even started, and there is no way he could have misinterpreted your intentions. Is he afraid of coming too soon again? That’s certainly a likely possibility.

Before you can question him, Jisung takes the back of your head and brings you in so he can slant his mouth over yours. The force with which he crashes into you is enough to bruise your delicate lips, but oddly enough, you don’t mind. The sincere passion he is pouring into the kiss is burning you from the inside out. He moves to assault your neck next, freeing you to speak.

“Jisung, what—” You clear the rasp in your voice and start again. “Why did you stop me? I wanted to—”

He interrupts you with a moan that rattles against your collarbone. “I know, baby. As much as I would love to have your lips around my dick, the point of this is to make you feel good right now. We can worry about me later.”

He breaks away from your skin to glance around the room. There isn’t exactly a four-poster bed in the vicinity, so he decides the best option is to sit you down in a small chair. Either that or the gift table, but that feels like it would be a bit too disrespectful to Jihye and Chris.

Jisung kneels in front of you and removes your heels carefully as you take a seat. His thumbs rub gentle circles into your smooth skin as he shuffles closer to you on his knees and leans in to peck your lips twice. His touch is sweet and relaxing, letting you know without words that he is going to take good care of you. The anticipation is nearly overwhelming.

Soon, Jisung’s fingers trail upwards, following the muscled lines of your calves under the skirt of your dress. You swiftly drag the expensive fabric up over your thighs to give him unfettered access. He grins at you then looks down at the view you have so generously granted him. His hands creep higher and higher on your legs until he is tantalizingly close to where you need him most.

“Jisung, we can’t take too long,” you remind him impatiently. The whine in your tone is apparent, but you don’t care.

“I know, baby,” he says again. One of his index fingers skims just over the lips of your pussy. “Indulge me for just a minute, please.”

He distracts you with another kiss, and you meet his probing tongue with a whimper of need. Since using words isn’t an option at the moment, you try to convey in other ways how much you need him right now. You pull on his arms and at his hair. Your feet glide along his legs and he opens them wider. When your toes bump against his cock still standing out from his pants, he groans loudly against your mouth, and you can tell it is not out of pain. He likes it. Emboldened by his reaction, you press the ball of your foot directly against his cockhead with a bit more pressure.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he pants against your chin. “I bet you’re good with your feet.”

Honestly, you have never tried serious foot play, but he sounds turned on enough to make you want to try.

“Maybe you’ll find out,” you tease with a giggle. “Right now I want you to prove you’re good with your fingers.”

“You got it, baby.”

He finally pushes a thick finger between your folds and curls it, beckoning a gasp into your lungs. Your hips automatically jerk forward to seek more friction. Jisung obliges your body language and buries a second finger deep inside your walls alongside the first.

“Shit. Your pussy is even tighter than I remember.”

“Have you thought about my pussy a lot these past six months?”

“Absolutely,” Jisung admits freely, and you have no reply for his honesty because you were not expecting it.

He draws his fingers out to just the tips, then plunges them back inside without delay. He repeats the motion again and again, gradually increasing the pace. The sounds coming from your core are sticky and obscene. Your eyes roll back in your head, and your head falls back as well.

“Fuck, just like that,” you urge breathlessly. “Touch my clit, too, please. I need more.”

Jisung lets out a hungry moan. Instead of using his thumb like you figured he would, he bends forward to brush his tongue against your swollen bud. Your thighs twitch reflexively at the sudden contact on your most sensitive area, ready to either snap against his head to stop him or fall away even further to invite him in. They decide on the latter.

A whimper squeezes out of you, along with a string of barely coherent encouragements.

“Oh God, J-Jisung. Yes, yes, y-yes! Like that. Don’t stop. F-Fingers a little s-slower. Tongue faster. Please. Oh f-fuck, yes!”

He redistributes his weight on his knees to get comfortable between your legs, then hastens to follow your commands. His tongue sharpens and digs relentlessly into your clit. The points of his fingers graze against your g-spot with each deliberate stroke, and that’s when you twist your fingers in his hair.

“God d-damn it, Jisung,” you moan. Your body starts to writhe uncontrollably, trying to ride his face to your finish.

“Yes, baby,” he coos sweetly, face still planted firmly against you. The vibrations of his voice tickle your clit gloriously, and you can feel his grin against your hot skin. “You taste like fucking heaven. Is this good? Does it feel good?”

“Yes, fuck, oh, fuck, k-keep going.”

He hums and continues with renewed vigor.

Every time his fingers drag backwards from your pussy, you suck them right back in with a tight squeeze. His lips wrap around your clit and his tongue slips under the hood. The ministrations on your raw bundle of nerves drive you straight to the edge of madness.

Your fingers curl against Jisung’s warm scalp. Your toes curl against the cold tile floor. Your back stiffens to keep your center firmly locked against Jisung’s face. Your breath hangs suspended in your chest for a long moment...

...then suddenly you’re exhaling it with an expletive cry of satisfaction when you tumble over that blissful edge. Spasms wrack through your body repeatedly as it struggles to harbor the intense pleasure crashing over you.

Somewhere in your electrified mind, you are aware of Jisung’s other hand on one of your hips, trying to pin you back down to the chair. You let go of him and move back quickly when you realize you must be suffocating him, and his fingers slip from you in the process with one last parting squelch. When you look down at him, you can clearly see the glisten of your juices slathered over his nose and chin and mouth.

His grinning mouth.

“I think you enjoyed that, baby,” he comments proudly, “considering I just about drowned just now.”

You huff out a laugh and shake your fuzzy head. “Fucking hell, Jisung. Why the fuck couldn’t you have been that good the first time?”

“I wish I could have been. Then I would’ve been doing this with you this whole time.”

“Oh, you think so? You think we would’ve stayed together up to now?” You grin at him and push your toes against his shoulder playfully.

He doesn’t answer you right away. First, he takes your foot and brings it up to his sticky lips to kiss the pads of your toes gently, one by one. Your smile falters when your mouth droops open at the strangely erotic sight, but his smile only widens.

“Yeah, that’s what I think, pretty lady.”

His presumptuous yet sweet admission leaves you speechless. All you can do is tug him towards you to kiss him with newfound admiration, heedless of the mess still glued to his lips. Truthfully, you relish the taste of yourself on him; you think of it as proof of the capabilities you thought he lacked, and you have never been happier to stand corrected.

Jisung is the one to break away first, still smiling. “Can I have one more dance before I take you out of here to make you come some more? Preferably on my dick this time?”

The bizarre combination of endearing and lewd words makes you laugh heartily. What a surprising man he has turned out to be.

“Absolutely.”

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

#han smut #jisung smut #han jisung smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #han x reader #jisung x reader #han jisung x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #a fanciful affair #daizymax

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hidingoutbackstage · 4 months

Note

Still in shock that they took all the songs down BECAUSE??? IT JUST LEAVES US WITH MORE QUESTIONS THAN ANSWERS???

I KNOW?? Like okay here’s everything weird about the situation because it’s only 7 am I feel like I need lay it all out to process this. So, timeline time I guess! (I combined several images into one a few times bc of Tumblr’s 10 image per post limit but I hope everything still makes sense)

Starting January 5, the Ever After High Spotify (and Apple Music I guess although I was only checking the Spotify) began posting songs as singles. The first was called “Can’t Get Me Down” which had a screenshot of Raven from the episode “Rebel’s Got Talent” as the album cover.

Following that, two weeks later, on January 19, we get a song called “Unbreakable” which also has a screenshot of Raven from the show, from the “The Tale of Legacy Day” episode. At this point the songs are gaining attraction because what the heck, Ever After High content in 2024? Is it coming back?

People are also pointing out that Mattel renewed their licenses for some Ever After High stuff, but also companies do that all the time and I think they did it specifically for their webisodes so that they couldn’t be reposted/reuploaded to YouTube or whatever by a party that wasn’t them. It makes sense (Also I can’t actually verify which if any things they did actually renew because all I heard was people claiming that I never saw any proof)

Also at this point, both songs have given Allison Bloom composing credit, which fans thought made sense since Allison Bloom was also a composer on Ever After High content before

ONE week after “Unbreakable”, instead of two like last time, on January 26, we get the third song, Destiny, with a screenshot of promo art for the Epic Winter storyline of Briar, Crystal, Ashlynn, and Rosabella. Once again, composing credit to Allison Bloom. People are so confused, lots of people are reaching out to Mattel’s social media trying to make sense of it all. Also this song in particular had the trademark misspelled as “Ever Aftert High” which could be the reason for something happening later

Actually, before Destiny was released, someone on Reddit apparently got in contact with Bloom and asked if she had any insight as to what was up with the songs, and Bloom said, “I honestly don't know because I am not currently working on the project. Your note was the first I had heard of it. Wish I had more to tell you!” which led people to suspect Mattel was making AI generated songs but using Bloom’s name to release them, possibly because they still had a contract with her (though that is purely speculation)

Same Redditor also emailed Mattel customer support, who gave a very corporate response, but in their email used the phrase “AI-generated songs uploaded to the EAH Spotify list” blatantly calling the music AI generated in this email

One week after “Destiny”, on February 2, we get “Brand New Day” which is another single with another screenshot from the show as the cover, this time of Crystal Winter from the Epic Winter episodes

Three days after “Brand New Day”, on February 5, people realize that “Destiny” has been taken down, but ONLY Destiny. Some speculate this is due to the typo in the trademark upon release. The rest stay up

One week after “Brand New Day”, on February 9, the song “Forever Friends” with art of Raven and Apple as the cover is uploaded

Later that same day on February 9, “Forever Friends” and all the other remaining songs, “Brand New Day”, “Unbreakable”, and “Can’t Get Me Down” have all been taken off the Spotify (and Apple Music) list

#sid rants #sid answers #thesilliestofgals #ever after high #THIS IS SO CONFUSING #i hope this timeline makes sense lol

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cowboydisaster · 1 year

Text

Blessed are the Merciful...

Part one of "Blessed are the Merciful, for They Shall Obtain Mercy" a collab with @margowritesthings; read part two here

reupload, originally posted on 12 december, 2022

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: Arthur loses his hope, his love and his purpose; Arthur loses you

a/n: Ily Margo, so lucky to be able to collab with you. Writing this broke my heart, but I love it so much.

warnings: death, blood, gore, reader death, loss, grief

mood board by @margowritesthings

You pop out from your cover, an old bunch of wooden boxes that had been stacked outside of Shady Belle, and put two bullets into the last damn O'driscoll. Your dirty cattleman is holstered at your side then as you scan the treeline searching for any more of Colm's men in the forest. You can feel as the adrenaline slowly leaves your body.

The O'driscolls had caught you all completely off guard. Your body shakes slightly as the fear and adrenaline ebb away- then your mind returns to the present. Is everyone okay? Was anyone hurt? You're not sure where Arthur has ended up, he ran out of the manor with you, but parted ways once you made it outside. Quickly, you whip around and search for Arthur, trying not to look at the dead bodies that litter the yard.

Your eyes scan the house and the camp set up outside until you see him running out of the pavilion towards you.

"Arthur!" You call out, choking back tears now that you see he is alright.

Just twenty minutes ago, you and Arthur were in his bed enjoying the quiet morning. Your bodies were snuggled tightly together as you happily admired the ring Arthur had given you a few weeks prior. The sweet smell of violets hung in the air from the fresh bouquet Arthur had picked for you. It seemed like a perfect morning. The two of you were chatting about the future when Mary Beth's blood curdling scream caused you to jolt out of bed and rush outside.

But now that it's over, Arthur envelops you in a tight hug, curling one hand around your waist as the other holds the back of your head. You cling to him, hands wrapped in his shirt as you reel over the past half hour. Your face is tucked into his chest as you hold back sobs. Kieran was gone, you had not made it back into the house when Dutch called for everyone. You thought you were going to die. You inhale shakily, enveloping yourself in the scent of tobacco and mint that followed Arthur.

"Sweetheart when you didn't make it back inside the house, I thought-"

When you hear the pain in his voice, you're quick to reassure him.

"I'm okay, Arthur, I'm alright."

He presses a kiss to your head as you peek over. A sickening feeling sets in your stomach at the sight of Kierans decapitated head lying in the grass. As your eyes make their way back to Arthur, you notice that he is bleeding. It's not bad, but it could have been. If the bullet was off by 10 inches or so Arthur would be dead.

Your left hand that adorns your new engagement ring pulls the fabric back to check the wound. It's a graze, situated about 6 inches down from his shoulder blade. His shirt is ripped up around the bullet path that is slowly leaking red down his shirt. Arthur pulls his arm back a little in an attempt to brush off the wound.

"You're hurt." You frown and look up to his green eyes.

He goes to speak, but he is cut off when a yell erupts from the woods at your back.

"You shot my brother, you bastards!"

When you hear the yell, everything slows down. Arthur is still holding you against his chest as he reaches and unholsters his cattleman to shoot the remaining O'driscoll. At first he can't see where the man is. Arthur searches the forest through the sight of his revolver, and once he sees movement he pulls the trigger.

Though, unfortunately the O'driscoll also fires his weapon, and both bullets hit their targets with accuracy. Arthur's bullet lodges directly into the O'driscolls chest, causing him to hit the ground. The O'driscoll's bullet lands directly into your mid back, ripping through your spine and not stopping until it hits the titanium of your belt buckle.

The force of the bullet causes you to jump against Arthur. A shooting pain explodes in your middle. It is a burning, searing pain unlike you've felt before. Your vision immediately blurs and your ears. Your feet drag in the dirt as you stumble backwards, away from Arthur and look down to the mangled wound in your back and gut. Instinctually you gasp when your hands come up from your middle. They are soaked red.

Arthur had assumed that you were jolted by the recoil from his own gun, and it isn't until you back away that his world stops. Blood soaks the front of your shirt, your belt buckle is slightly mangled from the bullet that is lodged into it. Your hands pull away from the material of your shirt, covered in scarlett liquid. It feels so slow, though it is only a millisecond as your knees crumple and you fall to the ground.

You watch in horror as Arthur runs and slides down beside you, his hands frantically trying to stop the blood that gushes from the bullet hole in your gut.

"No no no, you're gonna be okay. It's gonna be alright."

Arthur's voice is hushed and fast, you've never seen him look so afraid. At his words your face crumples and you cry out. Both fear and pain are surging through you as he screams towards the house.

"JOHN!" you flinch as Arthur yells, it's so loud over the ringing in your head.

"CHARLES! JOHN! Dammit, someone go get Grimshaw and hurry!" Arthur screams once again.

You hear John yell something to Arthur, his distinct, raspy voice is getting foggier as the ringing in your ears grows louder.

You yell out in pain as Arthur scoops you up and runs toward Shady Belle. His running causes jolts of pain to shoot through your core, and you groan and cry at the pulling.

"I know, I know it hurts, I'm sorry." Arthur tells you as he makes it through the doors of Shady Belle.

Suddenly a few people are rushing around Arthur, asking him questions and gasping at the sight of you. Someone beside you begins to cry. Karen? You want to comfort her but you can't find your voice and your eyes are locked onto the ceiling above you.

"Mr. Morgan get her upstairs, on the bed now! Tilly get towels. Karen, bring everything you can carry from Strauss' wagon!" It's Ms. Grimshaw, and your hand reaches out, searching for her. You know she will help, she has to.

"Arthur?" You're scared, moving your hand to Arthur's cheek and frowning at the blood stained ring on your finger.

He jogs up the stairs, turning once he reaches the top to take you to his room.

"I'm here sweetheart, I'm here. You're gonna be okay. Gonna be just fine."

The fire in your abdomen radiates throughout your entire body as you gasp, looking up to your future husband. He can't bear to look at you, instead he focuses on getting you to the bed.

"Arthur- it hurts." your voice sounds foreign to you as you cry, tightly gripping the arm that is wrapped around you.

"I know baby, I-" Arthur wants to say he will make it go away, but as he places you on the bed, the sheets turn dark crimson and he's not sure of how to respond.

Ms. Grimshaw comes into your view, grabbing towels from the girls behind her and pushing them onto your abdomen. Fire surges through you, and you grip onto Arthur's hand as Susan unbuttons your shirt a few clasps to see the wound.

You know as soon as you see her face that nothing can be done. Tears stream down your stained red cheeks. Her mouth is slightly agape as her hands hover over you.

"I'm sorry Mr. Morgan… there's too much blood, I’ll never be able to stitch this up, there's too much damage." She talks quietly, like she doesn't want you to hear. For the first time, you actually see Susan shed tears. Over you? How funny that seems now. Arthur’s world stops spinning. A fear grasps his heart, quickly replaced by a rage because you’re dying and he can’t stop it. God is a cruel bastard, he’s sure. Everything that Arthur’s done, he wishes it were him on the bed and not you.

"No-!" Arthur yells, slamming his fist into the plush bed. He turns to Grimshaw and looks at her with rage, but underneath the anger there is hurt, fear, pain.

Arthur moves in front of Grimshaw, pushing her out of the way as he pulls the towels over your wound, soaking up the blood. You realize that the pain is being replaced by numbness. It doesn't burn anymore, the pain and the fire dissipate to nothing as you look at Arthur's teary eyes.

"Arthur?" you ask, feeling a coldness creep up your spine.

He looks to you, stopping his hands for a moment. You look so weak, so fragile. The life is draining from your eyes by the second and Arthur doesn't know how to stop it.

"I'm not gonna make it out of this one, am I?"

Arthur looks at your face for a few moments, he sees the fear in your eyes and his jaw sets.

"No, no– you’re gonna be just fine. Hang on darlin'. Just hang on." Arthur's eyes are filled with tears that he doesn't allow to fall. Your heart breaks, seeing him like this. He is so open, so raw before you.

You take a deep breath, wincing at how it pulls at your stomach. Shakily, you reach down and slip your engagement ring off of your finger. It's bloody as you move it towards Arthur, waiting for him to take it.

When Arthur notices what you are holding out to him he shakes his head profusely.

"No-" He starts but you cut him off, you hold the ring out, against his chest.

"Arthur, please take it. I can't use it where I'm goin' and I want you to keep it. It's so special to me please- I don't want it going in the ground with me." You whisper, eyes watching as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Very shakily, Arthur takes the ring from your hand and he places it into his pocket.

Arthur takes your hand and squeezes it tightly. He holds your intertwined hands against his forehead. Your attention moves to the door where you see other gang members standing in the doorway. Everyone looks shocked, some are crying. When you see John you call out to him.

"John?" You ask, your voice growing weaker by the second.

The cowboy steps forward, unsure, but prepared to do whatever he can to help you.

"Please, take care of him for me. I'm begging you, John. You know he won't take care of himself." You choke back your tears as John offers you a deep nod. He steps backwards then returns to the others with an indescribable pain on his face. He's had to comfort Arthur in this way too many times. Arthur has lost everything- and now he's losing you.

You return your attention to Arthur, who is still frantically attempting to stop the blood. It has slowed, but too much has been lost. You know what is to happen, you've made peace.

"I love you Arthur, y'know that?" One of your hands comes up and you brush that one strand of hair behind his ear.

He moves closer to your face, holding your arms, trying to get you to stay with him.

"No, no God dammit-" Arthur says. There is an immeasurable amount of pain in his voice.

"It'll be okay. I'll be okay." You whisper to your lover.

He doesn't attempt to hold back his tears anymore, they fall freely as he sobs. The gang members stand in shock at the door, never having seen Arthur in so much pain. John forces everyone to leave, allowing Arthur the time he needs.

"Sweetheart, please. I can't do this without you." Arthur begs. His warm tears are landing on your chest.

You struggle to keep your eyes open. You want to stay watching Arthur, you want to comfort him but you're so tired. Your eyes eventually slip closed as you whisper one last line to Arthur.

"I love you, more than anythin'. Thank you Arthur." Your voice is so quiet and meek that you can barely hear it.

Your hand is still gripping his as you exhale deeply. When the breath leaves your lungs, you do not inhale again. You simply drift off, like sleep.

Arthur yells out, cries, screams. But it is so distant. He is getting farther away. You can't feel his hand on yours anymore- you can't feel anything.

The blackness that you see morphs. At first you see a cloudy light, like fog. In the fog you start to see memories. Your childhood flashes before you then. In the bright lights you see your parents laughing and smiling, the creek by your house that you played in, your first horse.

The memories shift to adulthood then, when the gang picked you up at the lowest point in your life, how the women took you in and accepted you. You see Jack, Abigail, John, Sadie, Charles…

Arthur.

When he admitted his love to you by the lake, his lips against yours, his body rocking against you in the middle of the night. You see him smiling up at you on one knee, holding a beautiful ring to you. You see him holding you when you cry. You remember his face when you found him at Lone Mule Stead, battered and beaten and how your face crumpled. How he held you against him and promised you a home, a marriage and a future, one that now would never be. The last image you see is a memory, one of you and Arthur together at a field in Big Valley lying in the grass. Flowers sway around you both as you lie entangled in the grass, smiling and laughing.

The images fade to black as your pain fades to numbness. Everything is cold and you can no longer feel Arthur's hands on your body. You can't hear as he screams, crying out and begging for you to return to him. Because you are already gone. You're already gone as Arthur slides down against the wall, bloodied hands clinging to your red stained ring. You're already gone, when for the first time in many years, Arthur sobs. The violets remain in the vase by your bed, corpses litter the yard of Shady Belle. The shower of bullets has stopped, and now the only sound that can be heard is the low, heart shattering cries of a broken, gutted man.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur

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otomiyaa · 1 month

Text

Second Declaration of Love

Hayato x Ryuuichi

Collab with @ticklygiggles

A/N: I really miss this anime so much! We really poured all our love for it into this fic didn't we :)

Summary: Reupload from 14 Feb 2019 - Ryuuichi and Hayato are dating. Boyfriends. A couple. Then why is it so hard for Ryuuichi to give his boyfriend his homemade chocolate… on Valentines Day? (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 4K

The bag hanging on his shoulder feels heavier than ever as he slowly makes his way out of the daycare and to his classroom.

Everywhere around him is… red. Red-heart balloons, red-heart chocolate boxes, red-faced girls bowing their heads giving a boy homemade chocolate - everything red.

Even Ryuuichi feels a bit red himself, his heart beating fast against his ribs, making a sudden flush begin to creep up from his neck to the tip of his ears as he gets more and more close to his classroom. His hands are getting sweaty and his legs feel wobbly as he walks, barely able to hold his light weight.

He was so nervous. He spent most of last night making chocolate just for that person. He wondered how would he react;

Would he be angry? Happy? Would he punch him in the face for doing something like- Would he actually punch him in the face for doing something like this?! Ryuuichi nearly trips over his own feet at the thought clouding his head.

They’ve barely started their relationship; not a lot of people know about it, and, most importantly, they barely act any different from when they were just friends… He even wondered if they were really something else than just friends.

However, that’s not the point, what matters right now is that he has a bunch of homemade chocolates in his bag for his boyfriend and he’s not even sure if he’s gonna-

“Ka-Kamitani-san…”

Ryuuichi quickly hides in the corner as soon as he sees Hayato in front of a very shaky girl.

“I- I made this for you. I hope you like them!” She takes a little red box from behind her and Ryuuichi leans closer to see Hayato’s reaction.

“I don’t like chocolate.”

Ryuuichi feels his heart skipping a beat as his bag slides down his shoulder.

“But thank you, anyway.”

“Oh I’m sorry! I- I didn’t know!”

Ryuuichi feels his face get as red as that of the girl in front of Hayato.

“Uh, listen, Kamitani-san… I was wondering if you-”

“I’m not interested. Thank you for the chocolate.” Hayato nods his head as a goodbye and entered the classroom. Ryuuichi can’t help but feel bad about the girl, whose cheeks are slowly getting soaked with a few tears.

He waits until she leaves to finally enter the room; his body feeling heavy and his eyelids suddenly feeling tired.

“Good morning,” he says in the most cheerful voice he could manage as he enters the classroom. His eyes land on his boyfriend as soon as he enters and Hayato looks up at him, nodding his head as a greeting.

“Woah, Ka-Kamitani,” Ryuuichi gasps looking at his desk.

“Did you already get all of those chocolates? Classes haven’t even started yet.” Hayato shrugs, looking at the candy in front of him.

“Some girls gave them to me as I was making my way here.”

“I see,” Ryuuichi answers, sitting behind Kamitani.

“Are they homemade? They look delicious.”

He tries to smile warmly at him, but he fails and Hayato narrows his eyes as he watches the smile fading away quickly.

“Hey, are you-”

“Good morning class.”

He didn’t say anything even after class had finished. It’s now or never. Ryuuichi feels the chocolate in his bag practically beg for attention.

“K-Kami-” He’s cut short when a girl suddenly steps up, not that she’s mean, just… too nervous and shy about the thing she’s gonna do, unaware of her surroundings. Her shaking hands cling to a box of obviously homemade - with lots of love - chocolates, which she hands to him, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“P-Please accept this! Kamitani-kun!” …. Ryuuichi blinks, looking from his boyfriend’s poker face to the girl, and then back.

“I…” Hayato gives a sigh.

“You don’t need to like me. Just… please accept them.” The girl already knows its just unrequited love and Hayato isn’t easy to win over. He’s so popular, even Ryuuichi himself is surprised.

The guys are gaping all day at the growing big pile of chocolates on and next to Hayato’s desk. Hayato just shrugs and takes them.

“Fine I guess.” The girl nods excitedly, bows a few times and mutters a quick thank you. She then hurries out of the classroom again. She’s not even their classmate. How on earth…?

“Again…?”

Hayato sighs as he pats the box of chocolates and then shoves it towards the other pile, looking totally uninterested and in all honesty a bit annoyed, rather than happy with what he’s received.

Hayato then suddenly turns, and his piercing eyes stare deeply into Ryuuichi’s soul. His hand that had been holding the chocolates in his bag, ready to take it out to give them to him, now drops the box again and he sighs nervously.

“W-W-What?” he asks, blushing like crazy. Hayato keeps staring intently. He then turns away.

“Nothing. Let’s go eat lunch.”

Ryuuichi is totally off that day. His mind is overflowing with thoughts and concerns. And as the hours tick by, it’s not only his boyfriend’s chocolate pile that’s getting bigger and bigger. It’s also Ryuuichi’s pile of reasons why he maybe shouldn’t give him the chocolate, growing bigger and bigger.

Hayato doesn’t like chocolate, like he obviously said.

Hayato will think he’s an idiot for making chocolates like some kind of girl hopelessly in love, and for thinking it’s okay to give him such a thing.

Hayato will be annoyed for receiving more while he already has all that.

Hayato will claim they’re not boyfriends at all like Ryuuichi’s been fearing the past few times and that their love confessions and that one kiss and evening they held hands had all been a distant dream.

“Ka-Kashima-kun!” Their last class just finishes when Ryuuichi picks himself up from his sea of thoughts as he hears two voices calling his name in sync. Two female voices. Both Ryuuichi and Hayato look up from their workbooks and see both Inomata Maria and Ushimaru Yuki stand in front of him.

Yuki is the first to step forward, her face as red as everything else today, and she plants a box of chocolates on his desk.

“F-F-F-For you! I hope you like them! Bye!” She’s running away faster than Ryuuichi can understand what’s going on.

Inomata then looks at him with her 24/7 tsundere face, aggressively plants hers on top of Yuki’s, her face red as well, and she breathes in to tell him in one breath:

“I had these ones left. They’re not homemade, if that’s what you think! You don’t need to eat them! But I’m giving them anyway! I thought no one would give you something so I felt bad, but then Ushimaru-san did it, but I think it’s good for you to have two. You can use them. Bye!”

And… She’s gone too. Ryuuichi blinks his eyes.

“Look who’s popular.” Ryuuichi blushes and looks at Hayato who’s been watching him, it seems. Ryuuichi frowns a little. Was that a compliment, or sarcastic? Like, he’s one to talk? His heart is beating like crazy. Maybe now’s his chance, his last chance, to give him his chocolates. But Hayato already packs his bag.

“Let’s go to club.” Oh, right, club. He still has another chance.

Another chance that goes wasted, since all they do is play with the kids, and Ryuuichi continues to worry and worry while the chocolates remain ungiven until the awkward moment they say their goodbyes and part ways.

Valentine’s Day what? Today wasn’t romantic at all!

His way back home is full of sad sighs and furtive worried glances from Kotarou as he holds onto his big brother’s shoulder.

“Nii-cha sad?” he places a tiny chubby hand on Ryuuichi’s cheek to pull him out of his thoughts. Ryuuichi jumps slightly at the touch and looks up to see his baby brother’s eyes looking at him, clouded with concern.

He tries to smile to ease his little heart. “Nii-cha had a long day today,” he explains, ruffling Kotarou’s head affectionately.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Nii-cha didn’t get choco?”

“I did get some choco…” …but not from the person I wanted.

“Inomata-san and Ushimaru-san made it themselves.” He smiles softly.

“I’ll make sure to give you some.”

While Kotarou beams with happiness about the chocolates, they arrive at home, Ryuuichi quickly opening the door and closing it behind him as he puts Kotarou down and steps out of his shoes.

“Kotarou-sama, Ryuuichi-sama, welcome home.” Saikawa suddenly appears in front of them, scaring the soul out of Ryuuichi’s body.

“Did you have a good Valentine’s Day at school?”

“A-Ah, Saikawa-san, we’re back.”

“Sai-cha!” Saikawa lowers his head, opening one of his eyes to look at Kotarou putting his backpack down to look for something inside. He pulls out two little heart-shaped chocolates and extends them up to the butler.

“Sai-cha, choco!”

“Kotarou-sama, perhaps, that chocolate you’re holding in your hands is for me?” Kotarou nodded, urging him to take them. Saikawa crouches down to take the chocolate and he places them close to his heart.

“Kotarou-sama, I don’t deserve these, but I’m greatly thankful. I’ll keep them forever.”

“Sai-cha no eat?”

“Well, only if Kotarou-sama would like that.” Kotarou smiles brightly and nods his head, letting out a soft ‘un!’. Ryuuichi smiles softly at the scene unfolding in front of him before he calls for his little brother’s attention.

“Kotarou.” The toddler turns around as Saikawa stands back up with the two chocolates in his hand.

“Why don’t you go and give Oba-san her chocolate?”

“Baa-cha!” Kotarou grabs his backpack to look for Baa-cha’s chocolate.

“Is anything bothering you today, Ryuuichi-sama? Did Hayato-sama enjoy the chocolate?” Ryuuichi nearly cries on the spot as his face flushes bright red again.

“I was not able to give the candy to Kamitani. I was too anxious and insecure that I just couldn’t.”

“Nii-cha sad!” Kotarou adds to it, and Ryuuichi is too late to hiss ‘Shhhh!” at him. He then turns back to Saikawa again and forces himself to smile.

“It’s okay. It’s just a day. I’ll give it to him next time. I’ll... Go to my room, do homework and stuff. Kotarou, we’ll play later, okay?”

Both Saikawa and Kotarou watch him as he walks away and he feels their eyes pierce through his back. He tries to ignore the worry in his chest after today’s failure of a Valentine’s Day, but he actually can’t.

Neither can he focus on his homework. Pfff why does this suck so bad? He stays in his room until it’s almost time for dinner, and just when he comes out, he hears oba-san call for him:

“Someone’s at the door!!”

Having missed the sound, Ryuuichi nods quickly and rushes to open it. And when he opens it, he almost falls over in surprise to see Hayato in front of him.

“Hi.”

Ryuuichi is completely frozen, and he tries to swallow away the dry feeling in his throat.

“H-Hi.”

Saikawa appears behind him and pulls the door further open.

“Welcome, Hayato-sama. Please come in. Thank you for accepting the invitation. Now if you two may please come this way.”

Invitation?

Ryuuichi is confused when he and Hayato both stagger after the confident butler. Walking next to him in silence, Ryuuichi tries to think about what he should say. He thinks of the chocolate he still wants to give him.

He thinks of the many things he wants to ask him but can’t, such as: Are we actually dating?

But then they arrive at the room Saikawa seemingly prepared for them, and Ryuuichi’s mouth falls open. He feels the heat climbing up from his chest all the way up to the tips of his eyebrows, one of them twitching as he looks at the scene in front of him.

“S-Saikawa-san!”

“Yes, Ryuuichi-sama? Is this not enough?”

Ryuuichi shrieks as he answers, “It is too much!”

There’s classical music playing in the background, a rounded table is beautifully covered with a white tablecloth, rose petals carefully sprayed on the surface, candles in the middle and - Was that a bucket with ice?!

“We’re underage,” Hayato says in his bored tone of voice.

“Don’t worry, Hayato-sama, it’s just a glass bottle of soda.”

A bottle of soda! Ryuuichi physically cringes at… this. He knows Saikawa just wants to help him out a little bit with Hayato, but this is seriously too much. Hic- Did Oba-san knew about this?!

“Chairwoman is taking care of Kotarou-sama, Ryuuichi-sama, so you can stop worrying about it.”

Ah nice, one less thing to worry about, there’s only this whole thing to worry about! Ryuuichi didn’t want to look at Hayato; he wanted to tell him to go back home, but as he was gathering courage to do so, Saikawa spoke again.

“Dinner is almost ready, so I invite you both to take a seat as you wait.”

Ryuuichi looks at him with widened eyes.

“Is something the matter, Ryuuichi-sama?”

“Yes, I don’t think-"

To his surprise, Hayato walks towards one of the chairs and pulls it out from under the table to sit.

Ryuuichi wants to scream, but as soon as he sees Hayato sit down, he quickly makes his way to the other chair across the table.

“Then, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Saikawa leaves and Ryuuichi starts to sweat. Why is this happening to him?! He’s embarrassed beyond words. Does Hayato feel like that too?

Sneaking a look at his companion, he flinches when he sees his eyes intently looking at him.

“Ka-Kamitani, I’m s-”

“Why is your butler doing this?” Hayato grabs one petal between his fingers before he tosses it in Ryuuichi’s direction.

“I’m truly sorry,” he bows his head a little. “I have no idea.”

“You don’t?”

The tone of his voice makes Ryuuichi feel somewhat guilty, after all, he does know why Saikawa’s doing this, but how could he admit it to Hayato?

“H-How’s Taka-kun?” He chooses to change the subject instead. Hayato’s eyebrow seems to twitch as he relaxes his back against the chair.

“He cried his eyes out when I told him I was going here and that he wasn’t coming with me.” Ryuuichi smiled, thinking about a screaming Taka-kun, he was somehow glad he wasn’t there to witness it.

“Poor Taka-kun.”

“Kashima.” Ryuuichi jumps.

“Y-Yes, Kamitani?”

“Why were you acting like that at school?” Bam. So direct!

Ryuuichi widens his eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no words are coming out of him.

“Why did you get upset about the chocolates? Why is your butler inviting me over instead of you?”

Ryuuichi shook his head, his arms flailing around. “No! It’s not- it’s not like that I-”

“You what?”

“I…” he took a deep breath and looked down at the petals on the table.

“I made chocolate for you, Kamitani, but I started to feel self-conscious about it. I thought that you’d be disgusted by it and I thought that maybe we weren’t dating at all like I was thinking and I got even more scared to give you the stupid chocolate when all those girls were all over you giving their candies and you said you didn’t like chocolate at all!”

Ryuuichi had to cover his face with his hands to keep going,

“Saikawa-san knew I made chocolate for you so when I came back home and I told him I wasn’t brave enough to give it to you, he just put hands into action, but I didn’t know he would do this, actually, I didn’t know he would do anything at all, so I don’t-”

“You’re stupid.”

Ryuuichi peeks through his fingers and his heart skips a beat: Hayato is smiling at him, his cheeks slightly flushed as he leans closer to him across the table, his hand reaching up to pull Ryuuichi’s hands away from his face. He lets him do that.

“We are a couple, we are dating. I only took the chocolate from those girls because you always say that I should be nicer!”

“Wha-Whaaat?” Ryuuichi feels himself gaping at his boyfriend (eeeek!!) like an idiot, and he unintentionally squeezes his hand, but Hayato doesn’t pull back.

“Besides, you’ve got yourself some swooners as well.” He winks, and Ryuuichi blushes.

“That - it’s nothing. Those girls, they’re just friends. I…”

He nervously looks at Hayato’s fond smile, and he nibbles his lip, swallowing the rest of his excuses.

“Were you worried, too?” he finally asks, his voice almost as soft as a whisper.

“Of course I was. You wouldn’t even look at me today. And then I got a call from your butler. I thought…”

…that you wanted to break up with me.

Hayato didn’t finish the sentence, but his eyes tell Ryuuichi everything, the concern lingering despite the relief of the misunderstanding. Oh. Ryuuichi had been so busy with all the things on his mind that he had never considered how this must’ve reflected on his boyfriend.

Hayato isn’t a guy who speaks a lot about his feelings, but just this revelation alone makes it so clear to Ryuuichi how he must’ve felt all day - and he feels happy and bad about it at the same time. Bad about hurting him unintentionally, happy about the fact that their love is serious enough for Hayato to worry about.

“…I’m sorry…” he mutters shyly, the guilt of feeling happy about Hayato’s concerns piercing through his heart. Hayato lets out a huff and suddenly gets up from his chair. With a few steps he suddenly walks towards him, around the table, faster than Ryuuichi can even get up from his chair in surprise. And then Hayato has his arms around him, in a warm, tight hug.

“You idiot…” Hayato whispers, and Ryuuichi blushes, leaning into him. Still seated on his chair, he turns his head slightly, his face buried in Hayato’s chest, and he sniffs to inhale his scent.

“Sorry…” he mumbles.

“And stop apologizing, it’s okay…” Hayato reassures him, tightening their embrace, and finally Ryuuichi finds the strength to lift his arms and hug him back. For a moment they remain like this, in a somewhat comforting embrace for the both of them.

Hayato rubs the back of his head lovingly, and Ryuuichi still has to process that he had made Hayato worry as well, that they were dating, that they were hugging at this very moment and just everything else actually.

But then Hayato’s fingertips graze slightly across the back of his neck, and Ryuuichi spazzes in surprise.

“Ah - s-sorry,” he whispers, but Hayato glances down at him in fascination and now purposely drags his fingertips down the skin of his neck. Shivers are sent through all of Ryuuichi’s body like little shockwaves, and he lets out a loud gasp.

“Are you ticklish?” Hayato asks, sharp and direct as always.

“Y-Yes I am. Sorry…”

“I told you to stop apologizing…” Hayato then smirks.

“Instead, you could use a laugh.” He then lungs and experimentally runs his fingers down his body, seeking out his sides and tickling them with wiggling and digging fingers.

“AHhhah! Oh nohohoo!” Ryuuichi curls forward, and he blows out so much air along with his loud surprised laughter that it sends some of the petals on the table flying.

“You are ruining your butler’s work,” Hayato says as his fingers dug into Ryuuichi’s sides, tickling him until he’s giggling wholeheartedly.

“Whose fahahahault is it?!” Ryuuichi shrieks, twisting his body in the chair until he loses his balance and drops ungracefully on the floor.

Hayato follows suit, somehow managing to keep his fingers connected to Ryuuichi’s sides.

“Ka-Kahahahamitani, please!”

“Please what?” Hayato can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his boyfriend loud laughter, just because of a few squeezes on his sides.

“You are extremely ticklish, how didn’t I know about this?” Ryuuichi just shakes his head, giggling hysterically, his hands pawing at Hayato’s hands latched at his sides.

“Whoah! A squirmer, aren’t you?” Hayato barely dodges a flailing arm almost hitting his face.

“I think we should do something about those nasty hands of yours.”

Ryuuichi wants to die. There are a lot of things happening all at once: Hayato is tickling him, like really tickling him with his own hands, then, Hayato chuckling and smiling down at him as Ryuuichi made the most embarrassing noises ever, and now, Hayato gathering Ryuuichi’s thin wrists in one of his hands, pulling them up above his head and he straddles his hips.

Ryuuichi knows the color of his face is of an unhealthy shade of red right now. He feels butterflies fluttering in his belly and, even though he’s beyond embarrassed, he can’t help but feel extremely happy to be able to see this hidden side of Hayato; he’d like to think it’s reserved for him only.

“Kamitani, please don’t! I’m- I’m too tihihicklish!” he says through giggles even though Kamitani isn’t even tickling him yet.

“I can see that.” He smirks.

“You can also take this as a punishment for making me worried all day long.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so- eek! Plehehease nohoho!” Ryuuichi arches his back away from the carpeted floor when Hayato decides to claw his fingers against his belly.

“This is unfahahahahir!”

“I think it is totally fair, you weren’t fair before, though, not giving me my chocolate and all of that. Maybe that’s why I should tickle you.”

Ryuuichi can almost, almost hear a pout in Hayato’s voice, but he’s too busy laughing his head off to look at him.

“I even got you chocolate as well, but since you were acting so weird, I didn’t dare to give it to you.”

“You wha- ahahaha! Not there! Not thehehehere!” Ryuuichi thrashes harder when the clawing fingers on his tummy become squeezing fingers on his hips, making him shriek until he’s laughing nearly in hysterics.

Did he hear correctly? Hayato had chocolate for him, but didn’t dare to give it to him? Did he actually say that? Agh! The damn tickling keeps making it hard to concentrate!

“Stahahap!” Hayato gasps sharply when Ryuuichi suddenly breaks free from his tight hold, his hands immediately flying to his shoulders, wrestling him down until he’s the one straddling him, pinning Hayato’s hands at both sides of his head.

“How did you-”

“You also had chocolate for me?”

Ryuuichi swears this is a dream. He just knows it should be a dream because right now there’s a light blush creeping all over Hayato’s cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. This must be a dream. But he’s not waking up.

“I didn’t make it myself,” Hayato explains, his voice just slightly raised in pitch, barely imperceptible to anyone but Ryuuichi

“…But yeah… I had some chocolate to you… I gave it to Taka, though, since you clearly didn’t want it.”

That indignant face made Ryuuichi laugh a bit.

“Kamitani Hayato, what were you doing to me?”

“I was tickling you.”

Ryuuichi chuckles.

“That you were doing, weren’t you?” Ryuuichi smiles fondly at him before a very crazy idea crosses his head.

“And why were you tickling me again?”

“Uh. Because you didn’t give me my… chocolate…? Wait! Waaait, no! Ack! Ka-Kahahash-shima!”

And so Ryuuichi grabs his chance to get some well-deserved revenge, by giving his boyfriend (boyfriend!!!) a taste of his own medicine.

Epilogue (new)

"......Ryuuichi-sama."

Ryuuchi and Hayato are both sitting back in their seats, faces bright red as they awkwardly face Saikawa who came in to serve them their dinner.

They hadn't been fast enough to clean up their mess, as the room clearly gave traces of their messy tickle fight. Still, Saikawa merely gives them a judging stare and puts the food on the table.

"T-thank you," Ryuuichi says with a blush. He knows the tickle fight has left a smile on his face, and the moment his eyes lock with Saikawa's, he can see his dear butler relax and smile.

"It seems you are enjoying yourself. Well, bon appétit," Saikawa says gently, and he leaves the room again.

"Don't worry. I don't think he knows..." Hayato says abruptly.

"K-knows what?" Ryuuichi asks with a blush.

"That I totally tickled you to death just now."

"O-oi! I tickled you too!"

"I totally won, though."

"You did not!"

They both start laughing, and Ryuuichi can't help but feel filled with relief, love, and happiness.

"Let's dig in!"

#reupload #collab #gakuen babysitters #hayaryuu #tickling #tickle fic #kamitani hayato #kashima ryuuichi #otomiya!writes

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princess-of-the-corner · 5 months

Text

The Lost Fic 😔

Okay, This is me just spewing what I remember of that fic I mentioned earlier, cause it was real good, and I want to share. If anyone finds the guy who wrote it, or a reupload or something, send the link/name, this thing was real good!

So, like, I forget the exact starting point, but in this fic, Emilie and Gabriel swap roles, so Gabe’s the one dying from the Peacock, and Emilie is the one left behind. So, Gabe uses the Peacock to impregnate Emilie, so they can have Adrien. I think there was a plot point of how Colt used it first to impregnate Amelie, and that’s how it got broken? Like Amelie and Emilie are thinking about using the Peacock so they can have kids, and Colt and Amelie use it first to see if it works, because Emilie had, like, a “weaker constitution”. It works, and they have Felix, but Colt ends up breaking the Peacock to do it, don’t remember how exactly (no one is actually aware of this until later). There’s also speculation in universe if the Peacock breaking while forming Felix is the reason he’s “like that”, but 1) the speculation comes FROM COLT, and 2) everyone else is of the opinion that, ya know, being ABUSED might have something to do with it.

So, Gabe uses the broken Peacock to impregnate Emilie, they have Adrien, and it’s all fine and dandy until Gabe starts to get sick. Like, REALLY sick, faster than Emilie does in canon. Emilie and Gabe are scrambling to figure out why, to find a cure (in this continuity, this is where Nathalie shows up, Emilie hires her to help them find a cure) but no luck. As Gabe gets worse and worse, he pleads with Emilie to try and save him, to do whatever she can. And Emilie at first is all for it! She uses the Butterfly to seek out anything and everything that could help them! But … there’s a middle bit here I think I’m forgetting, but as time goes by with no sign of a cure, Emilie starts to notice a change in Gabe. Like, a bit of sanity slippage going on. Which eventually culminates in Gabe trying to steal Adrien’s amok, thinking he can use it to cure himself, at the cost of Adrien. Emilie is horrified, and manages to save Adrien’s amok, but in the altercation, Gabe swipes the Butterfly, and uses it with the Peacock to do … something, it isn’t clear at the time, because doing whatever this is causes Gabe’s life to give out, and Gabe dies. Just drops dead, and both Miraculous vanish.

Again, I’m missing some big chunks, but the long and the short of it is that, with the Miraculous gone and a better support system, Emilie goes to therapy to try and work out some of this. There’s a whole chapter dedicated to her working out her toxic upbringing, and how her parents insistence on “lineage” and “bloodline” led to using the Peacock in the first place, as opposed to adopting or something. Emilie has to learn exactly how toxic her upbringing was, and come to the realization that, as much as she loved him, she and Gabriel were feeding into each other’s issues, and they should both have seen a mental health professional at some point. She also has a lot of guilt about Gabe’s death, feeling like it’s all her fault, which she has to work through. For the main plot, it culminates in Emilie realizing she’s taken being protective over Adrien too far, and enrolling him at DuPont when “Origins” kicks off. Also, there’s a bit of drama in her beginning to date Nathalie, partially because she feels guilty for moving on, partly because she didn’t realize she was bisexual until her therapist spelled it out for her.

The plot is mostly the same, except now Hawk Moth wants the Ladybug and Black Cat to “restore what should be”, and Emilie feeling even MORE guilt because she was last person to have the Butterfly, she should have done more, etc, etc. Also, Emilie actually seeks out Fu to apologize and figure out if she can help. Then, around the Season 3 mark, we find out that Hawk Moth is Gabriel … ’s Sentimonster that he made in his image before his death. The Senti!Gabe’s goal, initially, was to steal the Ladybug and Black Cat so he could wish Gabriel back to life, but as time has gone on, his goal has changed, and now he wants to wish himself real. Also, because of the state Gabe was in when he made Senti!Gabe, Hawk Moth has a burning hatred of Adrien, seeing him as “stealing” Emilie from him.

Again, most of this is half remembered, I’m probably not doing it Justice.

Some other bits:

Adrien is about nine when Gabe dies

the reason we don’t have Hawk Moth earlier is that he was apparently “incubating”

Nathalie absolutely fell for Emilie first, and stuck around because she genuinely wanted to help her friend through a tough time

Nathalie and Emilie don’t start OFFICIALLY dating until sometime after Adrien starts school, but everyone agrees they were “more or less” dating already

Emilie’s coming out was her coming home after therapy, accepting a cup of tea from the Gorilla, and asking him “Did you know you can like both men AND women!?”

The Gorilla’s name is Henri, he’s actually Emilie and Amelie’s cousin and Adrien’s godfather

Because Nathalie came in earlier, Adrien has grown up with her. He calls her Auntie Nat, and was convinced from the ages of 5-8 that she was actually the Black Widow (Marvel)

The Agreste Fashion Company mostly belongs to Adrien at this point. Gabe left him most of the stock. It’s all being held in trust until he’s of age, and Adrien plans to either sell it or (much later) hand it over to Marinette

Amelie divorced Colt when she came home early to find him hitting Felix. She had to wrestle Felix’s amok off him - Felix claims it’s the most badass his mother has ever been. Colt is currently in prison at the start of the series, but I think it was hinted he’d become involved later?

Only Felix and Adrien are Sentimonsters.

Kagami’s dad is actually mentioned. He is currently serving time in prison for murder, which he committed in defence of his sister. Tomoe and Kagami visit him regularly, and he’s due out for parole sometime soon.

Chloé has a redemption arc, fairly well written, and becomes a permanent team member along with Alya and Nino. About halfway through, she goes to live with Adrien, (I think after Style Queen?) because her mom yelled at her on national television, and her dad’s response was “you shouldn’t have fucked up, then”.

Felix and Amelie live in France with Emilie and Adrien, they moved after Colt got arrested. Felix goes to a different school than Adrien, something specific, because Felix was some kind of acting savant. I think it was mentioned he’d been in some stage plays?

Fu was married to his lady love, she used the Tiger to help him out

Marinette and Adrien are endgame

Chloé ends up dating Kagami

Sabrina and Felix end up dating. Chloé gives Felix a shovel speech that makes him terrified of her

Luka is mentioned to have a non-binary date-mate (I think an OC?) that we only meet briefly

After the Bourgeois Screaming Match, Jagged Stone and several other celebs refuse to stay at the Grand Paris

Alya’s mom is Akumatized into “Sue Chef” (it was both a pig pun, and related to legal terms), gets fired from the Grand Paris, and opens her own restaurant

Lila turns out to be a Sentimonster created by Senti!Gabe, to drum up chaos and fuck with people. They have a father-daughter relationship, and were actually really sweet

The Order comes in as a secondary antagonist at some point after Hawk Moth is defeated, but I can’t exactly remember what their goal was

Hawk Moth’s defeat was basically proving that Hawk Moth didn’t need to use the wish to become real because he was already, and that all our Senti!Characters had been around long enough to become real. Senti!Gabe gets his own name (Can’t remember it) and identity, and officially adopts Lila as his daughter.

Lila has a crush on Alix

At some point, Senti!Gabe jokingly runs for mayor - he wins, because at this point everyone is sick of Andre. Senti!Gabe tries to argue privately that he’s technically only three or four years old, so he’s pretty sure he’s not old enough

That,s all I remember, If anyone finds this fic, send it my way!

Okay that’s all fucking GREAT and I hope someone finds this I’d love to read it!

#submission

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axiina · 7 months

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Will you be my valentine? - (Valentine’s) date with Ezarel

pairing: Ezarel x gn!reader

genre: fluff(?)

word count: 907

warnings: none

a/n: welcome on my blog! this is reupload from my other account. i hope you enjoy it! I decided to change the gardienne to a gender-neutral reader to make it easier to identify with MC. please don't hesitate to drop suggestions and/or comments in my inbox!!

Ezarel didn’t celebrate Valentine's Day. Before his relationship with Y/N, he thought it was a shallow day. In his opinion, a loved one should be shown affection on more than just one particular day. He looked with contempt at couples who competed with each other to see who would give the bigger bouquet to their loved ones. Deep down inside, however, little Ez spoke to him.

As a child, he looked up to his parents and their relationship with admiration. He remembered well how his parents gave each other small, symbolic objects. Small gestures were the most important. Valentine's Day looked similar, but it had something special about it. Thinking about it, the day of lovers, when he was a little boy and barely tied his own shoelaces, came to his mind. For about a week, Ezarel practically saw his father in general. As the royal alchemist, he had little free time, but he always found a moment to at least tell him about the plants and their properties. The boy was angry with his father for the way he treated him and his mother. He saw that his mother also felt the absence of her husband. However, Valentine's Day surprised him. On that day, he witnessed a scene that was memorable to him. His mother received from his father, a beautiful painting depicting their family. Little Ez then decided that he too would treat his other half this way.

The period before his first Valentine's Day in a serious relationship was very stressful for him. As a child, he thought a lot about this moment. He remembered his parents telling him to take care of his future partner and put his heart into everything he would do for that person. Now, however, he had no idea what he could arrange. After all, he was just a simple alchemist without much interest. He had once dabbled in a bit of art, thanks to his parents, but that had been in the past. If he gave his beloved a sculpture made by him now, they would probably hide it deep in the closet so that they would not have to look at it. The poem is also out. The only things he can write now are recipes for various potions and alchemical notes. He squirmed with embarrassment at the thought of singing a song he had written. Not everyone has an artistic hand.

Valentine's Day came before he knew it. From the very morning, he was running around HQ trying to think what he could give his beloved. Time was passing at a dizzying pace for him. The day definitely didn’t bring the expected results. Ezarel had nothing. Almost nothing. Angry at himself and tired, he headed to his lab.

The elf carefully opened a glass case in a separate room that only he had access to. From it, he took out a bouquet of nine red roses. He sighed disappointedly looking at the flowers. Nine roses. "I want to be with you forever." That would have to be the karma that got him for how he used to view couples on lovers' day. Now all he was left with was the hope that his beloved would appreciate the gesture.

He slowly walked towards his partner's room. He wanted to delay this moment in time as much as possible. They won't like it. They will laugh at him. Intrusive thoughts occupied the elf's head.

He took a deep breath in and out to calm himself as much as possible. His own heartbeat drummed in his ears. He knocked uncertainly on the door. Silence.

Valentine's Day occupied his thoughts so much that he unconsciously avoided them. They’re probably angry and won't even accept these dang flowers.

The elf's panic grew by the second.

- Ezarel, here you are. It's been a while since we last met. Don't you think you owe me an explanation?

The blue-haired man jumped away from the door he had been standing in front of. He looked surprised at his amused partner. Their eyes were staring at him. Beautiful eyes that he could stare into for hours. The smile on their face made the panic completely disappear. Ezarel walked up to his beloved.

His gaze rested on the flowers.

- I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. I wanted to organize something for THIS DAY, but I overestimated my abilities. These flowers look ridiculous next to you. They seemed beautiful before, but now that I look at you... - Ezarel lifted his gaze and momentarily melted into his beloved's eyes. - They seem pale. You have dimmed their beauty. I wanted to do something to make this Valentine's Day special, sorry. I brought you roses. Nine red roses are the symbol of eternal love. I decided to finally use my skills as a GREAT alchemist. These roses will never wilt. You understand, eternal love and the eternal roses that symbolize it... You are a very special person. I still wonder how it happened that you chose me. I'm a lucky man.

Ezarel was convinced that he was now as red as a peony. He felt like a teenager in love who can't see the world outside his loved one.

He grunted and handed the flowers to his partner with confidence.

- You are about to have a wonderful and unforgettable date with the wonderful, smartest, most handsome, funniest and best elf alchemist. So...will you be my Valentine?

#eldarya #eldarya ezarel #ezarel #eldarya headcanon #eldarya to #eldarya the origins

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be-my-ally · 1 year

Note

Hiiii! Do u have any recs?? 🫶🏽

oh gosh - absolutely!!

i really think she needs absolutely no recommending because you must have read pink scarf it’s like the da vinci code of elvis fics it’s everywhere and so it should be - but *just in case* @missmaywemeetagain ‘s pink scarf!! (and her new series broken glass.)

marina’s (@precious-little-scoundrel) sarge + lil mama series & sky high lovin’ - and ofc a whole man is hard to find if you want more plot!!!

@wanderingelvis the innocent reader series completely inspired me!! one of the BEST for that!!

@thatbanditqueen - norah’s one of the reigning QUEENs of big daddy imo, and no-one walks out is a masterpiece and so is the only sure thing!!

@butlersxbirdy who we have to thank for much of the big daddy elvis content!!

@elvisabutler - all of their writing is great but specifically the professor presley series and the new series spark!! both of them are fresh + different and wonderful.

@plasticfantasticl0ver - i mean all of them but esp, the ‘68 comeback special

@whositmcwhatsit ‘s an enjoyable side to oblivion series is so so good!!

@ellie-24 ‘s bde + assistant series is also a little bit plotty!!

it’s been taken down for editing atm but @from-memphis-with-love ‘s gambling on your love is fantastic! so when it gets reuploaded you’ll be in for a treat

@ab4eva ‘s fics but especially the time travelling tomorrow will be too late!!

@prompted-wordsmith's writing is so poetic and wonderful and I love their one-shots but also everything else!!

@emmymaehereeeeee - I really love the fluffy dad!elvis fics but also the sugar daddy series!!

@powerofelvis - all of them are fab, but I really really like aloha to my heart.

@crash-and-cure who also runs the @literally-just-elvis-fics acct and that is absolutely a goldmine!!!

@woundmetender - First something + Tempt by the hour are my top favs.

@headfullofpresley there's almost too many to recommend so honestly I would just work your way down their masterlist lol - it's all great!!

i’m positive i’ve left off someone i love and this is literally off the top of my head so I've also linked here where there was a little chain going around with author recs last month!!

#fic recs #fic rec!!#be-my-ally asks #be-my-ally answers #be my ally asks

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tenderlyrenjun · 2 years

Text

When It Comes To Us

⟿ college!au, friends to academic rivals to lovers, competition, mutual pining, study buddies.

summary: although he laughed at you the first time you met, you were instantly friends, but that five year law program brings out competition, brings out the worst in you. thankfully it takes maybe one or two study sessions to get back into a grove, and maybe one of those study sessions is less about studying.

includes … unprotected sex/pulling out, oral sex (f / m receiving), facial, fingering, hickeys/marking, penetration, missionary sex, dom/sub undertones (re: some slight begging); it’s pretty vanilla sex, sorry.

author’s note ... this is the old fic that I mentioned when I said that the debate episode renjun reminded me of a specific old fic. I also edited to be slightly longer and more cohesive. the formatting was bad on the last one, so i reuploaded it a third time. DO NOT come into my inbox to criticize my fic or tell me that it is written badly.

anger management problems renjun enthusiasts, dni.

network tag: @neohub

word count: 15,8k (sorry)

do not reblog without comments

bots + minors do not interact

You wander around just outside the student experience center, nose buried beneath a campus map, eyes glued to a poorly drawn sharpie trail that one of the “orientation leaders” (air quotes because he seemed as equally lost and inexperienced as you) traced. The library has to be here somewhere, you wonder before glancing up.

But the moment your vision changed scenery, you walk right into a cement column, forehead colliding first with the inconveniently placed architecture, making you stumble ass forward to the ground. As you rub the new, hot mark above your brow, praying to God that no one saw anything, a sirenic laugh calls your ear, soft and throaty – something to make you fall in love at first listen. You peak around the empty space, gaze coming into a playful glare then pout when you spot someone laughing at your misfortune.

He walks over to you with nothing helpful, like an ice pack or magic band aid, except a hand to help you up, but his smile looks like it could heal the deepest wounds, and you immediately assume he came from the science department.

“Hey,” he greets, a small smile tugging his lips and even smaller bow dipping him right below your eyeline. “I’m Renjun. Are you also lost?”

The pain recedes quickly, quicker than you anticipated, letting your stomach fill the silence with little pokes through your abdomen to chest. Hopefully, walking into cement did not leave weird texture along your hairline for this really cute boy to spot; otherwise, God, you might as well perish on the spot.

His half-circle eyes crescent upward with the apples of his cheeks, and future you will swear that you met at night, despite (future) his better recount of this meet-cute taking place during the bright, autumn day – either way, Renjun’s happy features ground you, making focus on everything he has to say, to offer.

“Wait a minute.” You pull your hand out of his, holding up your palm, and you miss the way his eyes briefly follow your motions. “Too?” Your eyebrows come together; head tilted slightly to the right, searching his eyes. “Why? You’re also lost?”

“Yeah,” he nods, biting his lip. You nod back at him, still searching; you don’t feel your smile lose its curve until Renjun pushes his bottom lip through his teeth with his tongue, licking the seam open. “I, um, I was looking for the financial aid office but my RA [resident assistant] directed me toward the library.”

“Oh, thank God,” you nearly moan, reattaching yourself to his thin bicep, like he touched you with The Hand of God. Confusion takes its turn on Renjun’s face, his head flexed to the side again like deepening a kiss with Eris, neat brows coming together over his pretty eyes, so you snap your hands away. “Sorry, I just meant that I’m looking for the library,” you clarify. “One of the orientation leaders handed me a map, then set me off to the second star on the right without further instruction. I’ve been lost for, like, -“ You push your sleeve up your arm, reading your bare wrist, again missing Renjun’s smile. “– 10 minutes, maybe.”

“Well, it’s just around the corner in that direction.” He points behind his shoulder. “Go straight until you see the gymnasium, take a left by the counselling offices, then a right at the education building, and it should be in front of the pharmacy department.” Renjun tries directing you physically, pointing his index finger this way and that, as if touching the map still in your hand. Once he turns back to you, an accomplished smile finishing his thought, you are in the middle of nodding again, mouth falling open, only to inhale. “Or,” he drags out, internally debating for a second as your body perks up, “I could show you where it is.”

You beam at him. “Please? Will you? That would be … amazing, and really helpful.” You sigh, teeth fighting their way to the front. “To be honest, I’m not the best with directions and stuff.”

“It’s not a problem,” he tells you, honestly, his voice partially going up. He gestures out to the path, asking if you are ready.

You surprise him by taking his arm again, curling your hand to his wrist. “Lead the way, Peter Pan.”

“Peter Pan?”

Renjun tilts his head again, not moving despite initiating the journey. He bites his lip again, and he would shrink into his narrow shoulders, but you keep him propped up. Then, you mimic him, subconsciously taking a step back when he makes eye contact.

“Um,” you stutter, swallowing the thousands of thoughts on the tip of your tongue, not knowing where to start, so you pick the middle: “Second star to the right, and all; you did say right … right?” You cringe a little at the syllable repetition, but it makes him throw his head back and laugh, so the warm tinge across your face subsides until completely disappearing when he leads the way. “So …” you say, a little too loudly, abruptly changing the topic.

“So?” he parrots, guiding you onto the inner sidewalk, closer to the buildings, farther from the street.

“So,” you repeat, equal in cadence, bobbing in tune as you drag out the conjunction, not looking at him in fear that your brain might bombard you with a thousand thoughts again – either this can lead to a wonderful friendship or blossom into something more … which makes you kind of nervous, if you were being honest, except you don’t want to be presumptuous. You just met the guy two minutes ago. “How, um, how long have you been going here?”

“Ah,” he responds, open mouthed. His free arm flies behind his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s my first semester. I’m a freshman.”

“Oh … but you seem to know, at least part of, the school really well.” You bite inside the corner of your cheek.

“Yeah, my parents moved me into the dorms last weekend, so I had a lot of time to, like, roam around and find out where my classes are going to be on Wednesday, but I’ve literally been looking all over half the campus for the financial aid office today.”

“Huh,” you mumble, a slow eureka. “Maybe, after this, if you’re able to wait, I can show you where the financial aid office is. It’s like right next to my dorm building on the other side of campus. I just have to check out a textbook for property law.”

Renjun beams at you now. “I’d like that a lot.” And he’d like to spend more time with you.

Haechan calls your full name – Funny, since you’ve only heard him referred to by his real name a handful of times, but now, with the alcoholic flush heating your face under the wintery night sky, you cannot, for the life of you, remember his government name. Renjun mentioned it to you once or twice, between ranting about something Haechan did, before he brought you into his friend group a couple weeks ago. He had been meaning to merge you with them, ever since Jeno got a small break from his military service for Chuseok weekend, but things piled up, no one actually free until the second half of autumn term. Jaemin barely got a break from his o chem lab reports; Haechan is taking a small breather between pre-trial motion write ups; Renjun left the library for the first time in, essentially, a week; Chaewon just finished her art project this morning and woke up literally fifteen minutes before arriving at the restaurant; you only finished creating flash cards for property law (those vocab words are going to get you one of these days); and the military doesn’t really let Jeno out on holiday, as it would defeat the purpose of compulsory military service (on the bright side, he won’t have to take a break from school or work like the others; although, Jaemin plans to use his [future] medical degree to his advantage).

You whip your hair around, the inches that have grown since summer almost hitting Jeno in the face, so you lean a bit more into Renjun, who has a slightly buff arm strewn along the back of your chair as you change conversations from one end of the table to the next, the two of you sitting in the middle like Jesus at The Last Supper – which might as well predict your relationship status, almost as if Renjun wants to test you, but you push the thought away. If he wanted to be something more, he would have done something by now; you have known him for, like, two months now, nearly approaching finals. You swear that you picked up on a few close calls, confiding in your roommate, a psych major Dahyun; except, she might be more excited to study your brain like a bug than really listen to the problem. But she did say that this – the two of you going out with his friends (Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, and Chaewon) could mean something.

And maybe it does.

When all five of you moved from the bar inside the restaurant to a longer table outside (Jeno kept complaining about the lack of leg room because people kept pushing against his chair on their ways to the bathroom; something no none, except maybe Jaemin related to, but eventually, everyone relented), Renjun walked through the door last, having led you, a hand on your mid-back, through the other patrons and busboys. He stopped you from accidentally catching the jacket around your arm on fire; you took it off because Jaemin started grilling one of the side dishes and the bottle of soju you started nursing with Renjun got to your face. It left some skin exposed, skin that he touched. You didn’t have time to analyze him really, a waiter dropping off a complimentary alcohol mix for the discomfort, not like now when Haechan gives you an excuse to check him out.

“Really,” Haechan begs, “why’d you stick to him?” He points a thumb at Renjun, and Renjun takes immediate offense but does nothing other than verbally object, his chest sighing weakly. Haechan flops his wrist, wanting your answer more than to argue – a rare event, considering that half the table is enrolled in the law programme.

“I don’t know,” you answer immediately, mostly as a filler word while you size him up. Over the semester, Renjun started training with Jeno and Jaemin (and Xiaojun from the poli sci department), gradually replacing his daily water intake with whey protein powder. His body has gotten … bigger, noticeably bigger; his shoulders filling out the grey, cashmere sweater, muscles faintly contouring down in bulges to the thin watch on his left wrist. You eventually reach his face again, briefly pausing at his clear jawline, and he raises an eyebrow before knocking back another shot, daring you to say the thought so clearly reflected in your eyes. “I mean,” you start, shifting back to Haechan, who starts pouring your fourth round, as if seducing you into saying something provocative, “he was nice; he is nice. He picked me off the ground, literally, and –“ You throw back the shot. “– you know, we had – have a lot in common: similar taste in movies, same major, he even sang a line from this one OST I used to hear whenever my grandmother watched dramas.”

Haechan, hums, dispensing yours and Renjun’s fifth round and a fourth to everyone else.

“What about you?” Jeno garbles to Renjun, slowly laying his head on the table, Jaemin rubbing his back. “If I were – were you –” He hiccups and points at you. “– I would’ve left as soon as I even heard him laughing at me.”

“I guess I’m just nicer than you,” Renjun laughs, sitting slightly more forward. “Remember when we first met. I thought you were cold as ice.

Jeno pouts.

“And now,” Renjun clarifies, pushing the shots further down the table and grabbing a napkin. His free arm slides down your back for the second time tonight, heat radiating off his hand to your hip; his fingers twitch in the air, inches from your skin, and your breath stops in your chest. You shift a little closer to his belt, rocking left and right until you meet him, and he helps you, too, hand rising above your high-waisted skirt, pulling you closer. Then, he leaves his arm dangling there, elbow caught in the chair’s spine, fingers caging your hip. “Now, we’re best friends.”

You admire Renjun’s side profile as he talks behind your back with Jeno, reclining on the bench, you perched over the table to give him enough space. He smirks at something in the middle of the conversation, head nodding off center, falling even more into your body and continuing to stay there after, sans objection. All eyes eventually lead to Jaemin, when he starts pouring the sixth round, except yours. Yeah, you instinctively moved with the crowd, but Renjun’s lips caught your gaze, licking his mouth open wider for another laugh, shoulders following suit. Halfway through another weak objection (he is already pushing his shot glass to the end of the table before his sentence finishes), Renjun glances your way, lingering back and forth between you and Jaemin, who tends to overpour after two shots, until he stops, staying on your face. He reaches out the same hand that gave a glass to Jaemin, grabbing yours too, then mouths come here, finger curling close enough to make your skin tingle. Still, you comply, and he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, matting down all the baby hairs floating away from how hot your face burns, knowing that, as a side effect of the law major, appearance is everything. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pretty.

“Oh, leave them alone,” Chaewon complains between drinks, groaning through her fifth and sixth shots. “I think they’re cute.” She wipes her mouth with her sleeve, and you are tempted to do the same, except to Renjun, a little like returning the favor, even though he wiped the pretzel crumbs from the corner of his mouth already. “Besides, their meet-cute is better than spilling that disgusting demon coffee on a stranger at eight o’clock in the morning.” She narrows her eye sat Haechan.

“That was for him!” He points at Jaemin, nearly banging on the table, much to Jeno’s annoyance. “And it will be the last time I ever buy coffee for you!”

“How are you going to repay me for the kimbap I bring you after literature on Thursdays?!”

“You get it from the dining hall!”

“Yeah, on my meal plan!”

“Please, okay! It’s literally ₩3,000!”

“Should we get kimbap?” you hum, leaning into Renjun’s hand, further from the three-person argument.

He trails his fingers under your chin, tickling you until he laughs when you slap him away; he drops his hand on his jeans, rubbing his thigh wider into his seat. You tilt your head to the door into the restaurant, eyes fluttering at your suggestion, pouting. Renjun copies, lips tightened into a contemplative melody. He sighs, stomach growling in agreement. The last time either of you ate was after your 10AMs, barely catching a quick snack from the café in the biochem building, because you had been promised the alleged best samgyeopsal marinated in red wine.

“If our food doesn’t arrive in –“ Renjun pushes his long sleeve far up his forearm, shaking his watch into view. Your tongue salivates. “– 10 minutes, I’ll buy you dinner at Gen.”

It comes by in four.

[Renjun, 3:23 PM]

Renjun time!

[Renjun, 3:23 PM]

Study session at mine tonight?

[You, 3:24 PM]

Yeah, I’m going to finish scanning this civics passage in the library, then head to Starbucks for coffee, but I should be free the rest of the day. Civil procedure got cancelled. Want anything?

[Renjun, 3:25 PM]

Grande mango black tea, light ice, please and thank you. Do you need help studying? Prof Choi will probably give a pop quiz in your next meeting.

[Renjun, 3:26 PM]

Oh, and a double bacon if there are any left. I have constitutional law in 5 btw.

[Renjun, 3:27 PM]

I’ll buy you dinner at Gen on Monday.

[You, 3:27 PM]

Please.

[You, 3:28 PM]

You keep saying that, but we have yet to actually go.

[You, 3:30 PM]

Sit in the back. I’ll sneak in.

Sneaking into Professor Moon’s constitutional law class, which has over a hundred students, is as easy as slipping into a routine with Renjun, if not easier, even after summer break. And this year, you actually have a class with him (!), not constitutional law, obviously, because you took it last year, but legal writing. Ironically, your classes overlap with his – e.g. you took constitutional law spring term, he takes it now; he took civic practices winter term, you take it now. Basic classes, the ones that only go over the law, not how to interpret it, don’t really function like maths classes; they don’t build off each other, just accumulate knowledge, so you and Renjun (and Haechan and Chaewon) will spend the first two years learning the general idea, figure out what specialty you eventually want to pursue, then argue during the last three – which means that, in the long run, you essentially invest in having more time with Renjun … not that he isn’t already attached to your hip. Plus, you can cheat off each other’s notes.

Ice shaking alerts Renjun to your presence before a syllable from your greeting can reach his ear. You slowly drag the chair beside him on the carpet, no loud sounds alerting the professor to your existence (thank God), and set everything down next to him.

“Thanks,” he whispers, sipping the iced tea like every other student in the room does with coffee.

You lean over his arm, simultaneously giving him the sandwich and stealing a pale-yellow highlighter. “No problem.”

Renjun trails your hand, watching you set up to study civic practices on your iPad, completely missing his professor’s plan for today’s class. His smile twitches on the corners of his cheeks. He remembers doing that last year: studying activists who used pamphlets to declare independence from some distant sovereign, and admiring your side profile. The way you ignore him, too focused on Common Sense, let him stare a bit longer, without you making a face to stop him. Some rose-pink color outlines your lips today, a few patches missing in the middle. He asked you, this morning, while catching an early morning bibimbap, why you actually dressed up for civic practices, because no one took Prof Kwon’s dress code seriously. You said something about wanting to get an internship with him for your practicum in two years, and he wasn’t aware that you had started planning that far ahead.

“Pay attention to this next part. It will be an essay question on the next exam.”

Renjun glances at the projector. Justiciability. He has no idea what it means (well, he has some; he vaguely recognizes the abstract concept), so he starts paying attention. But throughout the lecture, he slips his elbow onto the table, resting his cheek over his hand, preoccupied by your distracting pen taps, as Professor Moon sets up clicker questions after each section. He tries to stay focused, adding any random thought to the corner of his OneNote … until he ends up doodling your name; it began as writing something you mentioned in passing last year and didn’t stop … you look so cute right now … if you use all my yellow highlighter, we’re going to the pen shop later … you, you, you. He erases all the evidence though, seconds after he makes it, not wanting to incriminate himself, even outside the law, before he becomes a lawyer.

After the lecture wraps up, you and Renjun walk to the library, partway through campus, iced drinks in hand, catching up on your lives despite having seen each other every day. Surprisingly, you always have a new thing to say, new opinion about whatever you saw, and Renjun always has a rebuttal.

“Oh!” You pull off your straw once he finishes recounting his point of view on Moon’s theoretical federal case. Renjun flutters his eyes up, ducking down to slurp the last of his tea. “Did you hear? Jeno is starting the architecture programme spring term after he discharges.”

“Yeah,” Renjun hums, breaking off his empty drink. Jeno called him about it last night. “I think Haechan is going to see if the housing department will let them room together since there’s an empty bed in his suite.” You nod slowly, contemplative, and Renjun opens his mouth again, to ask you the question he has been pondering since Jeno even brought up living on campus.

Speaking of the devil (well, one of them), Haechan accidentally happens on the two of you, rounding a corner from the psych department. He launches his arms around your shoulders, swinging his legs between you and Renjun, making you both dip down and yelp.

“God, I share more classes with Renjun than you, yet I don’t see him nearly as much.” Haechan lands in front of you, bouncing backwards a few steps to balance himself.

Renjun verbally objects; he saw Haechan yesterday for dinner, so this makes the fifth day in a row, plus they have a grocery store date tomorrow morning; he ran out of satay hotpot soup base after you helped him complete his first draft for legal writing. He flitters a grateful eye when you massage his shoulder. You squeeze his bicep three times, returning the blood flow to his face, and he mumbles a small thank you, with an even smaller smile, before glaring at the intruder.

“It’s almost like you live together,” Haechan shrugs, tucking in his elbows and wriggling between you two.

You giggle when Renjun sighs, his shoulders dropping as his chin tilts to the sky.

“I mean, I was considering it.”

“You were what!?”

Renjun raises an eyebrow, walking slightly ahead of Haechan to see you, and you return it, frowning deeply.

“You never told me that,” you grumble, falling behind Haechan, who copies the both of you, frowning like he did something wrong.

“I mean,” Renjun starts, “Yeah, of course, I’ve thought about it. We’re practically together all the time, like he –“ Renjun points a thumb at Haechan, pausing to glare, then softens back at you. “– mentioned. You have enough stuff in my dorm to live there for a month, anyways, and we’ve had sleepovers before, so –“ He shrugs. “– why not?”

Renjun may not have started planning his fourth-year practicum like you, but he has been thinking about the future, about asking you to move into an apartment with him before the school year ends.

It takes just slightly over two weeks (16 days) to finalize a pros and cons list for living with Renjun. You don’t say a word to anyone about, nearly neglecting your actual studies and opinion papers to really determine if you could do it. Halfway through the pros column, you considered asking your current roommate, a psych major named Dahyun, for help – to see whether you ignore the red flags, or to diagnose with the first thing that snaps you out of this boy craze, but you shook your head and continued writing. So far, the list has more pros than cons, as you expected; Renjun is basically perfect – decent cook (or take-out order…er); clean, physically and environmentally; quiet when important; cooperative; gets along with you; etc. The only con is … is … well, you get along with him too well, so you keep the list to yourself, not wanting that information, specifically, to be leaked. You even cross out the one con with a sharpie and expo marker, ripping it into the shredder before anyone could interpret it.

But Chaewon inevitably heads to your dorm for an extra shirt when Haechan spills yet another demon coffee on her (before 8 AM this time).

She walks out of your private bathroom, wearing an oversized sweater, dabbing a Tide pen into her pale pink shirt, trying to revive it before criminal law.

“Oh, I hate them,” she enunciates about Haechan and Jaemin for the fifth time this week alone (and it’s Thursday). She puts the pen back in your desk draw and blows on the wet patch, trying to get it ready for class, but you saw the black water stain her shirt irrevocably, even from the closet, where you pull out a blazer to go over the plain white pyjama shirt you stole from Renjun. “Oh? What’s this?”

“What’s what?” you ask while sliding your arms through the sleeves. You yank your hair from the back, fluffing it before walking up to her, tiptoeing above her shoulder as she pulls a colorful, small spiral notebook from your drawer.

“Reasons to live with Renjun,” she reads.

Your eyes widen, and you snatch it from her, holding it close to your chest.

“Reasons not to live with Renjun?” She reads the back.

You push her out of the way and shove it back in your drawer, slamming it shut rather loudly.

“You’re going to … move in … with him?” she asks slowly, lowering her head gradually, her voice unusually soft.

You hug your arms around your waist, hands gripping the waistband on your trousers, and study her expression, your own eyebrows furrowing deeply. She brings her hands together, thumbnail clawing at the cuticles on her opposite fingers.

“Yes,” you nod, equally quiet and long. You stand up straighter, tucking your hair behind both ears a few times before opening your desk drawer to organize it; no use in hiding the list now that Chaewon knows and wants to address it. “I was just thinking about it.”

“Are you … Are you sure it’s a good idea?” She puts a hand on your upper arm, and your muscles tighten, everything temporarily paused until the single highlighter you hold starts shaking; you start shaking. Once you inhale twice more, no air expelling until your lungs finally reach max capacity, you turn towards Chaewon. Her hand drops into yours, squeezing it gently. You want to assuage her misplaced guilt, possibly about finding your notebook and involuntarily demanding to know the reason you might move in with Renjun – because the roommate agreement has yet to be written into stone.

But you shrug, rattling her off of you. “Yeah, we’re practically together all the time, and we have stuff at each other’s places.” You pause, recoiling, physically cringing at reusing Renjun’s reasoning.

“What are you going to do when he goes on a date?”

You frown. “Renjun doesn’t date.”

Chaewon raises an eyebrow, her palms weakly slapping her thighs, the sound resonating too loudly in the silence. Your ears ring, like the aftermath of a bomb, and you go back to studying her face, maybe also too long. You tilt your head to the side, something in your chest piling on an extra ton that leans your body to the left.

“I mean, I’ve never seen him go on a date, and I’ve known him for more than two years now.”

Chaewon bites her lip and moves her hands behind her back.

Your shoulders hunch forward. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, mostly to the floor. “I thought you knew.”

“No,” you reject, a little forcefully, and she winces. “No, it’s …” you repeat gentler, matching her expression, “It’s my fault for assuming.” You throw your hands low in the air, hands slapping against your thighs, but not as strong since her implications weigh your body down. “Of course, he dates. I just … I just thought …”

Chaewon reaches an arm out again, grabbing your forearm first for your attention, then your hand, squeezing it again, in the same capacity, although now you know what she knows. She evidently knew what you thought, but her breath had to spell out what she knew. You try slinking into yourself, elbows tucking backwards, until she hugs you, accidentally tripping over her feet. It doesn’t make you laugh.

“I just … thought he was too busy, you know,” you lie, obviously too, by the way your nose starts to itch, “like me,” you whisper, finally accepting her embrace, adding your arms around her waist and your chin into her shoulder.

Chaewon pats your hair. “I know.”

But does he?

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I told you already that I didn’t have the time to study with you today. I’m still behind on my second draft for legal writing, and I can’t afford to drop below in the rankings again.”

“Then why did you even come!?”

You purse your lips. Renjun should know, at this point, why you hang out in his single person dorm, oscillating between listening to his overactive imagination about the different animal combinations his brain dreams up and walking to the convenience store near the physics building 160 meters away. He should know why you help each other with the classes you’ve already taken, help him compete against Seungmin in his constitutional law, help him technically get a better grade than you ever did (despite academic standing relying on your literal standing in class among more than 50 people). Regardless, he still looks at you as if meeting you for the first time; or, not meeting you because, when he actually did, he had a smile on his face and laughter on his shoulders; now, he just gives you an uncharacteristic head shake, questions spilling from his tight lips. You grip the page of your notebook that you had been writing on, it standing partway up, then turn it; you accidentally use too much strength and rip the perforations, which makes a hot, deep sigh leave your diaphragm.

It has been almost three weeks (three weeks and two days), since you told Renjun that you cannot move in with him. You initially avoided him, like the plague, lying that you cannot be on top of everything. Well, partially lying. Your classes got harder – more pop quizzes, more mini-essays and discussion posts, more commitment; how he manages to retain information so easily, you will be forever jealous, but it also means that you have to sacrifice your 10 PM philosophical talks to get work done. You l… you lo… You enjoy his company, you really do, but being with him takes an extra 0.5x the effort, slowing down your typed average words per minute until you just stop writing, because he needs you to explain a concept. And you don’t mean to nag; it goes vice versa – it takes him an extra 90 minutes to complete his flashcards when you ask about Enlightenment ideas or to translate his annotations to something you understand. You just … don’t know how to accommodate for his follow up questions, for actually being with him, for all your lies falling through, and it makes your heart drop; if you can’t even improvise with Renjun, how will you be a lawyer?

By telling the truth?

You sigh. “Renjun …” He looks at you expectantly, on the tips of his toes, despite sitting half a table away, on the opposite side of his desk, creating the distance you only speak. “I …” you start, heart never having recovered from that meeting with Chaewon, “I’ve just been busy with school.” His entire chest deflates. “You have too,” you reinforce – partially because it’s true, and a half-truth is better than a lie; it is an omission of the whole picture, which is something arguable in court.

And something he regurgitates to you the next weekend.

You follow up the same thing the next day.

Another month passes, the end of fall term, and saw Renjun maybe three times, at least one of them being in class when he sat next to you, backpack sliding between his legs like a kicked puppy, his eyes, also, somehow mimicking a baby. You nearly cave, turn to him with an open mouth, but he packs his bag and leaves before the professor announces the assignment. It is written in the syllabus anyways.

Spring term comes faster than winter term ends, and you have literally no idea what happened.

Everything stays the same: the grass still retains dew outside the agriculture building; the biochem café still wakes up at dawn; hell, even Haechan manages to spill coffee on Chaewon again, not that you see them so often anymore. She stopped spontaneously dropping by your dorm (you live off campus now, still with Dahyun though), choosing her side like the other three – two if you count Jeno not being informed until three weeks into winter term. But you and Renjun no longer bear the conjoined rumors, whispers about your breakup swirling among the nosy grad students who assign your group projects. And the further you delve into the five-year law program, the smaller the class sizes get, meaning that you eventually circle back to Renjun’s side, just adding the distance he created in his dorm two terms ago. Again, everything stays the same.

Dahyun, your psych major roommate, argued that the competitive school system sets you up to hate each other, and you fell into its scheme (you asked what her major’s scheme was, and she said depression; you refrained from asking anymore questions), inevitably hating Renjun. However, her social psych class did not account for all the sparing matches, during Socratic debates, during the extraneous study sessions set up by the TA Qian Kun, during … every student event really. It never ends because neither of you allow each other to have the last word, to give a final argument, as if holding an arsenal back, waiting to drop the atomic bomb at the perfect moment. It feels like holding the weight of the world, weight of a secret, on your shoulders, and you confessed this, drunk, to Dahyun every night through the end of the year. She tried to offer you more advice, more perspective, adding a shrug here or there to lessen the hostility while still telling you the truth, but you continued to dive further into defensive mode, even when she pointed out that it could be your professors’ faults, posing public rankings rather than private grades, forcing you and Renjun into survival mode to come out on top, if not top three (Seungmin, too, eventually revealed himself as your uncovered nemesis).

All those study dates spent getting to know each other for naught, escalating into passive aggressive battles through your individual essays. If the TAs put your assignment next to Renjun’s, it would read “re:fuck this guy” back and forth despite arguing the same position, just using different reasons. Then, wars break out in the form of debates, the both of you misplacing your anger onto each other (from the rankings, and innocent bystander Seungmin who really wants to work for the international diplomacy office). He would lose his spot at number one in torts, a class you took freshman year; you often did minor corrections, like spelling for him; and you would receive your research papers drowned in red ink, distorting your muddled point without Renjun to move around the sentences for cohesion; he is … was the only one who followed your rapid thought process, almost on the exact same wavelength. Eventually, you two grew better without each other, forcing yourselves to use the student resources like the writing center or your actual professors, and you were happy, elated, that he improved on legal literacy, as he was happy, elated, that you understood social policy on your own, but fuck, it hurt like hell to see each other’s names drop, losing first place when you tried so hard to make it work, even more when one of your friends’s stupidly endearing smile attempted to console you, saying that “rankings do not matter”, even though they clearly do.

Oh, you two saw each other as frequently as freshman year, nothing changing drastically except what kind of feelings you had for each other, occasionally bumping into one another on the street – you caught Renjun slipping on a puddle once and helped him up after laughing at him, only to receive a glare; he also caught you tripping up the stairs in the language department, dropping your tea a flight below. Everything stayed the same, and it felt the same, in those briefest moments, but no longer did the flirting mask the tutoring; no longer did the glances feel heart-stricken, just rallying frustration back and forth, when you think the other isn’t looking, like a trick shot; no longer can you “accidentally” bump elbows in his dorm to look at a textbook that you rented together to save on money.

Unfortunately, you find yourself in Renjun’s legal ethics class winter term of your third year, and truthfully, it functions more like a psychotherapy group meeting than anything else. You swear, every class, that your old professor can read your mind, can see your tiny glimpses at Renjun from the back of the lecture hall, and purposefully relates each module to your lives.

“You cannot equate legal ethics with business ethics!” Renjun argues, voice echoing off the amphitheater, surround-sound encasing all 19 people to accommodate for the 150-max capacity. “Business ethics are not always a matter of law,” he furthers, seeing your ears burn steam, all openness flying out the window. He does not miss the irony, something about the passion for you manifesting in different forms, maybe, if he let himself sit with the thought for long, but he distracts himself with the lecture, using all of his brain, and half of his fragile glass heart, to make a plausible argument that you cannot refute easily. “Yes,” he seethes, “legal ethics might determine what is acceptable, like a morality blueprint, but business ethics do not always have to adhere to the law!”

“Pertain,” you hastily correct, nearly spitting across the fishbowl setting that your professor had everyone arrange from the desks. You almost stand up, to nitpick at his argument, at his choice of words, but restrain yourself; you have some decorum. “Business ethics always have to adhere to the law.” Your voice hitches for a moment, an insult (dummy, idiot, clotpole) scratching its heels on your lips before it can fully pass into audio.

Renjun, though, unfortunately, sees the taunting term of endearment (of irritation). His smirk begs you say it, his tongue licking the seam of his lips open to prod you more, but Socratic seminars have a direct impact on his grade and ranking. He cannot afford to be thrown out of class again for getting too heated in debate.

“If we cannot equate business ethics and law ethics, then do out laws not reflect morality, the moral compass? Do our laws lack in some sense that alleviates business workers from punishment, puts them above the law?” you further, chest rising instead of your legs, asking him impossibly ambiguous questions to which you know that he does not have the answer. He could ask the theoretical judge (your professor) for an objection, but there is no witness testimony, so he would remain invalid unless he can bring a valid philosophical response. “Business ethics have arbitrary rules that would otherwise not hold in a court of law, so how can we determine the validity of their rules?”

You nearly forget about everyone else in the class, spotlight effect enhancing only Renjun Huang; you swear that you see the cogs turning, at rapid pace, behind his exposed forehead, as you pile question after question, trying to undermine and tear apart his dispute on the basis of morals and ethics, as is the name of your fucking class.

His clench fists tell you exactly where you can shove those intangible questions, also succumbing into tunnel vision with only you at the end, as if you were the sole answer to your own insufferable questions, to the universe, to this god-awful class section that you decided to sign up for, simultaneously with him. According to Haechan, there has to be at least two other sections, although it would coincide with the comparative law class you also share with him and his technology and science law class. He and you are not the only ones in this programme, in this class, despite the numerous times neither of you have focused on anyone else; other than Seungmin, who has ethics Tuesday, Thursday, Friday at 11 AM. Perhaps Renjun should have skipped the breather altogether, he thinks, then, you would still be talking to him … well, talking at him, given your disposition … not that he minds … he does somewhat agree with you, simply following the polar opposite because you do too.

Once Professor Jeong dismisses the lecture (after Renjun’s closing argument; you gave the opening argument), determining that both sides presented “enough” evidence for final ments, everyone begins cleaning up, putting the classroom back to the way it started. Only a few of you stay, out of the already few, including Renjun.

You turn to the front of the classroom, pushing the desks into a neat line. Seeing him, even after he essentially became your moral enemy, brings something forward, in you. The best or worst, you honestly cannot determine. Your grades, debates, fleeting relationships. All paled in comparison to what you had with Renjun, your nostalgia glasses tinted rose-gold. You cringe, physically, lips holding back vomit; you hope that your external shudder, too, only reflects the classroom’s 30-degree weather, not your melodramatic young adult life … or its absence. Maybe you have enough relationship experience, or maybe you need to get out more; maybe you need to think about what you actually had with Renjun, because – you look at him now, his thumbs typing fast enough on his phone to get carpal tunnel syndrome – this certainly did not end up being one.

Oppositely, Renjun, himself, cannot place the exact moment your relationship went downhill. Of course, he knows about you being overworked sophomore year and about the quote-unquote natural competition brought upon by the five-year law program, but he never really thought it would be enough to rip you two apart. Sometimes, he even catches himself reminiscing about your rom-com-esque meet-cute during the warm autumn day after new student orientations – the day shined brightly, as he used to correct you, and his heart thumped so loud in his brain that he didn’t register his own laughter until you mentioned it. He ruminates on the moments with you – fixing your hair as an excuse to look into your eyes before you drop eye contact; reviewing concepts he already knows just to hear you talk, uninterrupted; only touching elbows in the library, to verify that the other stays, because students took the longer desks, forcing him to chose the singles with immovable dividers. He ruminates, not because he wants to, but because it plagues him; it makes him overanalyze all your interactions thereafter. And maybe he did overcompensate for his misplaced frustrations … even though some miniscule part of you irritated him, burned this flame inside his chest, like heartburn.

He can make a list too:

He hates the way you talk, so short and easily annoyed with him;

He hates the way you walk into class, wearing those tennis shoes, like you try to mute your steps, even though people will stare at you coming in 1, 3, or 5 minutes late;

He hates the way you spar with him during Socratic seminars, treating the classroom exercise like an actual courtroom or debate, leaving him hot and breathless, feeling as if no one else can match his wit, even though half the class probably shares the same IQ;

He hates the way you are always right, especially in class when he gets the most minute fact wrong and you dismantle his entire case;

He hates it when you lie, when you claim to love the cold so you grab the seat under the vent during every class study session with the TA, so no one else gets sick;

He hates the way you breathe through your mouth when your nose ultimately gets stuffy after the library turns on the aircon;

He hates it so, so much when you stay later than everyone else, and he sees the way you shiver, too stubborn to move seats, to move closer to him.

He hates the way you make him want to wrap you in his obviously warmer jacket, make him hyperfocus on nursing you back to health instead of the lesson at hand.

He hates the way you never look at him, even after all the others have left, and he mumbles the occasional bless you or are you okay?, which scarcely get a response.

Renjun hates the way he has to steal glances at you or ask you for the source material to get you to look his way. And he hates that he currently does it, waiting, like a coward, for even the TA to leave the room last.

“Do you have a copy of Article 6?”

You bury your nose further into the library’s copy of the Constitution. “Yeah, I just read it.” He hates the way he sees something stop in your throat, masked by a cough; you almost said more to him. Silently, you pass him the book. “Here. You can –“ Cough. “– You can have it.” You bring your hand to your mouth, covered by your sleeve, coughs bubbling into it.

He hates the sympathetic look in his eyes, that he can feel, that he can see in the glass reflection, that you do not acknowledge. Renjun hates the way he purposefully brushes his hands against yours despite you having sneezed on it earlier. He threw a disgusted bless you at you, almost standing from his comfortable position to give you a tissue. But you would never accept it, on the basis of mortal enemies.

“Thank you.”

He hates the way you say nothing back, the way you ignore him again. He hates the way that, at this point, he has to wonder if he really does hate you, hate the idea of you, or hate himself for letting your relationship, now lack thereof, get to this.

And so do you.

Another week passes until your TA schedules another study session; this time before the midterm, one that you need to attend because the vocabulary continuously becomes too complicated to understand. Like, academia is already an unnecessarily convoluted foreign language, and you do not want to hear how it is pronounced, especially when it comes from Renjun’s stupidly pretty voice that always has a perfect cadence. Even now, as he answers the TA’s pointless pop quiz, you are compelled to listen, somehow retaining the information better when he says it, too consumed by his tone … that you miss half the class exiting, until you are left alone with him again, and the reserve textbook that the TA checked out for an extra two hours after the session, knowing exactly which two students would probably study near each other before getting kicked out (again) at midnight.

The click of an AirPod case opening snaps your attention, forcing you toward the tangible Renjun five seats away, furthest from the room’s only exit, other than the window you contemplate jumping from.

“What are you looking at?” Renjun snips, micro-jutting his chin toward you like a meaningless threat. He would never spar you … in a library, that is – he really does not enjoy getting kicked out of places. But he goes back to tuning out the world when you fail to respond, so you do the same, with your favorite band’s newest album.

Unfortunately, for Renjun, this meant enduring your off-key, sporadic humming, broken by cracks in your voice as if it were hoarse, vaguely resembling instrumental, much less the actual lyrics. He lets you get a bit louder, equally turning up his volume, until your humming elongates into one dissonant note, and he pulls out your earbud, pausing your music, your singing, and your studying. You un-click your pen, the corner of your eye flittering toward him, sparkling a glare because the angle will not allow you to narrow your eyes at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” he mocks, placing the AirPod on the table by your phone. Renjun returns to his seat just as easily and silent, the sound of his chair scraping the carpet replacing both your playlists. He is halfway through pulling his seat closer to the table when he continues, seeing you oscillate between him and your phone (not even the textbook; wow). “I meant it.” He glares. “If you’re just going to daydream, you can leave. I’ll even encourage you; you can be hung up on that Timothée Chalamet wannabe.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, head turning away. “I’m not hung up on him.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters back, popping open an orange midliner. He doesn’t use yellow anymore. Variations of the color, yes, from orange to orange-yellow, then yellow-green to green. His favorite color is still yellow; perhaps why he holds it in such high esteem, like dedicating little emojis across his Instagram captions to it or detailing small embellishments around his apartment, but not something he carefully looks at every day, like his notebooks.

Equally petty and bitter, you say something under your breath, trying to be unintelligible. Renjun, though, knows about your mother’s speak clearlys, and it comes out crystal: “Sounds like you’re hung up on him more than I am.” And neither of you understand why – why he would think you are hung up on some asshole in your philosophy class who probably thinks Thanos was a genius; why this is a conversation topic; why he even cares.

“I’m not the one who went on a date with him,” Renjun almost bites, in the form of a growl. He remembers almost literally running into your classmate just outside the boba place off-campus behind the math department, like you did with the cement pillar a couple years ago. You also walked out the door, in the same manner he did to go inside the shop (or, really, stop outside it), distracted by complimenting the matcha blend; you also shrugged him off and sauntered the path with Chalamet.

But what does Huang Renjun even know about your taste in men?

A lot, actually, considering that encompasses so much, if not everything, that you want from a significant other: passionate, honorable, empathetic. You would rather die (or shut him up) before you said anything like that to him. Except … you already did. Freshman year, prior to meeting his friends, when you both were still in that weird getting to know each other phase, not the talking stage just yet, you had been in his dorm, sitting on a bean bag he stole from the floor lobby, and he asked you, out of the blue (because he was finishing up a social psych paper), about the things that make someone attractive romantically. You told him the basics – funny, verbally appreciative, trustworthy, etc., then he watched your eyes sparkle outside his window and your hands wrap around your knees, gently rocking as you described the really specific details. He wondered, at that time, whether he could be all that, your fantasized ideal type.

“I don’t know where you get your information, Huang, but Xiaojun and I aren’t dating, nor did we ever go on a date. I don’t know which event you’re probably misconstruing in your mind, but you’re wrong, and I don’t –“

“Sounds like you don’t know a lot,” he interrupts, starting a new argument, running away from the last topic he started. “Maybe you should actually focus on getting back into the top three in this class, or do you want Seungmin to keep taking out spots?”

You purse your lips. “Bold words for someone who can barely spell.”

“Yeah?” Renjun perks his head, shaking it just the one time. “What’s your excuse?” His question is met with silence, and since your eyes downcast again, brows furrowed with harsh lines in the middle, you fail to notice him return to work. “Thought so,” he mutters, in the tone your mother would disapprove.

You wish it was different.

Ethics would be so much easier, just to comprehend, with his help – bouncing ideas and theories off each other, cowriting drafts and outlines, simultaneously shouting eureka after everything comes together. Except, you wish this was also different – the irritation, the discomfort, the … the resentment. You both know why you resent each other, though only internally; he doesn’t know why you resent him, nor vice versa, and it bubbles into these micro-arguments, passive aggressiveness; the both of you too awkward, maybe even timid, to reconcile without your hearts on the line.

Another sigh leaves your lips, hidden under your breath, and no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, Renjun’s ears attune to it, to your every move. He puts his midliner down, contemplating the benefits of talking to you again like … like a friend; he even opens his mouth to say something, anything, but really, what is there to say? What can he say? One of you will have to be more vulnerable, praying on the other’s empathetic, or sympathetic, side. You did it last, telling him that you couldn’t move in with him, something of a sad expression on your face that he made him immediately go to your defence. He tells himself that he forgave you as soon as your lips moved, but you were not so sure … And neither was he.

“H … he … hey,” he calls out slowly, voice growing audibly to coherency as his confidence settles on vulnerability, a harsh 180 from his previous spite. “Hey,” he repeats, even louder. You finally turn to him, lowering your music just enough to hear him but not taking it away completely, in case he just wants to insult you again. He doesn’t. And he hopes his face shows that.

You scrutinize him, staring down from his eyes to his lips, pausing there, maybe hesitating, before trailing up again. “What?”

“Do you understand the implied contract prompt?”

“Mm … hmm …”

Renjun exhales through his nose, slowly rolling his eyes, trying to expel the budding frustration with each rotation. “Can … Will you go over it with me?” He knows that he has to ask a yes-no question, to ask for help in a format that will not have you nitpicking each word to dismantle his entire request like an argumentative statement. And he does not start it with an apology, like he should. He rarely reveals his emotions so easily without a special occasion, though his every feeling writes itself across his face, chokes his throat.

Not that you indicate any consideration – which is probably his fault. Who could even give a warm response to his resting bitch face, or that scolding tone? Who would even want to?

“I can,” you overenunciate, possibly pondering the implications of his question, taking an eternity to say the simple words. You lower your head, again, to your notebook; pen scratching the air above the half-filled page, twitching. He dips his eye to your smallest movements, but when he catches nothing, he returns to your face, still contemplative. You partially inhale, keeping your breath at the base of your esophagus until you make your decision. He waits and waits, falling onto his toes with each millisecond. You lick your lips and exhale, shakily; you take another moment, giving him a bit of hope that you change your mind at last second in his favor. And you do: “… Ye-yeah, I think I will.” You point a finger at him. “As long as you confine your arguments to the texts.”

“Thanks,” Renjun sighs. He breathes again, hand sliding down his chest. “Maybe we can bounce ideas off each other too.”

The corners of your lips twitch upward. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You and Renjun spend another two hours in the library until a student worker’s voice echoes through the speakers, essentially kicking you both out. You helped each other pack your belongings, then walked down to the first floor together, in silence. He told you that he had to return a book at the front desk, and, despite your better judgements, you waited for him.

“So …” you say outside the library, grabbing both straps of your backpack. You stop first, in front of him, and he skids down, mirroring your posture on his tote bag.

“So …” he copies.

What does this mean? What happens now? What are we? Do we just go back to … You cannot call it ‘normal’, because what is normal? Even before everything, he blurred the line between friends and l… and more, which gave you a false hope that was shattered by Chaewon in just one minute, not that you speak to her so often anymore. You two get together occasionally, every 1-2 months subject to projects and midterms, working on different subspecialty electives – honestly, that itself is nice, not being forced to compete for the same internships, the same classes, the same fields. The same cannot be said with Renjun. Although, he gets it. Despite the way you two collaborate on similar theses, whether you agree or disagree with the hypothetical plaintiff, he validates your stances and vice versa, bringing up evidence to really strengthen each other’s arguments. He just … You just … debate whose evidence is better, which opening statement would be received by the judge (your professors) more positively.

A hundred questions linger on the tip of your tongue, nearly begging you to cross-examine him on the spot without preparation. Maybe lawyers are like this, kind of intense in all areas of their lives, needing the black and white extremes because they deal with the grey areas for days, if not weeks or months. Though, you still have yet to pass the bar exam. You and Renjun, who drops his arms to his sides like the iPhone emoji, his lips sucked inside his mouth.

“I …” You inhale, pursing your lips. “I …” You inhale again and bite your lip to keep the vacuum sealed. “I …” You start again and again, inhaling once more at the start of each sentence, reconsidering where to take this momentum. And Renjun follows your words, heels coming off the ground, leaning into you until he trips. “So …” you settle lamely, eyes drifting away from him, to one of the flickering lampposts in the midnight sky.

Renjun releases his lips into a tiny upward curve, sliding his feet individually into your personal bubble. “We can study at my apartment,” he suggests, “if you want.” And you bite your lip, pushing it out via tongue in the same second. Maybe he feels the same way, doesn’t want this good thing to end. These moments have happened before, after the massive fight move-in dispute, like when he offers you a pen or charger in class, seeing yours dead, or when he shows you that he listens, classroom or not, just like now, reading your body language, probably, and changing the trajectory of the night.

“… Can we?” you ask in a small voice. “I … I still have trouble with philanthropic and ethical responsibilities, and …” You drill your ankle into the ground. “And I think you know Carroll’s corporate social responsibility pyramid better than I do.”

“Right.”

You pick your head up, and he ducks his down.

“I … just … I mean,” he stutters, “If … If you think about it, we have different strengths, so we can … we should rely on each other a bit.” He inhales again, so you study his readable face, looking for all the signs that lead you to his fragile heart. His hands clasp in front of his chest, palms too sticky and perspiring to make the familiar rubbing sound. You try to find his eye, find his gaze, but he finds yours first, boring his widening pupils into you, making you take a small step back, slightly noticeable, given the way his fingers twitch forward, ghosting the outline of your palm. “An … And I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “For the last year.”

You brush your hair back through the middle. “It’s fine,” you breathe, pressing your palm into your stomach. “I mean, it’s … it’s not fine, because, you know … I … I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he whispers, so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. Renjun clears his throat and looks over your head at the empty quad, lampposts dimmer than the second star on the right. “So, um, my place then?”

You bite your bottom lip again, trying not to show how wide your smile can get, because although this doesn’t cure the past 12 or 14 months of verbal rallying at every glance, it is a start. He still agrees with you on the important things, on the morals and values; he still, like, keeps the corner of his eye on you, in public, in private, in the classroom, everywhere; he still spends time with you, stays in your proximity, your eyeline, your conversation. And you know that the separation is your fault. Renjun talks about communication all the time, as the basis for any relationship, yet you couldn’t give him that. But maybe you can now.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

The next day saw another study session in his apartment again, like every rom com movie’s college students – sitting on the floor, a takeout box housing rice in your hands while he balanced a bulgogi platter in his, chopsticks replacing the pen that you really should be holding instead. Occasionally, you had to cover your mouth, when he said something witty, else little grains fly into his face, not that his smile would be mad, too consumed by how own laughter.

Then, later, deep into the night, after the styrofoam piles on the garbage bin, Renjun crouches next to you, laying his head above the couch cushions while you yawned toward the open living room plan. He admired your dedication (really your side profile) and asked if you wanted to wrap up for the night, or to take a break, or to nap even, but you shook your head, reclining in his same position, restarting the explanation for your essay question to tell him why your practice exam deserves at least 85%, not 70. You kept talking, between yawns, eyes drooping, chest slowing, until your words broke completely from their last train of thought. Somewhere, you stopped listening too. He was not sure where, because he stopped also, eyes closing after yours, falling onto the floor.

Oh, it happened again, that same week. And the next, and the next, happening every other night for months.

Jeno and Haechan, his roommates this year – the two who replaced you, or made room, spontaneously, for Renjun when you abandoned him – were surprised to see you, that initial night. They enjoyed your company freshman and sophomore year, sporadically, while you had been with Renjun (not with him, just by his side) and the even rarer occasion they saw you separated. Of course you bonded as friends – all six – you, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Chaewon, Jaemin, but law school is competitive and, worse, time consuming, restraining your already limited time from people you do not see regularly (e.g. not Dahyun, Jimin, Renjun, Chaeyoung, or Yeoreum) So, as you and Renjun fought more, recoiled from each other, he retreated to his childhood friends, inadvertently distancing you from them too. And slowly, you rebuilt your relationships with them, too.

You rebuilt your friendships enough to walk from the maths department to Renjun’s apartment with Jeno at 7pm on a Thursday after studying alone in the library a couple hours, laughing at the story he told you about the time Jaemin lost his shoe in the fountain by the engineering department, only for you to return it with a senseless debate: how many holes are on a straw?

“You’re insane!” you shout as he opens the door, dropping your bag on the couch to follow him into the kitchen, completely missing Renjun’s small wave from the dining room behind you two; he brings his hand to his chest and stares at his palm while you follow Jeno around the apartment. “The math says it’s one.”

Jeno cracks open a soda, leaning against the counter. He smacks his lips, pondering the debate. You know he took calculus and geometry, and currently he has that topography class he just got out of, so he should be on your side! “It’s like this.” He puts up his finger. “There is one passage, –” He sticks up a second finger. “ – with two holes. There are two places you can enter. If we define a hole as an opening to which you can enter only or leave only, then –“

“What are you two talking abou –“

“– there are two holes in a straw.”

You smack Jeno’s hand down. “This isn’t a philosophical question. A straw is real and tangible in a torus shape, so it has just the one.”

“Can I give my opinion?” Renjun walks to the counter, poking his head above it.

“No!” you and Jeno shout together.

“Okay, then let me ask you this: do you consider your mouth and asshole to be separate openings or just the one hole?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Technically,” you sigh, “Yes.”

“So you just admitted you’re talking shit!”

You deadpan. “Do you want to die?”

Jeno surrenders his hands, giggling to himself. “There’s a reason I’m not trying to be lawyer like the rest of you.” He puts his can upside down in the sink to drain the soda that wouldn’t fall out and claps his hands. “Anyways, I’m going to bed. I’ve gotten, like, 4 hours in the last three days, and I swear that I started hallucinating concert halls in the middle of architecture, so good night.”

“Yeah, yeah, good night, whatever,” you wave him off.

“Good night?” Renjun half-sings, staring Jeno down the hall.

“Oh!” you shout again, making him whip his head around as you rush to grab something from your backpack. You pull out a paper, small bag, tossing it to him in the same movement. “I got you some gummies from the library café. They were restocking, and I don’t know if you bought any since last night, so … yeah, there you go.”

Renjun pulls out the candies one at a time, sprawling them across the arm of the couch while you take a seat on the opposite, pulling a pillow into your crisscrossed applesauce position. Coca-Cola Haribo, Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers, Vilac peach yogurt jellies – Renjun doesn’t remember telling you about his favorite gummies; though, you might have just been … paying attention. He is not too subtle, he hopes, about it, about anything really. His emotions, he has been told, are written all over his face, involuntarily reacting before he can even think to process them. And with you in such close proximity, with the both of you fixing this relationship, his brain goes fuzzy, rewiring again, slowly coming down from disappointment to hope, but prevents him from slinking to your side again, unsure how near you will allow him to be. Renjun pops a candy bag open, just like Jeno did a soda, then points it at you first. You take two, one for yourself and place the other in his hand, coaxing him closer. The both of you rearrange on the couch until your shoulders are a magazine-width apart, necks reclined on the pillows, legs thrown toward the ground.

Renjun only lets the lull in conversation last a few seconds, maybe less, until his head starts drifting to the side. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I –” Your stomach growls before you can answer, metabolism having been ignited by the gelatin. “I guess I am …” You sink into the couch, pressing your lips tight, trying to hide between the cracks without bumping into him. He gives you space, inching away. “Sorry …”

“It’s fine.” Renjun tucks his pretty hair behind his ears, eyes cast between his legs on the cushion. “We can order food before we start studying.” He pauses, giving you time to think about from which delivery service to order, phone in his front pocket suddenly feeling heavy on his thigh, dropping a little too close to center; he rearranges his phone. And you rearrange your body to look up at the ceiling. Renjun copies you, after a second, after appreciating the glow across your cheeks, no matter how tired you seem. His eyes follow the outline around the apples of your cheeks, walking the same path to his ceiling, head tilting closely to yours. “Is hotpot okay?” he whispers near your ear.

Your shoulders shudder, almost hitting him in the chin, and you turn to him. “Again?” you ask, ending through a sigh. You hug your waist and snuggle deeper on the couch. He almost replaces the cushion with his narrow shoulder; albeit, he has been consistently going to the gym. It might be more comfortable now than freshman year, but he does wonder if you would have that playful smile on your lips again. It appears in your eyes. “Will you actually pour the soup into the bowls correctly, or are we going to have to drop meat into the broth again?”

Renjun smiles for you. “I can’t promise anything, other than it will taste good.”

“It’s hotpot,” you say as if the reasoning were obvious. “It’s hotpot, and more importantly, it’s your taste in hotpot.”

Reminiscing with you only goes as far back as when he apologized in the library this term, but he recalls everything before then too. You never really went to get hotpot with him before now; occasionally, yes, if you were available and nearby when he planned it. Actually, Junhui, one of the PhD students from the biology department, invited you sometime during sophomore year, when you and Renjun were walking around campus for fresh air, sipping melted bubble tea. That was every once in a while, maybe every couple months, but now, you go with him or order out with him every couple days. Your late night study snacks (dinner, really) does not always have to be hotpot, or boba; you also buy gimbap from the convenience store and pineapple juices, when neither of you have the time to dedicate 30-minutes, or an hour, to a full meal. Those moments remind him about freshman and sophomore year, in which school did not consume your waking hours like a ticket counter at an arcade.

“Are you ready for the exam?” you ask, once he sends the order, curling up on the couch.

Renjun flops next to you again, brushing his bangs away from his eyes to see you better. “Partially. There are still a few concepts I’m uncertain about, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to complete the writing portion in time, if Jeong really is going to reduce our time limit to an hour, instead of 90 minutes.”

You drop one leg on the ground again, extending your back on the cushions too. “Should we start going over the last lecture then?”

Renjun nods and reached over the arm of the couch for his backpack, pulling out a fat stack of cardstock. “Yeah, I started making flashcards on Tuesday after the finance PowerPoint. Too many vocab words.” He turns the index cards around his fingers, then looks up at you. Your eyes droop a bit down, wrists waddling on the side of your thigh. He tilts his head to the side. “Or we can eat first.” He would offer to walk you to your apartment, but you can stay over; you have, in the recent past and further. Plus, you usually protest him. Renjun thuds his head on the cushion, pulling a pillow into his lap, flittering his eyes up your face until he meets your gaze. “Do …” he swallows. Your pupils dart around him, but he feels as though you never leave his eye, so he restarts, “Do you … remember … when we first tried to get hotpot?”

“Yeah,” you yawn, slinking onto your shoulder. “I don’t think I trusted your suggestions completely back then, but after Jeong’s brutal pop quiz, –”

“No, um,” Renjun clears his throat. “Back-back then.” Before we broke up.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat passes.

Then another one, both of you just staring at each other, unmoving, unblinking.

You open your mouth, but his chest rises, and you close it again.

He almost takes it back, mentally drawing all the what-ifs, even though he lives in a reality where all of this happened already – his breathing, his question, the fight. Even if he wanted to withdraw everything, he couldn’t.

“Yeah,” you surprise him, fingers pinching the couch. He mistakes the movement for another what-if, another hesitation, and reaches out, slowly threading his fingers under your palm. “I … I …” you stutter, corners of your lips twitching wide. “That was the first time I met your friends.”

“They’re your friends too,” he whispers, sliding his knuckles to meet yours. Renjun tugs your wrist weakly, and you comply. “They like you too.”

You search his eyes, small frown on your face. “… They do?”

Renjun swallows. “Yes, they do.”

Almost 48-hours pass before you see Renjun again, not seeing him during the intermediate day between business ethics. Your other shared class gets cancelled, too, giving you another excuse to avoid him.

You know why you avoid him, and you know when you avoid him – any time your friendship blurs the unspoken lines: talking through dawn, the smallest touches, always finding each other in the crowd. Even after your ‘break’, both of you found each other in your classes, unintentional at first. Everything was by chance this third year of college. Then, you talked to him, and he talked to you. Well, really, you argued back and forth, rallied at each other in class, encouraged by your fellow classmates and occasional professor. But you kept finding each other, preemptively refuting each other’s theses; it was a guess, of course, and it was always right.

Now, too, Renjun finds you outside the building, holding your backpack straps in both hands, twisting the fabric in circles.

“Hey,” he greets softly, jogging over to meet you faster. He catches your elbow, turning you to face him when you, still focused on the law building, bite your lip, dismissing his presence. You release the tension in your body, slinking into his singular hand, as if he were the only thing supporting you. “Nervous?” Renjun raises an eyebrow.

You swallow, then give him a weak smile, your mouth dropping the instant it formed. “That obvious?” You flicker your gaze across his eyes and frown. “Are you not nervous?”

Renjun relinquishes your arm. “No, I am. I just …” He pulls you to the side, away from the door, when other students start walking inside the building. His thumb rubs over your jacket, not that you feel it; you hear it though, like a scratching sound, before he stops, dropping his hand again, one last squeeze on your arm. “I just wanted to check on you first.” He gives you a weak smile, but this time, it does not go away as yours did, staying through the conversation. “Final exam,” he nods to the door. “Last one.”

“Of the term,” you mumble, then cringe, elbows tucking in your sides and lips pursing. If this is his attempt at comforting you, you aren’t being very welcoming to it. “Sorry.”

“How about,” he starts, and your glassy eyes peer into him, “Um,” his voice stutters, like caught between a rock and a hard place, unable to crawl out until you put a hand on his upper arm, resting there, circling around his small bicep like a funerary armband. “H-how about one more competition?”

You tilt your head to the side, frowning, hand slipping away too.

But Renjun catches you, compressing your knuckles in his swift move, then relaxing, slightly, not letting you go again. “If you’re ranked higher, –“ He pauses, briefly losing his train of thought, when you lick your lips open, leaning into his hold almost to the point of you both falling; but he stands solid. “– I’ll buy you dinner at Gen.”

“Gen?”

He brought it up a few times in the past, in the far past, asked you to go with him even more rarely, after a drink or two. And everyone knows the restaurant – a popular (and common) date night barbecue house, given by the candlelit atmosphere and the high frequency of two-person booths. Conversely, you brought it up once, that time you met his friends, dying for a reprieve, or a switching the night into something more intimate, you cannot remember. Although, depending on the day, your definition of intimacy differs; currently, you remember it as wanting to just be with him, wanting to slowly retire from the large crowd, wanting to hide your feelings a bit more, again, when he does not confirm his. Now, too, you counter him with follow-up questions, trying not to get your hopes up again, only for them to be dashed.

But Renjun nods and confirms his decision, his word. “Yeah,” he smiles, “Gen.”

“And …” you hum, tipping onto your toes, getting closer to his face, to his lips. You glance at his heart-shaped philtrum, so filled with love that his body expels it in the smallest details. He traces your eyeline, falling a little behind, just staring at your eyelids until you look back up at him. “… And what happens if you rank higher?”

“Mmmmm,” he ponders, voice a couple octaves higher, as if he had not yet considered winning, at all. “If I win,” he continues speaking slowly, dragging out the hypothetical. “If … if I win,” he restarts, darting through your face for an objection; you give none, instead breaking his personal space, coming just a biology textbook-thickness in front of his chest – far enough to take it all back in a second but close enough to give him more, should he ask. And he does. “If I win, you’ll owe me a kiss.”

[Renjun, 4:51 PM]

Have you checked the rankings yet?

[You, 4:55 PM]

I went this morning. They’re not up yet.

[Renjun, 4:57 PM]

[Renjun, 4:58 PM]

They were supposed to be up yesterday.

[You, 4:59 PM]

I know :( but I can check again tomorrow.

[Renjun, 5:01 PM]

No, it’s fine. I’m heading in that direction anyway. I’ll check right now, and if it’s not up, we can go together tomorrow.

Renjun stands outside your apartment, late into the night, teetering on both his feet, hand rising and dropping over and over again … until you open the door.

“Oh,” you weakly blurt, stopping one foot ahead of the doorframe, almost through the small opening between his legs. You rub your eyes with your cotton long sleeves, the hair loose from your ponytail flopping around your face, framing the yawn escaping your tongue. “What …” You drop your hands to your sides, blinking rapidly at him. “What are you do –”

Renjun wastes no time, letting his body answer for him. He grabs your cheeks, linking his clean-cut fingernails behind your ears, thumbs rolling up the apples of your cheeks. You grab onto him, onto his waist and wrist, bunching your fingers around every surface you can reach. Renjun smacks his wet lips together, having obsessively bit and licked them just seconds earlier. His eyes close halfway, mid-prayer; you copy him, standing on your toes, too. He comes just a hair away, lips nearly brushing yours. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you whimper, so faintly that he almost misses it. Almost. You never leave his attention.

He waits another millisecond, inhaling some extra courage, telling himself that you are more permanent than he thinks, before, finally, bending down. You push your mouth higher, involuntarily tightening your grip on him. Renjun slips his tongue between your lips, quickly, elongating the single kiss so he doesn’t have to ask again. You adjust, easily, even more when he simultaneously moves one hand into your hair, supporting your head, and the other under your chin, thumb lifting your face upward. His tongue tentatively slithers past your teeth, prodding your tongue awake, flicking it unfolded, and your knees buckle, walking him inside your apartment. He presses you against the closest wall, closing the door behind him.

“Does,” you swallow, digging your fingers into his flexible hips, pushing him into a pause, “this mean you ranked higher?”

Renjun steals a chaste peck, head rushing in, then pulling out slower, admiring all the minute details in your face until you open your eyes widely, peering into him. He shakes his head, “No,” breathing the word onto your mouth, lips puckering across the word. “It wasn’t up.” He cautiously steps forward, only by his toes. And when he sees your lack of restraint, he adds another. “I just … I didn’t want you to think that I had any other intentions.”

“Than?”

“Than to date you.”

You yank him even closer, his palm banging into the wall, his heartbeat beating on yours. You tilt your head to the side, too, nose brushing his cheek. “Can I … Can you kiss me again?”

Renjun combs your hair away from your ears, pushing it behind your head. He grazes his lips on the last layer of your vermillion, all the little nerve endings sensing him but not entirely feeling him. “Can I do more?”

“Anything.” You arrest his wrist, contracting like a festival bracelet that will not loosen, also needed for entrance the next day. “Please.” You walk him toward your room, almost like a waltz, leading him first this time. “Please.”

Renjun accepts, taking off his bag and jacket in the same action, dropping them outside your bedroom door – an accident; he aimed for inside, but kissing you takes priority, any day, and he returns his chest, his lips, his hands to you, standing only in his t-shirt and slacks, you mirrored on him with your own oversized long-sleeve and lounge shorts. He spins you around, your back against his torso, you gasping at the suddenness, and nips into your neck, tongue dragging along your skin to mollify it and prevent a mark. For now. One hand holds your jaw, letting him find your perfect pulse point; then travels between your clothed boobs, cupping and squeezing, harder, provoked by your winded whispers. His fingers flick your waistband, tapping into your skin. He moves his lips down your shoulder, peppering gentle kisses coolly.

“Renjun, please.” You sigh into his embrace, his hug, then take off your shirt, giving him more skin to touch.

He kisses your bare shoulder, hands diving into your underwear now, and you grab his bicep even tighter, making him grunt lowly. Your nails dig through his thin t-shirt, dragging him another step forward, his cock nudging your ass cheeks separate. But it’s not enough. The material prevents him from feeling you, from you feeling him, entirely, so he pushes apart your vulva, slipping his fingers over your pussy to your clit, getting you wetter while he single-handedly unbuttons his trousers. They fall to the ground, and he steps out of them. When he stands taller again, he leans forward, fingers slipping entirely, knuckle-deep, inside your wet pussy. You, reflexively, bend over, face sloping toward the mattress, catching yourself on his arm.

“Ah, Renjun.”

“Too much?” he mumbles, nose brushing low behind your neck. He drags his nimble fingers on the crevice between your pussy and leg, drying them as he pulls out to put his hands on your shorts and spin you around, bare chest to bare chest. Renjun stares into your eyes, stooping a bit lower to give you the upper hand. His gaze dips down your face, just briefly, when your lips part, an exhale escaping.

“No,” you shake your head, returning his eyes to yours. You touch the waistband of his underwear, running your thumb along the seam. “I – I want more.”

Renjun nods, just once, letting the sentence seep into his brain, then he nods again, more fervently, his lips running back to you, after he understands/it fully hits him. His palms slide across your body: on the crown of your head, fingers spreading downward to support your neck, and on your lower back, guiding you over the bed. You don’t go down pliantly though, sticking to him, swiftly moving to anchor on his sturdy shoulders, keeping him locked in until he kisses down your face, down the column of your neck, sucking at the base and leaving budding hickeys to decorate your collarbone. He licks between your boobs, tongue covering his bottom teeth as he takes your nipple in his mouth, hands holding your hips down kneading the neglected teat, rubbing his tight fingers along the hard bud like a washboard.

You inhale sharply, picking your head off the mattress to see him better, then drop back down again, back arching, moaning, “Renjun, yes, oh my God.” You pick your hips up, planting your feet on the duvet, humping the air to feel him, feel the outline of his abandoned dick. “Mmm,” you thrash about, knocking him down your body.

Renjun lands above your appendix, adding another mark low on your stomach, before saying, “I’m getting to it.” He picks up his head, smirking. “Or, are you going to argue with me now?” He kisses above your shorts. “Again?”

He sneaks his way into your shorts, under your panties, jerking them down your smooth legs, and diving into your pussy, cold breath igniting the bundle of nerves. You accidentally twitch your thighs, squeezing his face; you hold him there a moment longer, raising your clit to his waiting tongue. When he licks around your vulva, your legs slacken, allowing him to do what he initially wanted. His tongue trails along your inner thighs, gently nipping and sucking. He holds your knees apart, giving himself the space to work, focusing on the outer part of your cunt, tenderizing the area until your legs start shaking, collapsing on the bed – that is when he pokes his tongue through your orifice, resting his cheek on your inner thigh, his wet sloppy kiss returning to him. His nose circles over your clit, scraping it side-to-side as his tongue flutily cleans your walls. He inserts a finger beside his tongue, wriggling it deep inside your cunt, met with your spongey, little spot, then another one, pulling back and forth, sliding his lips onto your clit again.

“Fuck, Renjun,” you whine, twisting and turning, knocking him about. He pushes his free plan just outside your pussy, keeping you down flat, sucking your entire clit between his lips, tongue ruffling the hard nub. “You’re going to make me cum.”

“Mmhmm,” he nods, briefly disconnecting to spit on his fingers. He slowly slides the tip of his palm under your clitoral hood, winding his arm in a half circle, preparing to drive his fingers in you at a faster pace. “That is my intention. Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head.

Renjun climbs on top of you again, lunging into your face, his head sloped to the side, barely supported on the one hand at your side, repeatedly milling his boxers between your legs. Occasionally, he breaks the kiss, to check on his fingers buried inside your cunt, only to restart his grinding. Your lips split, releasing a moan inside his mouth. Renjun grits his teeth, the tip of his dick getting flicked by your heavy blanket, then smashes his lips on yours, coiling and toiling, exhaling heavily through his nose, onto your cheek. He shoves a third finger in your cunt, so far that your body arches off the bed; he grabs the front of your pussy, roughly wriggling his entire hand and, essentially, pawing at your pussy, your hamstring muscles contracting, toes curling. You clutch his bicep, eyes shutting, knees turning outward.

He repeats long pecks behind your ear, gently nibbling the lobe where you periodically wear earrings. ��Can I give you more?” he whimpers, begging, hips knocking a little bit closer, biting his lip.

Your nails dig into his skin, chin jutting to the side, neck allowing him extra access. “Please, Renjun, I’m so close. You’re going to make me cum, you’re going to make me cum. Deeper, oh my God, please.”

Renjun slips off his underwear, using the edge of your bed and his legs. He lines the tip of his dick behind his knuckles, gently prodding his hand forward to give you a deeper sensation like you ask. You peek open your eyes slowly, then stare at him, feeling him kneel high between your thighs; you glance down to his cock in hand, damp head leaking pre-cum like lubricant, and nod, catching his drift. Renjun pushes his thumb onto your clit, rocking it side to side, and slips his fingers out, replacing it with his cock. He groans with you, interlacing his dry (yet soft and moisturized) hand, jaw hanging low, heavy breaths flattening his lungs.

Your free hand snakes into the bedsheets, crawling under a pillow, arm raising to the ceiling. Renjun kisses you again, strangled moans from both of you shaken, not stirred, by your tongues. And the moment his cock buries fully inside your cunt, you gasp, opening your mouth wide enough for him to slip his tongue inside too, swirling yours to the front of your mouth, into his, where he can suck on it. Your body rises in temperature rapidly, chests abrading simultaneously, fervently trying to fuse your bodies together, exploring each other’s mouths. His hand falls close to your cheek, almost slipping and falling completely as the pressure in his abdomen builds.

“Tell me you’re close,” he whispers shakily, legs, abs, biceps trembling. Renjun feels your walls gradually tighten, coaxing the pre-cum from his cock; he can feel that, too, trickling down his shaft, mingling with your wetness. He picks up the pace, hips turning obviously, left, right, left, right, then pelvis snapping up, up, up, joining your pussy whenever he bangs you into the headboard. “Angel, does that feel good?”

You bite your lip, nodding, then let go. “I’m … I’m …” He keeps the pattern: left, right, left, right, left and right, up, up, up. His pelvis drives you through the bedframe, but his hips bring you back down, and you roll your eyes into your head, moaning loudly. You hold onto his wrist, ground yourself through the building orgasm. “So, so good, Renjun. Oh, my God, I’m cumming. Keep going, keep going.” He continues rolling his hips, cock floundering inside your pussy, tip thumping rhythmically on your sweet spot, until your wall spasms slow down, the compressions loosening enough for him to slip through. Your pussy quickly returns to its original tightness in the downtime, and you mewl when he pulls out, tip catching on the stretch.

Renjun clenches the base of his cock, fingers replacing your pussy as he pulls out, mumbling, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” the syllables of your name also spilling from his tongue.

You sluggishly pull yourself back up, but when you stand on your knees, similar to him, you fall forward. It gives you the perfect position to suck his dick though, and your hands join his single one, tugging on his shaft, twisting your wrists in different directions, at different speeds, spreading your cum all over his length. Tentatively, you stick out your tongue, his cock barely scraping it as he fucks the tiny hole created by your hands and you jerk him off. You cautiously look up at him and find him, eyes closed, pointed toward the ceiling, jaw dropped smally as he controls his breath. His hands comb into your hair, sketching around your ears, gently pulling you further up his cock, making one of your hands disappear.

"Oh, just like that, angel," he moans, "I'm gonna cum. Can I cum in your throat?"

You give him a strangled whine, bobbing your head up and down largely. Yes. You pump him a couple more times, slurp his cock loudly a couple more times, and he cums into your mouth. Renjun pulls his cock out, white cum stringing from his to your lips, overflowing on the corner, onto your cheek and chin, your tongue curving down like a bowl to catch every drop. He cups the beads falling down your face and swipes it into your mouth, persuading you to swallow, which you do, around his thumb.

Silence envelopes the two of you for a second, you and Renjun locked in that final position, breathing heavily, chests still heaving. You lay down first, then gesture for him to join you. He shakes his bangs in front of his face, smiling, and complies.

"Don't you need to use the bathroom?"

"In a minute," you wave him off, nudging yourself onto his shoulder. He lets you rest there, his eyes closing, breathing evenly, also spent, yielding to that end-of-the-term exhaustion. "Can I ... give you something too?"

Renjun opens an eye, then the other, seeing you stare at him. He analyzes your features, darting through the exhaustion, finding your wide eyes and fidgeting hands. "You've already given me everything." He mattes down your hair, brushing the shorter layers behind your ear to see your pretty face better. "Do you want to go again?" he smiles, dropping his arm on your shoulder, clinging closer to you. "I might need a minute,” he laughs.

You kiss him quiet, lips closed, staying on his for a long moment before you pull away, snaking a leg between his. "It's not necessarily the same ... as what we just did," you explain, whispering, "I want you to know that ... that my intentions, too, are to date you."

Renjun beams. "So, how about we get that dinner at Gen then?" You search his eyes, shoulders rising faster. His hand slips onto your upper arm, squeezing and rubbing the naked skin. "No competition," he clarifies, "No winners or losers, just you and me."

"Yeah, okay," you smile back, feeling him scoot even closer. “I’d like that a lot.”

#neohub #nct smut #renjun smut #nct dream smut #nct fluff #nct angst #renjun angst #renjun x reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic

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collectivecloseness · 1 year

Text

What’s More Important

Kurt Kunkle x reader

(Summary: Kurt’s fans can be toxic bullies half the time, and when it becomes too much for you and you pull away from his content, Kurt doesn’t understand. He especially doesn’t understand why the two of you have to argue. Notes: reuploaded from my ao3. Arguing, hurt/comfort, angst. F!reader. 10.4k.)

“Kurt please, I don’t wanna talk about this again.” You begged your boyfriend, you’d practically been pleading the entire ride home from work. And here you were, on the staircase to your apartment, still squandering with Kurt as you tried desperately for him to put the camera down.

“Y/n this is good content!” Kurt tried to get you to realise, his camera was mostly on his face, had been since he’d parked his car outside your building, but he was still capturing everything audio wise like a soldier. It wasn’t always to his benefit though.

“What? Us fighting?”

“We’re not fighting.” Kurt told you, a tired look coming across his face along with a concerned furrow of his brows.

You tried to pacify him. You knew he hated fighting, especially from what he’d told you about his parents, and the last time you’d raised his voice near him, even though it was to the asshole over his shoulder who was making a very rude gesture at him, he’d frozen in place and had to have your arm around his shoulders the whole mute way home to avoid any tears slipping.

You sighed, more tired than he was, he was always so energetic for his ‘fans’. Ever since the video of your first kiss took off. It was also the start of your problems. The start of people nitpicking at your every move. “I know we’re not sweetheart, but can you please, for the umpteenth time, turn that stupid camera off?”

You knew he wouldn’t. And the defiant protective grip of his phone just made a bubble of anger fuel in your chest. He gave a long worried look to his machine, to his fans, ‘what would his fans think?’ you mocked his thoughts. Sometimes you could get really sick of his antics, he was just so... stubborn!

“Fine.” You jolted your keys in your door, Kurt tapping twice on his screen to flip his camera to your front door, you were surprised he hadn’t accidentally doxxed you yet. “No cameras in my home though.” With that you closed the door on his surprised face, just leaning against your wall for support as you rubbed your fists achingly into your eyes. In the dark myriad of shapes and colours all you saw were those comments though. Instagram, youtube, tiktok, twitch you name it. On every platform people had called out how annoying, or ugly, or stupid, or unfunny, or just downright pathetic you were. And whether they were comments left on moments long past, or live bleating words to the public as you walked into a restaurant with your boyfriend and his device, not ever did Kurt really tell his fans to shut the fuck up.

Sure he’d bitten back a little. At your first really crude comment, he’d raised his hand a little to the camera, before bouncing it back on his steering wheel. “H-hey guys th-not cool. This-we’re a place of love here.”

The most you’d ever gotten was a “please tone it down respectfully in the chat.” Or a grumble of how he’d have to get mods some time soon as he turned left. And sure you didn’t expect him to just turn on his entire fan base, but not once had he yelled at them that they were crossing a line, or that they were wrong.

Worst of all it seemed he’d begun calling them out less and less. Not that you wanted the attention of course, and you knew Kurt had a knack of getting it, when he wanted to (which was usually most of the time) and sometimes even when he didn’t, you’d had to practically ban Kurt from his YouTube account one day when he kept responding to someone who you had to convince him was a troll just trying to rile him up. But Kurt had seemed to have gotten used to the ‘ocassional’ badmouthing of you. Not you though. He was constantly in the internet’s eye, and you’d been in his content less and less, not even posting yourself really any more, so maybe he didn’t see it as much, but you thought the amount of hate you got was drowning, and ever constant. Not that he seemed to notice. You banged the back of your head against your wall. Or care.

“Y/n? Please let me in? My-the stream’s over okay?”

You sucked the air harshly through your teeth, twisting to grip your hand against the doorknob. “I swear to God if there’s a camera in my face when I open this door.” But luckily there wasn’t. Just Kurt, stuffing his phone back into a green jacket pocket, and shrugging into his shoulders defensively. “Can I come in now?” His sad gamer boy eyes met yours and you knew he didn’t want you to kick him out. Kick him away.

You nodded satisfied. Moving back to allow your boyfriend into your apartment, both of you quickly heading to your room where you usually hung out. Neither of you sat though.

“Chat missed you today.” Kurt mumbled, pivoting unsurely on his feet.

“Oh really?” You remarked, trying to hide a scoff and sound as if you were actually interested. You highly doubted that. Kurt didn’t seem to pick anything up anyhow.

“Yeah. They kept asking ‘where’s your girlfriend?’ and ‘we wanna see y/n’ before I picked you up.” Kurt nodded, finally looking at you again since he’d been allowed inside. “How was work baby?” He stepped forward with the tired look you gave in response, loosely hanging his arms around your shoulders before pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head.

You nudged your temple to his chest, sighing as you held onto his hip and held him back. “It just sucked Kurt.” You nuzzled into him a bit more and felt him kissing you again “I’ve had a bit of a shitty day.” You didn’t feel like adding on top of that that his livestream was part of the reason it was so shitty, not when he was here to make it better now.

Kurt removed his head at that, peering down at you with that lulled smile. “I have a-know what will cheer you up!” You couldn’t help but smile back, still in his embrace. You’d been hoping the two of you could do something again!! You’d both been busy, with Kurts spree, and your work, and Kurts filming, and you trying to avoid his filming.

You moved out of his arms but only to hold his hand, and he looked down at it, the apples of his cheeks blossoming. “I’ve got a new prank set up! And, well, I know you know it’s a prank n-now, but you don’t know what it is so-“

“Oh my god, Kurt.” For once you thought he had something in mind to do with you that wasn’t just a scene to be recorded. You shook his hand in yours, in an annoyed desperation, before seeing his irritated face. So you dropped him. “Can we not have one moment that’s ruled by your stupid social media?”

A terse silence followed that sentence. Both of you were standing further apart now, but neither of you moved, just looking each other in the eye as if you were waiting for tension to fill the room before speaking.

“It’s not stupid.” Kurt prodded first.

You bit back a grunt, some weird sound being made instead. “Yeah well can we just have a moment alone? Please?” Your eyes widened vulnerably towards his, taking one step closer. “Or we can like go to the movies or something! Or hang out with some of my friends?” You would genuinely be so happy to just relax and do any of that. Even have Kurt offer something!

“Your friends?” Kurt scoffed with an amused smile. “Your friends don’t even like me!” His snapping matched the ticked off expression he wore instead now.

“They do too!” You fought back.

“They never post me on their socials!” Kurt offered, seeing that as irrefutable proof. He knew people sometimes didn’t like him. He didn’t always know why, especially when he really tried. He didn’t think your friends were being very sneaky about it however. He knew what he knew. Most people were rude to him. Not you though.

“Kurt it’s because you constantly badger them about it!” You whined honestly. You wouldn’t go so far as to say it was embarrassing, you loved Kurt for who he was, but you at least wish he got the vibes, or toned it down a little sometimes. “Maybe they’d want to if you just cooled it!”

Kurt just looked at you. His expression was overtly unreadable. Although you could trick yourself into thinking his nostrils were flaring just a little more than before. Sometimes it freaked you out that when someone argued with Kurt, he’d just stand there with such a neutral look, when you knew he must be feeling a whole lot of something in there. Somehow, and you never thought it’d be true, but someone like Kurt hiding their anger made him seem more scary than if he was yelling, not that you’d ever seen him properly do that either. You probably would’ve got a better look at him, considering how deadly silent Kurt was being as he urged you to continue, if you hadn’t wiped your hands down your face in stress. “Or maybe they’d want to if they didn’t know your fan base was so toxic.”

“That’s because you’re telling them that!” Kurt moped, in a louder voice than usual.

“Are you saying I’m lying!?” You asked. Did he really not think that? By this point?! That you were just exaggerating all this for attention?

“No but!- Ughhhh- I justmmmmm... Why are we fighting!?” Kurt finally ended his sentence. Taking a long, shaky breath, before his eyes grew softer on yours. “I don’t wanna fight with you y/n.”

“I don’t either!” Your voice hadn’t quite gone down back to a normal volume, you took a second to breathe and make it so. Your eyes were stinging but there were no tears. Yet. “I don’t, I love you Kurt.”

Kurt’s heart flipped. He always needed you to say that. Especially after your first fight. The word ‘fight’ made it feel like someone was punching his head even thinking it, when to do with you. He sniffed, saying “I love you too” quietly back.

You were unsure about hugging him first. Scared of him pulling away, of the fact that he seemed to confirm over and over again for you, that he cared about his audience more than he ever could about you. Although part of you, that part of you that was melting under his gaze right now, still didn’t want to believe that. “I don’t wanna fight either.” You lamented truthfully. “But please, can we be normal?”

“I am normal!”

You cringed immediately. You knew that was a sensitive point for him, and even though that wasn’t your intention, to call him abnormal, you’d kind of forgotten in the heat of the moment about that word, during this maybe over, but still extant, fight. You apologised quickly but calmly. “Of course that isn’t what I meant.”

Kurt nodded. He knew it.

But now neither of you knew what to say. Both still heated, both hurt but not letting the other know all too well. And letting Kurts mind wander when emotional like this was not good for anyone. “Bet you let your friends post you on their socials...”

“Oh my god Kurt. This again? I thought it was bad enough I had to put up with you spree streaming me?” You fully scoffed at this point, in disbelief this argument was still going on.

“Pu- put up with?” Kurt asked accusingly. Then he shook his head, as he changed his mind. “Y/n I just wanna post some pics with my girlfriend! Isn’t that the most normal thing in the world?” You hadn’t even let him upload a picture of the two of you in a month. On any platform! You didn’t even let him take pics of you anymore at all. Yesterday throwing a pillow at him until he deleted the one of you eating Chinese on his lap, because you thought he’d post it.

He missed having pictures of you on his phone...

“Not when the comments are all telling you how horrible your girlfriend is!” You were getting angry about it again, you could feel how hot your skin was getting but this time your anger was around Kurt. You’d told him about it before, and he always said something along the lines of “nah, you’re perfect babe. From head to toe.” But he’d never actually done enough to be productive about it. Not when he was too busy trying to be productive on his channels.

“It’s like you don’t even exist y/n!” Kurt aired his hands up and down your body, slapping a hand to his head with a deep breath. “Because you’re never online anymore! You’re not even documented by me!”

“That’s bullshit.” You rolled your head and Kurt grunted under his muffled lip sucking. “Stop making me sound like a future serial killer victim! I don’t need to be ‘documented’ for everyone to see Kurt.” That just made Kurt huff loudly, groaning to himself. It felt as if the stress was pounding at his head from the inside, harming him to come out. “It’s like we’re not even together!”

Now that fucking hurt. That twisted the knife inside your chest, and made it feel like it was falling to the pit of your stomach.

You couldn’t even think of a response. But your body, in trying to protect your brain, overtook that problem for you, as you gave your boyfriend a very flippant, but appalled, “fuck off!”

“No you! Do so!!” Kurt turned away from you, grumbling to himself as you just let your heart pound away. He spun around quick enough though.

“You don’t understand me!”

“I try to Kurt! I’ve always tried!”

“NO! Nobody does!” Kurt took a shaky sigh as he tried to control his volume. You noticed first that his fists were shaking, but soon realised it was his entire body, sleeves and torso hidden by his green jacket.

“I’m getting bullied online now y/n.” His eyes met yours again and you did feel bad for him, even though all half his fans seemed to do was bully him no matter what he did. “Everyone’s calling me an incel vi-loser a-again. They’re saying that I made you up-o-or that you-“ he took a deep breath “y-we broke up.”

You didn’t like that he was being hurt by trolls, even if his harassment from them and his familiarity with it was different than yours, but you were still angry though. With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your arm to your elbow. “Just ignore them.” You spoke lowly.

“What, like you do?”

You looked to Kurt at that. You couldn’t tell if he was being spiteful or mocking you, or genuinely trying to tell you something. But it didn’t matter. Kurt didn’t get it, he couldn’t. He was actually good enough. And he didn’t give a shit about you. You knew that well enough now. And with all your wasted time and love on him, with the love you still fully had for him and it hurt to keep, you finally saw red. Kurt didn’t care about you, he wasn’t trying to prove it with the trolls when they didn’t like you, and maybe he never had cared about you. Maybe you were as dumb as they all said, and maybe that’s why he never defended you.

“Well if that’s all you want, a girlfriend who you can post on your socials, and do couple challenges with, then maybe we shouldn’t be together!”

Kurts heart sunk to his stomach.

“You clearly don’t love me you just want a girlfriend to post! A trophy.”

“That’s not TRUE!!!” Kurt yelled, crying now. His throat sounded raw as he screamed, and you were sure the sobbing he was now heartily doing was just making it feel worse. Kurt couldn’t help but just stand there, eyes red and puffy and leaking, snot dripping out of his pink nose, fringe itching at his eyes, as he scratched at it with his sleeve and choked on sobs and spit, whining loudly. He was like a lost child, unsure what to do next, but so full of emotions right now. You knew he didn’t know how to handle them best most days, and he was sensitive. His emotional immaturity wasn’t helping with this though, to you it ensured that he really wouldn’t be able to get what you were going through right now. Sometimes he listened but he had this glassy look in his eyes like he didn’t understand. You couldn’t really see his eyes now because he had them screwed shut as he was murmuring sobs to the ceiling.

“I don’t want someone to post I waNT YOU!!!!!”

Kurt yelled the last word with anger. You froze.

But even so, it had made you freeze for a different reason.

You weren’t scared of Kurt. His whole body shuddered with breaths as he stood with hunched shoulders, towering over you looking taller than he ever had done before. Remembering how strong he actually was under his normal goofy look, when his hands would grasp your biceps when you asked him to take control in the bedroom. But the way he screamed that just made you realise the truth. His truth. Your truth.

Oh God. You were so wrong.

Kurt was still crying his fucking eyes out. He was bawling to your roof, blue shirt covered in wet tear patches, sleeve slick with spit, as his throat coughed out cries, hands twitching at his sides where his arms limply hung, as if he had no idea whether to reach out to you, hug himself, or hit his head, as you’d sadly seen him do a couple of times. He was sad, and confused, angry, grief-stricken, and so so scared.

Those assholes had gotten to you way more than they bargained. It’d gotten to you, and gotten to your relationship. Gotten to Kurt.

And that’s something you never wanted to happen. At first you were trying to protect him, but maybe you should have let him protect you.

Maybe you should’ve believed just how much he loved you. Because you loved him, that much. And you knew looking at him the way he was in front of you, there was not an ounce of this spree driver who didn’t fucking worship you.

“Oh... Kurt.” Your voice sounded so small. You didn’t mean to sound so small. After what felt like hours without touch between you two, you reached out your hand, to hold him.

Kurt flinched back. And your heart fucking shattered.

He cried again, eyeing your hand with such a mix of emotions as he stayed in that leant position. Just whimpering more before his body forced a choke out of him as he stared at it.

You knew he wasn’t scared of you. And you knew he wasn’t mad. You knew it. He was just so nervous. You’d make sure he knew to never worry about the two of you holding each other again.

You moved between that space quickly and threw your arms around him, crying so loud it matched his, as he hugged you back before your chests had even pressed together. You gripped his back like you were going to fall through the floor at any second without him. And he clutched your waist as if you’d run away from him any time now. You just held onto your Kurt, and let him know you were his back, as you let him completely engross you.

Kurt, now he’d finally gotten you back into his arms, just held you tight. So much it hurt.

“Please don’t leave me. Pl-oh... please please please don’t aba-leave me. Ca-y-you can’t. You have to stay with me. Please. Please don’t go away y/n...”

“K-Kurt...” you tried gently to push at his chest. He was firm. “You’re kinda hurting me.”

It was genuinely as if he didn’t hear you. Kurt only buried his trembling head into your shoulder, tears, snot, spit and all. “Don’t-you c-can’t-I can’t do-no-y-you stay-you-“ he blabbered, every muscle in his body squeezing you tighter “Please.”

That last one was a broken whisper, his voice didn’t even speak the latter half of the syllable, and you couldn’t bear the thought of Kurt feeling as broken as his plea sounded. You hugged him back as tight as you could, squeezing his middle until your tummy’s applied so much pressure it made you feel sick, or maybe it was the thought of losing Kurt. You could feel his teeth against your neck as he opened his mouth to choke and splutter, crying instead of speaking as he meant to. A few wracked sobs needing to escape his chest before he could even talk. “I need you.”

You opened up, honestly. “I need you too Kurt.”

”ohh...” A tiny muffled whimper escaped him at that, nuzzling into your neck as if he could tuck himself away inside you, as if he couldn’t get close enough. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to comfort himself, or you. “I love you so so much.” You promised him yet again.

Kurt reared his head back, finally not squeezing painfully, but definitely nowhere near letting you go. Eyes squinting as if it was painful to open them, but desperate to see your figure, as he flitted his brown and reddening orbs up and down your features. Hands rubbing up and down your back. “I- mmmh... I love y-y-you too, y/n.”

“Kurt I love you-“

Kurt interrupted you, still dazed “Mmmmfhso much...” His eyes were glued stickily shut by tears, fatigued looking, head retaking its domain over your neck. He was almost purring into it, as Kurt stayed safe in his little dreamland, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and your shoulders, where it was safe, and warm, and dark, and he could still smell you.

But with all this snuggling and search through your skin, you had to push back his head, because his slightly greasy hair was tickling you too much. You simply held your palm to his temple as you removed him just a couple of inches, gently flicking his fringe away with your soothing fingers, knowing he always liked when you touched his hair. “And I promise I’m not going to leave.”

Fog began to lift from Kurts eyes, as he finally was able to take in your face, you, with him, and he saw you were crying too. With a lick of his lips, ridding them of the salty taste he was quickly gaining, more tears fell down his cheeks silently and quickly at those words.

He needed to hear them every second of every day. He wanted to replay them over and over. He kissed you right there and then, begging you “please” as he slotted his warm lips against yours with a wet noise, breathing messily into your mouth “say it again.” He needed to devour your words.

“I-mmfh!” He barely let you speak, too busy trying to suck on your upper lip, but he stopped his tongue from entering as he turned down the strength of his kiss, only softly brushing against your warmth instead of attacking it with need, even though his movements had been pretty slow, lips still touching yours but spacing back a little, to hear you talk. “I promise I’m never going to leave you Kurt my love.”

Kurt kissed you more. His lips hard and bruising again against yours, but teeth nibbling so delicately at your plump flesh, tongue bracing your mouth as he tasted every inch of you, fingers digging almost painfully into your skull as he pressed your face closer and closer to him, until his cheek was like sandpaper against your nose.

“Kur’?”

Kurt just whined into you, even though you didn’t have enough room to finish his name. He nipped only lovingly at your tongue, saliva generously swapping from him to you as he sloppily kissed with louder and louder sounds. He needed every sense filled with your kisses. Your love. Wanting all of your senses filled with him too.

“Kurt-“ you finally were able to pull him off you with a touch to his soft tummy, hand slipping just under his shirt, and you pulled back with a thick trail of spit between your lips. One Kurt sweetly pecked off. His lower face red raw, and covered in spit. It seemed he’d forgotten you’d pulled away for a reason though, because once his eyes were on your lips again, he was leaning back in with a need like a dying man for water.

You gently scratched at the skin of his belly, putting the hand that was on his lower back to his chest and Kurts eyes met yours as if the wires in his head were connecting yet again. It was like you could see his brain reworking through his eyes. Luckily he nodded and you sighed, with the newfound ability to breathe again the way Kurt was drinking you. You didn’t think you had long though before he was pressed against your face once more. You always knew Kurt was needy, and right now his hands were itching against your lower back, he spoke of how badly they tingled when he got like that. “Kurt let’s just talk for a second first? Please?”

“About what?” Kurts eyes widened as he took a step back, but instinctively drew your body closer at the same time. You could hear the fear in his voice and quickly finished your sentence, soothingly rubbing patterns up his skin and shirt. “I just wanna make sure you know I’m not mad. I wanna talk about why I was upset... so we can work things out, before the kissing and stuff. Can we just talk for a second first? It would really make me feel good Kurtie.”

Knowing you weren’t mad at him, and you weren’t going to leave, Kurt hummed, which you knew from your time with him was his tired but ‘yes’ sound. The praise helped him a little too. He gently led you to your bed, surprising you that he was the first to move, as he stroked your hand lovingly in his while he took you. Letting you sit down first before he sat on your lap. Clearly needing to remain close.

You couldn’t help but bite a smile at this. Kurt was so goddamned adorable and he hardly ever knew it. You swore once to tell him every time he was so, and you couldn’t believe you’d nearly broken that promise by going. Knowing it wasn’t exactly the time, you simply sweetly pressed a kiss to his mess of hair, enjoying the pleased but surprised gasp/groan that you got from him, as he settled in happily playing with your fingers. You let him keep your hands, as he rested his cheek to your heartbeat, now wanting to just know, like earlier, why you were so upset.

You held onto him dearly. Kurt had quickly swept up your entire life and become your everything. You didn’t know if it was entirely healthy, but you had Kurt, and he had you, and it was more than you’d ever had before. Someone who actually wanted you- Kurt brought your hands to his face and inhaled deeply- maybe even needed you, despite what certain commenters may have said, or made you feel. And you needed him just as much. Remembering those harsh words though caused you to shuffle your legs in unease, a cue for once, not unnoticed by Kurt, as he wiggled his butt slightly, back.

Your thumb tapped Kurts knuckle in thought, as you sighed. Trying to think of a way you could speak without hurting yourself more, and that would help Kurt understand, especially in such a fragile state the both of you were in. “It’s hard to start talking, just gimme a moment.” Is what you ended up with. And you nosed his temple at his patience, letting him know with a smile “you always help make me feel better. A minute with you and I’ll be ready sweetheart. I’m sorry it’s taken this long.” ‘And that we had to go such an awful way about it’ you thought. The memory of your fight only just passed making your chest tighten. You hated the things you said now knowing how confused he must’ve been when you said them to him. You held onto Kurt more closely, understanding his reaction earlier.

“How do I make the sadness go away y/n?”

Your urge to settle and coo over him immediately swamped you, but you tried to bite back any pouting or worried looks, heart aching over his innocently asked question. You swept your hands over Kurts hair mollifyingly, moving it out of his face as you tried to make him look at you while stroking him. “Why? Do you still feel sad baby?” Your other thumb rubbed his shoulder gently, head angled to look down at your boyfriend with careful gentle eyes.

Kurt shook his head, nestling hismelf into your shoulder more, but it was easier to look up into your eyes this way. “No. Your sadness.”

Your heart froze at this, in fact you felt your whole body constrict in the most minute way, lips tight as a noise, as if once a possible word, caught in your throat. Before your chest quickly reverted back to it’s normal exhausted pace of tonight. Hugging his shoulders closer as your urge to protect the love of your life only grew stronger. The reality of how much you loved Kurt, and realising once again, but more than ever before, how much Kurt loved you, in his very Kurt way, washed over you, and you gently rocked Kurt in your arms as your body tried to calm itself, pressing many tender kisses to his hair as you tried to hide the flooding of your eyes.

Kurt just sat there open eyed, as he paid extra attention to your comforting kisses, and kept playing with your warm fingers.

How could he make that sadness leave you alone?

“Kurt- I...”

Kurt wiggled more so he was looking directly at you now. He wanted to understand.

“It’s just... I don’t think I can take it anymore Kurt...” You looked up at him finally revealing that core truth. And you burst into tears as soon as the words left you mouth. Your hand came shakily up to your lips as you sobbed, as if your body hated what you were saying. Kurt only held you warmly, tucking your hair behind your shoulder so he could see your lips more, so he could see you talking. His fingertips graced your wrist, as if to pull it away from your face, but you guessed he decided against it, instead rubbing the back of his hand gently against your own, encouraging you to drop it whenever you were ready.

You took in a deep breath as you fell into his touch, wiping away the tears down yoru face once before placing your hands onto your knees again. And since Kurt was in your lap, it was easy for him to reach around and grab them, not playing with them this time, but simply cupping them in his own.

“E-Everyone’s so mean to me. And I know that sounds stupid but it’s true, it really does hurt after a while.” You felt embarrassed, but Kurt was just looking at you openly, with those big dumb loveable eyes. You couldn’t help but kiss them, his eyelids at least, and the way he squirmed and giggled at the light touch even made you smile during your confession. At least before a larger sniff overtook your features. “But, like, every single post, no matter what, for literally months now, there’s been so many comments, so many people, just hating me. Saying every single thing that’s- that’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you y/n.” Kurt quickly interrupted.

It almost surprised you how surely he spoke. And that unwavering look in his eyes was confident, which you hardly ever saw your boyfriend. Your rapid blinking matched your heartbeat. “Y-yeah. Thank you. Thank you Kurt.” You rested one hand on his forearm, closing your eyes in tranquility as he pressed his warm cheek to the side of your head. “Well anyway, it was just really, really, getting to me I suppose. Especially when...”

You cringed, hating that you started that sentence, looking to to Kurt almost as if to see if he’d heard it. But Kurt simply nudged himself against you once, urging you to continue.

You took a shaky breath, part of you still angry, still confused and upset at his actions, part of you hating what you were gonna do to him next. “When you wouldn’t even defend me Kurt.”

You felt Kurt suddenly stiffen in his hold. He didn’t let go, but it wasn’t excatly comfortable either. You wriggled a little, more so because your skin felt bad rather than his grasp. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t-“

“Y/n, tell me. Please.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. Looking down into your mixed laps meekly. But his voice sounded earnest, if not strained. You whined, it hurt your chest, it made you feel like you were going to be sick, even if Kurt had, lightly, taken back up his petting of you. “You just wouldn’t say anything! Ever! No matter what people said you didn’t- you didn’t ban them! You didn’t ask nicely for them to quit it, you didn’t yell at them.” You spluttered a messy laugh “Jesus! I thought you might’ve even made a viral video with a stupid clickbaity title to get everyone to stop harassing your girlfriend! At least that’d get on the tea podcasts!” You couldn’t tell if you were panting or hyperventilating, but you didn’t care. ”You didn’t care Kurt. Or at least, that’s how it felt. You would causally say a thing or two if I brought it up, maybe. But you never told them... you never told me, that they were wrong.”

The silence was killing you. You were sure realistically it’d only been a couple of seconds, but it felt like forever since you’d spoken, and nothing. Swallowing that sick taste in your throat you looked up, to see a panicked expression on Kurt’s face so vivid if almost made you feel panicky.

“I’m sorry!” He squeaked.

You bit back your sadness as Kurt held onto you in a vice like grip, apologising under his ragged breath, which definitely wasn’t helped by the way his chest squeezed against yours. “I-I’m-I’m-‘m mmmmm! ‘M so sorry y/n. So so so sorry baby. Sorry sorrysorry!!!” You wanted to tell him it was fine, but a sob wracked through your chest even without accompanying tears, reaching up to stroke the backs of your fingers against his cheek as Kurt was furiously and terrifiedly smashing kisses to your head where he could reach. Pecking generously all over your fingers once they reached his skin, taking the tip of your longest and wrapping his lips around it in a sweet kiss, whining uncomfortably when he let go.

“I jus-just! Because you- I don’t know!!” You tried to shift your legs to hold him with them but Kurt was clinging onto you in such a teddy bear hug you decided to rub your head agaisnt his soft shirt instead, hoping the movement would let his brain catch up that you were leaning into him, you were embracing him. Not running.

You weren’t sure if it worked, but Kurt continued.

“I just. I thou-assumed that you’d know they were lying. For attention.”

You perked your ears at that, Kurt shifting so uncomfortably, even on your lap.

“Because you’re smart. So much smarter than me. I thought you’d just know they were making it all up. That you saw yourself the way I did.”

Your heart thumped. How did Kurt see you?

He nosed behind your ear, whining softly as he tucked himself away there. “And you’re so much braver than me too. I thought th-you wouldn’t even c-care what thos-they said.” He nuzzled behind the top of your ear, pulling back a little as you heard a small stuttered bretah. “I mean, you’re still b-brave. All those things. Ju-! Just not what they said! You’re all the good things.”

He kissed your jugular, such a vulnerable part of your body, and it all lit up at the touch of his lips. “You’re all the good things in the world. In my world.”

Kurt wasn’t always good with words. But that was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard from someone about yourself.

Your hand swept to his heart, fingertips gently grazing over his chest as Kurt watched you, calming now as he just assessed you, taking in the way you touched him. Just happy to look, and feel. Even when you took your hand away, he was content, because you kissed that area of flesh over his heart, while looking right at him, and Kurt swore he could’ve become yours forever right then and there, if he hadn’t already been.

“Thank you Kurt. That really means a lot to hear from you.” You smiled. “It means a lot you’re trying to talk to me about all this.” Him using his words was just really helping you in this moment. And even if Kurt’s forte wasn’t words of affirmation, he’d try and be good at anything for you.

“Rea-I mean, I’m glad to hear it b-sweetheart. You-You really are my everything, ya know?” He kissed your hair sweetly again, subtly drinking in your scent as he pressed his lips against your hair, always loving the feel of it around his lower face. Or anywhere. Unsuccessfully hiding his smile, not that he’d really want to, as you stroked over his chest again, smiling that smile he always usually tried to bring out. “And you can talk about anything you want with me. Honest babe.”

Kurts strength almost surprised you as once he’d clambered away, he literally lifted your entire cross legged figure from the bottom, gently readjusting you in his lap, just so he could fiddle around and touch you more. And it really did touch you.

“Thank you sweetheart. Those assholes just really got to me huh?”

Kurt nodded, following your every word. You stroked his cheek like he was a soft little baby, before the anger of what those basement dwellers just caused rose up in your chest again, and you had to move your eyes to the wall to let out a cathartic grunt. “Especially when like, it was live and I just had to sit there and take it, or be called worse things if I fought back an-“ You cut yourself off there, moving back to look at Kurt now.

He shifted his head, nodding once. “Go on. It’s okay. I’m right here baby.” His almost stern posture turned caring in his last sentence, rubbing your hand on top of his arm.

You shrunk into Kurts jacket. “I was worried you’d lose some of your fans if I let out some... particularly, harsh comebacks.”

Kurts laugh caught you off guard. You didn’t really think it seemed appropriate, until Kurts versions of events started to make sense as he asked “Yeah? Can I hear some of em?” You chuckled back then. “Especially if they’re Bobby related!” You squealed as his hands came to tickle at your waist, trying to fight him off breathlessly as he held you on his lap with just his legs, only able to fight off his wiggling fingers when he’d gotten a few good laughs out of you.

“Yeah yeah-“ you slapped down his left hand again as you saw it aiming for your hip, relishing in his cooing giggles as he laid you agaisnt his chest once more, not showing his teeth anymore but smiling still as you continued.

“And like, God, it just sucked when dono’s would say things about me out loud in public. I mean, the stares I got.” You looked up at him, to see if he remembered what you were talking about.

He bit the inside of his cheek in thought, it reminded you of a squirrel. “Yeah, I mean I’d stay up like, literally pulling my hair out, on nights you weren’t there because I didn’t know if I should turn off donos in public or if people would stop donating if I did.”

This surprised you a little. You knew Kurt could get very easily overstimulated by stress, especially if it was about his influencer career, but it hurt you to know he was hurting just as much when he was alone. You gave his hair a couple of soft strokes, but Kurt seemed too busy thinking. “Although, I’m glad we still haven’t gotten someo-some idiot, donating to call out a fake bomb threat, like that guy we saw last month.”

“Oh yeahhhh.” You hit his arm in remeberence. Jesus the amount of brain cells some of Kurts fans, at least on his twitch, seemed to have, you were surprised they hadn’t done anything at stupid as that yet. Although it made your heart swell with pride to hear Kurt indirectly call at least his fans that deserved it ‘idiots’, even if it was behind closed doors.

You sighed, collapsing against him, not expecting Kurt to just accept your weight, and willingly lay down, so you were basically laying vertically on his lap. Not that either of you minded. You wiggled around a little, stretching your legs on his and settling you head on his chest, happiness sinking into you own as you let him play with your hair. Positions like this, with you, were always Kurts happy place.

“I dunno.” You sighed, stretching, and Kurt thought you looked like Luna or Dozier when they were pups doing that, in either case, it was cute. “I guess all the negativity just really got to me. I mean I know you’re the professional”- you didn’t miss the way Kurts chest puffed up beneath you at that word- “you’ve been doing it for ten years. But I’m just not used to it I guess. Even though I missed spending time with you, at least if I stayed away from all social media, yours and my own, I didn’t have to see any more insecurities I hadn’t figured out on my own yet.”

“Y-you have nothing to w-to be i-insecure about y/n.” Kurt bent rather awkwardly to kiss your head, but the peck was sweet, stroking through your hair till you clsoed your eyes, cheek smushed against his shirt.

“You’re amazing. Ju-s-beautiful. Way smarter than me.”

“Stop itttt.” You warned with a quick swat to his chest, not liking when he talked down on hismelf like that. Even if that was what you were kind of doing right now. Kurt took your hand and kissed it.

“Drop dead gorgeous, my lil Kurtie.” He nuzzled into your hand, teasing you with the nickname.

You giggled “Yeah, yeah, thank you beautiful boy.”

Kurt giggled back in response, always eating up your praise. Similar to how he was mouthing at your ear like a baby with a toothing toy. You flicked him off of you before he could drool more, enjoying his laughter even if he had tried to swallow you whole. It did cause you a snort of a laugh. But you still had hurt simmering in you just a little.

It mostly came out when you weren’t looking at Kurt again. Just like it did once you’d wiped your ear clean, and were left with your bedroom walls, and a bubbling sigh. “I wish some of those dicks would just drop dead.”

“So do I y/n.”

You nodded, leaning back into his warmth again with a sigh. Kurt, no matter how he was, or other people thought he was, always made you feel safe.

“You’re just... you’re not-you’re so much more than my-those assholes say.” Kurt kissed your hand again, because he could feel you smelling his shirt and it made his entire body feel all fuzzy, like it sometimes did with you. “A-A-And you know, I know I’m not, like, the best, with words.” You kissed his chest and Kurts hand felt like it was vibrating in yours, not physically, just from the fuzzy feeling swelling. “But I don’t think what any of them have said is true.”

You rested your chin gently on his collarbone, even adoring the way he peered down at you from this angle. “You really don’t?” It was what you’d needed to hear, just once. You should’ve just asked him sooner.

“No. ‘f course not. And, I love you y/n. You know that babe. But I’ll say it again. I love you.” He sat up on his elbows then, jaw dropping into a puppet like smile as he dramatically rolled his head. “I love you!”

You attempted to sit up yourself, bracing his hips as you chortled. “You’re so goofy.” Hands leaving him when you gained more balance on your midsection.

“You’re never ever getting away from me!” Kurt lunged at you with a fake roar, smile still wide as you squealed, being wrapped into his hug and pulled impossibly closer on his lap as he kissed you all over, even if it was mostly on your clothes as you were wearing a jacket, he just kissed you harder there. Paying special attention to your face and exposed skin as you shrieked, screaming more as Kurt roared to press a large open mouthed kiss that was more of a fake bite to your neck, his knees coming to hold your arms in place so his hands could tickle you once more.

You tried to turn your head and break free of his hold as you laughed like you couldn’t breathe, only causing an “Oh nooo you don’t gorgeous!” as he suckered you in with kisses, his hands reaching your back now as he stroked up and down your shoulder blades. Once his lips had finally met yours, slowing down and just pulling you in like that, his only focus on kissing you. And you were both all smiles as you did so.

There was just a moment or so where Kurt held you. Your back was to his chest so neither of you could see the others faces, but feeling Kurts warm chest puff beneath yours with every breath, even if occasionally one was shaky, was enough to calm you just a little. Both of you had remained silent, and the tranquility had let you both relive the biggest fight the two of you had ever had just minutes ago. One where you almost yelled at Kurt to leave your life forever, to quit your relationship. With a small gasp your thoughts abandoned you as you felt Kurts lips against your neck, not kissing or sucking, or smiling, just moving slowly as he drawled out his first few words.

“You yelled at me.”

They shattered your stupid heart.

You turned to him, trying not to let the panic show in your features, but regret was still clearly smacked in there. “I know. I know baby, I’m so sorry.”

You held Kurt’s flushed face in your hands, just slightly pressing agaisnt his cheeks. And that’s when his burning eyes started to trickle with tears again. “An-“ he gulped “And I yelled at you too?” He looked right into your eyes and he just broke.

Emotions were running very high today.

“Ohhhh it’s okay sweetheart. It’s alright.” You promised, holding his cheeks so lovingly as you wiped away any tears that dared to leak. “All in the past now huh?” You hummed. Kurt nodded in your safe hold. “And we’ll try not to yell again, right?”

“Right.” Kurt placed his hands on your face now, but in a more secure hold. His hands itched at you, and you could tell that tingly feeling had reached his fingers again, the way he spread them restlessly over and over against your cheekbones. He spoke desperately “I won’t yell at you again, I promise y/n.”

“I know, me neither Kurtie.” You nodded, smiling as his head slowly followed along, lips puffed slightly with tears, in your hold. You knew it wasn’t as simple as that, but right now it really felt like it. It felt like you’d never want to yell at your sweet boyfriend again. And you knew it was just what Kurt needed to hear right now. You stroked over his features dotingly.

“Scared me.”

Kurts small voice almost shot you into a daze of panic. But it was said so... helplessly, defeatedly, you almost didn’t hear the murmur. You let Kurt’s face go and he dropped yours, licking his lips as if he was happy when you went to hold his hands, even if they were tucked away in his sleeves.

“What? By yelling sweatpea?” You asked unsure.

Kurt shook his head. “Scar-was scared.” He quickly corrected himself. Shaking his head for a different reason that time, itching at his sore eyes with his dampened sleeve as he tried to keep his mind straight. “I was scared, you were gonna l-le-leave m-me. Y-You asked-“ he shuddered a breath “you were gonna ask me to go away...”

You melted. Emotionally and physically, falling the upper half of your body into his lap as it felt like your heart dropped further and further like an anchor. Deciding to wrap your arms around his middle when you were there, you leant your tear stained cheek against his soft tummy, looking up at him with a frown. “Kurt, I’m so sorry.”

Kurt sniffed an “it’s okay” before you could continue. It just made you hold him closer, not missing the soft whine that escaped him when you did so, or the fact his warm hand had slipped down the back of your shirt near your neck to trace patterns with his chewed fingernails.

“No it’s not. I never ever, want you to go Kurt.

Kurt hiccuped, and you made sure to look him in the eye so you knew he really belived you, gingerly taking his wrist and using his own sleeve to fondly wipe a small stream of snot escaping his nose. Kurt gave a small laugh, wiping at his nose with a sniff, before thoughtfully rolling his sleeves up to his elbow to continue his mapping of your face with his fingers. They were tapping at the plump of your lips when you continued.

“I didn’t want you to leave then and I certainly don’t now. I’ll never, ever send you away Kurt I promise. Not unless you ask me to. And even then I think you’ll have a pretty hard time buddy.” That was meant to make him laugh a little again, even accompanying it with the tiniest of jabs to his hips. But this time Kurt didn’t laugh. His eyes stayed trained on the small area of your skin he could see from where his hand made space underneath your top, even if your hair fawned over some of it. But a few seconds later he was looking into your eyes, and the seriousness of it almost made you jump in his lap.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Out of all his emotional statements today that one had shocked you the most. “Why would I ever be scared of you?” You asked concerned, gently rubbing circles into his thigh at such a question. You always wanted to know what was going on his his little mind. Even sometimes still he wouldn’t tell you.

Instead of answering, or at least not yet, Kurt did make you jump this time, although you tried to hide it for Kurt’s sake, by quickly moving his arms and picking you up, shifting you so you were sitting, upright in his lap again, but so he could go into your chest.

With an unsure look to your bedroom wall, you ran your hand through Kurt’s hair in the way you knew he liked it. But seemingly Kurt wasn’t tucked away with you enough, as he bent as far as he could so he could try and hide himself against your tummy. Now it was your turn to coo, and swipe his hair from his face so you could see his expressions better. “Kurt I promise you one thing, you could never scare me.”

Kurt didn’t respond to that. You’d at least expected a nod. But you understood. This must all be hard for him, he was clearly bouncing from range to range of emotions which he already struggled dealing with, and with this being your biggest argument yet... you could understand Kurt.

And in doing so. You decided to try and change the subject. “Hey.” You said smoothly, nudging your boyfriend with your elbow. “So about what you said earlier.”

Kurt panicked a little, but when he saw your smile and slightly raised eyebrows, he assumed he was alright. “Uh. What part?”

You took in a leisurely sigh as you pet him. “The bit about me being, oh I dunno, all the good things in the world, in your world?” You wondered if you’d grow a bigger ego hanging around Kurt this much.

He nodded this time. “Yeah, baby?” He kissed you treasuringly.

“So do you mean to say, that, I’m all the good things in Kurtsworld?”

Kurt blinked rapidly, as a smirk grew on your face. Kurt hadn’t even thought of that. And you could tell.

He blinked some more, before an equal smile started to form. He didn’t let you take it in for long though before he surprise attacked you with kisses, rolling on top of you in your bed, with one long final smack of his lips, nodding affirmatively. “Yes. Yes you are.”

You giggled, reaching up for his face and pulling him closer as you were able to kiss him like normal now. No desperate need for either to not run off, no massive act to show how much you yearned for each other. You just both allowed yourself to be in love.

And it was heavenly. Kurt finally relaxed. Enough so he could manage his thoughts again, thinking up his own little ideas as you were happy to just lie there and let him run a finger up and down your arm slowly, jabbing him in the hip when he came too close to your pit. Kurt only laughed when you did so, he could tickle you later, for now he was contented to just be at peace with you. And for a running a mile a minute kind of guy, that tranquility was almost rare for the two of you.

“You know, I don’t care about documenting you, or whatever bull crap.” Kurt spoke up, finger tracing over your smooth skin. “Not if it means los-not ha-having you.” His hands clutched at your top lightly. “I need you y/n.” Before slowly loosening his grip. “You don’t have to be a collaborator y’know?”

It made you smile way he said it. The way he showed his love and ideas and the way he was looking at just a piece of you, just your arm, right in this moment.

“And I don’t wanna tell fans off just for some stupid drama channels. I’ll make a video. I’ll make more if they don’t stop.” Kurt looked to you now, gripping your chin. Your smile stayed planted. “But I’m gonna do it for you y/n. So you know that they’re just stupid, baby. That you’re not what you think everyone thinks, and definitely not what I think.”

The seriousness in his face made you melt with reassurance, nodding in thanks under his grasp, only let go as you moved in to kiss him again. When you pulled back, he was wearing a funnier look, twisted lips and needy, but open, eyes.

“Just... maybe a couple of pictures on my Instagram, a-and my stories?”

You only nodded, listening to him. You could swing that.

“And you don’t have to do any v-videos with me, maybe you could just... pop into my live sometimes to say hi. That would be nice.” Kurt licked his lips as he waited for your answer, but truth be told, you loved watching the man talk. And talk he could do, for days. So you compromised, much like he was asking you to do, by humming. “Go on.

Kurt seemed to understand this was good, and he trusted you. He shimmied a little on top of you in his excitement to share. “A-And just like one or t-two clips of you in my vlogs, even if it’s behind the scenes stuff, l-like” he looked at you and you were smiling wide, which only encouraged a small cheeky, happy, smile from him “like you holding my hand down the street, or walking in my room.” You didn’t miss the blush Kurt still got when talking about this stuff. “Maybe just like a scene of me taking you on a date to the park or something. I could find some dogs for you to play with. That’d be cute I think. I mean, I think you’d like that part.”

“Actually,” you shuffled a little closer to him, pressing your hands to his chest but not to push him away, in fact, you were pulling him in by his tee, smoothing your fingers up his torso, not missing the little gulp his throat from even your more loving touches. “I think I’d like it better being a bit more active in your content. Versus just background stuff I can’t control as much, does that make sense?”

Kurt nodded his head eagerly, you could almost see him drooling you were sure. Oh and there it was at the corner of his lips. He was lucky he was so cute. And at how bright his eyes were at your mention of being with him in something he loved so much, you couldn’t help but laugh into the next kiss you shared with him, only giggling louder as Kurt laughed too. Humming as you both ate up each other’s cackles in what you could only think of a just such a happy kiss.

So you would be in posts with ‘him and his girlfriend around the town’, and also the casual pictures of just you he’d upload because one side of his accounts was just him worshipping you. Pictures you hadn’t even realised he’d taken, as someone was talking to you about your hat in the park, or of you simply laying your feet on him watching tv, all captioned with quotes like ‘stream break with my girl, isn’t she the best?’ You didn’t even know about one of his undercover fan accounts that was just a shrine to you.

Nor all the pictures of you sleeping, but they were just for him.

Even the pictures you’d upload to your Instagram got overwhelming amounts of love, from your and Kurt’s fans. As well as from your irl, and new internet, friends.

And while he wouldn’t stream him picking you up from work, which he excitedly realised meant he got kisses as soon as he saw you again in the day, you would go home and try your hand at a level for his new gaming video that he was stuck on, even if it was just him trying to prove to some of his more shitheaded fans how difficult the level was.

Even if he didn’t directly say “shitheaded fans” he would call individuals out when necessary. He didn’t want to do it every time he caught a glimmer of something, because he understood overkill after you thoroughly explained it before your first stream together in months, and he didn’t want to embarrass you. But after a few call outs, even using their users, in his first stream, negative comments about you dwindled significantly.

They’d never stop completely, but you knew that. Your favourite time was beating the final boss in the new triple A game Kurt had even been allowed early access to, high fiving your boyfriend so hard you saw him wince even as he cheered, and wtaching Kurt turn to his camera and yell “See?! See how fucking awesome my girlfriend is!?! Beat that punks!” And you had to say you adored the way he called them punks. And your celebratory kiss and cuddle afterwards ended up trending on Twitter because everyone ate it up as shipper fuel. The number one edit was by a person who’d aptly changed their username to “GamerGirlY/n96”.

You even got more involved in behind the scenes stuff. Kurt would be performing a sketch (with dialogue you’d ‘edited’ for him) and at the end he’d bow, taking his wig off like a hat before throwing it at the camera, actually hitting it, as he told his viewers “Thank you to the lovely y/n for buying me that wig grocery shopping for us this week!” You didn’t miss that he was trying to insert the fact you’d both end up buying groceries for each other most times, but you also adored that he so clumsily wanted to share that. Especially as he continued his short thank you credits with a slightly out of breath “Guys, I love her so much.” to his fans.

And with even helping him with his audience when you weren’t in front of the camera, you still got praise, which was now much much more common that criticism.

And as Kurt hid himself into your cheek, too red and flushed and giggling, as you hid into his hair, the both of you snuggled close together under the covers to read the comments on your recent viral tiktok, which were all “wow, Kurt’s gf laughing behind the camera is sooooo cute!”

#Kurt Kunkle/reader #Kurt Kunkle fic #Kurt Kunkle angst #Kurt Kunkle hurt/comfort #Kurt Kunkle x reader #fic #spree 2020 #kurt kunkle

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