#he did not have anything to “break free” of. you are injecting extra layers of tragedy that aren't actually there

[tenderlyrenjun]

the one with the morning classes

summary: you don’t really want to go to class, and Yangyang half-agrees.

↛ ↛ ↛ psych major!Yangyang x art history major!reader

↛ ↛ older female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, yearning, best friends to lovers/ish, smut (18+) - there is literally sex in every scene, best friend!ten on both sides, study dates, love confessions in bed

↛ word count: 11,9k (I am so sorry lmao)

part one > part two > part three

if you are under 18 and interact with this at all, i will block you

An obnoxious ringing interrupts your day, way too early, and you whine at it, suddenly reminded about the terrible decision that you made last year with the on-call academic advisor: selling your soul to Satan, or, as they phrased it, taking an 8 A.M. class. The default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless right now, even though you have a class at this time every semester.

Still, it takes Herculean effort to pull your hot, sweaty face out of the pillows and actually get a breath of fresh air. You inhale once, twice, then support yourself on your elbows, tossing all your messy hair over your bare back, like a curtain, to draw it away from your cheeks. The sunlight makes you squint, not having given you enough time to adjust to it yet, because laying in bed, naked, is so much more enticing than actually waking up. Unfortunately, the ringing persists, getting louder, you think. You find yourself clawing through the sheets again, in search of that damn alarm. And when you do find it, screen faced down, you hit snooze via power button, giving yourself extra time before class.

After the annoying sound stops, Yangyang leans toward your naked shoulder, his d!ck thrusting in you at a further angle. He kisses the tip your spine with slightly parted lips, peppering more along your deltoid muscles, directed by his trailing tongue. You cannot tell was tingles more – the goosebumps left in his wake, or the blood rushing to your vulva, caused by the nipping at your skin. Yangyang finds a more permanent spot (that would be hidden by a shirt) above your collarbone and sucks deeper for a few seconds. Instinctively, you drop your cheek into the sheets again and swirl your ass up, before propping your lower body on your knees. His groans fall with you, and he nearly did too, but he stands on his hands. You are very aware of his strength, especially now as you close your eyes and he reverses your moves, grinding his hips forward. One of his hands reaches forward to grab your face and finally kiss you. He is slow and head spinning, and he continuously inclines his head at varying degrees to keep the embrace going.

Then, your phone goes off again and you break the kiss.

“We need to get – Oh, God.” Your forehead redirects onto the mattress, and your breath becomes shallow, cracked by sharp whines blurring out the alarm. As far as you are concerned, Yangyang is all consuming, from the way he kisses you to the way he makes you feel. “Ah, right there, please.” He squeezes your ass, fingers drilling deeply into your skin. His touch feels better than a massage, you think, almost loosening up all your muscle tension.

“So naughty,” Yangyang whispers, strongly. He sounds masculine without being so aggressive. It is very sexy of him. You try to show him, too, that he is hot, by reacting more enthusiastically. Unlike him, you say it silently and hope he knows. He replies, slapping your butt again, and smirks when you moan. “Wanna play hooky? You still, fuck –“ His breath drops, voice getting lower, huskier. He propels his d!ck shallowly, at the same pace your mouth widens in an ‘O’ shape. “- remember your manners.”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree. You roll your hips side to side, slowly stretching as if coming out of child’s position in yoga. It similarly feels satisfactory, like an injection of morphine. “We really need to get up. I have class; you ­– shit –“ His thrust pushes you forward, muting your counterarguments. “- you have class soon.”

Yangyang combs your baby hairs onto your opposite shoulder, gently nibbling around your thyroid, and you whine, knowing that you have an easily swayed mindset right now. “It doesn’t sound like you want to get up yet.” He guides your hips like a figure eight motion. His hand comes around front, between your thighs, holding on in a way that allows him to stimulate your clit with his index and thumb. Every movement gets more intense: the speed, the pressure, even the direction of his fingers, as he elongates all the sensations. It feels like he gets bigger too, lunging more alert with his thrusts. “You need a good wake up call, huh?”

You nod, eagerly, biting your lip. “Mmhmm, my morning ritual is, is really long, fuck.”

Yangyang smirks, motivated even more by the double entendre. And the way his tip rasps against your walls, oh god. You ball the sheets into your fists, putting a protective layer between your nails and palm because he gradually becomes erratic. He comes down to your ear, using his lips to bite at it while whispering, “Wanna turn off the alarm?”

“Hmm?” You open your eyes. “Oh, right.” It doesn’t feel like it has been nine minutes. So, after you pick your phone up again, you turn it over to look at the alarm settings, but it is replaced by the call acceptance slider. You blink a couple times and try getting a clearer look – which is difficult, considering that your head keeps bouncing as he grinds harder and harder, and harder. Then, the call restarts. “Shit.”

Yangyang stops moving to glimpse at what’s wrong. His chest brushes against your back and you can feel his erect n!pples graze your spine. You turn the screen at him, contemplating whether to answer it. Thank God, though, that Ten isn’t asking to FaceTime. You honestly don’t know how you would recover from him seeing Yangyang lay naked on you, especially after that comment at the Halloween party about feeling ‘too comfortable’ with him like this.

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“What?”

“I have to answer it,” you argue. “It’s Ten. He’s going to suspect something if I don’t.” The call ends again, and the notification center shows six missed calls. You turn over your phone again. “Shit, he’s been phoning all morning. I have to answer it.”

You partially expect Yangyang to get up. Instead, he comes down, brushing your hair over your shoulder and pushes you into the blanket. You stretch your arms away from him to redial Ten’s number, although your hands (and thighs) start shakily with his moves. The line rings four times before Ten answers, and you sigh, half-disappointed, half-orgasmically.

“Um, hello?” Ten answers sarcastically, on speaker. “Are you ready? ETA 20.” You hear rustling on the other end that sounds similar to Yangyang ruffling your bedsheets. He is trying to get at your t!ts and you let him, propping up into a true doggystyle. Ten doesn’t appear to discern anything, so you keep the phone on mute – which is necessary because you buck your hips at Yangyang, getting his tip angled on your g-spot. He outlines your n!pples, fingers squeezing over your areola. You almost moan again, but Ten reminds you about his presence: “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Hmm?” Why?

The silence is deafening, all excess noise stopping, until it is just your heavy breaths and small wet noises. You widen your eyes, thinking that Ten discovered your current … entanglement, so you grab Yangyang’s hand, to suppress anymore sounds. It makes you lose balance temporarily, but expectedly he catches you, by the waist. He waist a few seconds, then drops his wrist to your clit, lightly sliding up and down without thrusting his d!ck. You let him continue, panting with your lower abdomen quivering. He has to stop though, because his exhibitionist tendencies might expose you two. You take his hand off your clitoral hood and kiss his inner wrist before sucking his fingers clean. He shudders his hips. You bite your lip. He smiles. Then, he takes his hand back, planting it into the mattress for extra support so that you can actually answer this call, that the two of you keep forgetting about.

“It’s my treat, remember?” Ten tries to jog your memory, nearly shouting. You can hear him breaking through your bubble. It is just that you are a bit distracted at the moment to really recall any memories. You cannot be entirely held accountable for Yangyang’s big d!ck.

Yangyang starts sucking on your neck again, pushing his pelvis slowly into your ass harder, to give you a better reminder: that you are currently being a good girl for him, to make up for being so naughty this morning (even though he also seemed pretty close to ditching class earlier).

“For breakfast yesterday, after the party,” Ten outwardly tells you. Right, it’s Monday, and you often grab coffee with Ten on the way to campus because 8AMs are hell – you have to absorb new information when you can barely see through all the crap in your eyes, and he can barely comprehend his notes from the night before without the morning bean juice. There is some shuffling on his end again, similar to shaking his wrist free of a sweater to get a better look at his watch. It isn’t enough to hide the moan trapped in your throat. So, you try biting your fist as Yangyang swirls his hips, grazing the ends of your nerves. You roll your eyes to the back of your head and hit mute, in order to moan. “Unless you want to walk? I don’t think you’ll make it though. It’s, like, almost 7:20.”

“What?” your voice cracks. You are still muted though, so you un-mute and repeat the exclamation, whining a little when Yangyang tries to get you to orgasm faster, also having heard the time. Hopefully Ten does not notice anything. You think that you were quiet enough to push it off as a complaint.

“I’ll be outside your apartment in 20.”

Yangyang pulls your chin to make you look at him, staring at you to ask what is going on. You mouth a quick explanation: Ten. Ride. Coffee. 20 minutes. He is so close, warm breath enveloping your skin. You take the distance, initiating yet another kiss, essentially in front of your best friend, although the latter cannot hear or see either of you. Yangyang holds onto your chin, possibly afraid of being swept away or falling again. But you have enough support for both of you, and you know that if you fell, he would catch you. So, you kiss him again, and again.

“Hello?” Ten calls into the void. “Did you lose signal again? See, I told you not to choose the shitty complex on Main because the connection is so bad there.”

You put a hand above Yangyang’s heart and clear your voice, turning to the speaker. “I’m still here. Just, hold on a second.” You hit mute again, then turn to Yangyang. “Do you want a ride too?” Yangyang contemplates for a second, and you drop your forehead into your elbow, biting your lip because, after all, he is still inside you, inside your clenching and very aroused p.ussy, where you want him to finish. He nudges your shoulder with his nose and confirms that yeah, he needs a ride. You kiss him a few more times, unsure why, just wanting to be close – something about want to say in his presence, enjoying his presence. He swirls his hips. It feels really good to be with him. “Yeah, so Yangyang is in the neighborhood.”

“Wha-“

“A huh,” you whine, more at Yangyang than Ten. “He just texted me. He’ll meet you – us! He’ll meet us at my apartment. I’m going to get ready now, bye!” you say everything in one breath, hanging up as equally abruptly before Ten could insert his two cents. You drop the phone and turn around, kissing Yangyang deeply. As he returns your affection, you enunciate slowly, “Five minutes, then we have to get ready. Ten is getting too suspicious.”

Yangyang finishes a little bit after five minutes, not that you mind. Non-residents have to get buzzed into your building, and Ten doesn’t have a key to your front door. You indulge the moment, laying on your arm bent under a pillow. He looks at you with all the care in the world, no longer that suave fuck buddy from a few moments ago but a young romantic who caresses your inner thigh and talks big game about all the connections you two have in common, or don’t. Your hand dips to the top of his head, combing a small section with your nails to his ends. Yangyang asks you for the time, and you almost don’t give it to him, preferring to spend time with him here than overanalyzing some stupid thesis statement that you wrote at 4AM. You pout, and pull his phone between the two of you, showing him that Ten will arrive in ten minutes – ironic, you think.

Yangyang approaches your face, millimeters from your lips. He waits for you to flutter your eyes closed, anticipating a kiss, then runs into the shower. It takes you a minute to join him, and when he sees you, smirking, like you have some dastardly revenge plan in the works, Yangyang shuts the glass door, isolating himself in the cold shower. He holds on extra tightly so that you cannot get in. You look hot when you are annoyed though – he needs to annoy you more. It is even more fun to mollify you. He pulls you into the shower next to him by grabbing your ass and makes out with you against the wall for a few seconds, until you start stretching at the lavender body wash on the shelf behind him.

This time, Yangyang finishes first, hopping out to sprinkle the roots of his hair with dry shampoo so Ten does not get too suspicious. If he has wet hair, then it would be obvious that he stayed over. He puts the powder back on the shelf and wanders into your room, towel wrapped loosely around his waist – even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There are a few of his clothes in your closet from all the time you stole them, or a couple mini getaways that you two have taken. After he changes into an outfit that he can actually wear in public, he picks out an extra one of his over-sized shirts and drapes it on the towel rack for when you get out. He knows that you really like his clothes, especially the organic band tees. It is another plus that you share the same music taste. Hopefully, none of his friends catch onto the coincidental similarities.

Yangyang likes that you spend a lot of time in his clothes. They always end up smelling like your lotions. It is comforting and reminds him of all the nights ‘studying’ until 3AM. You know, not that he would actually say it out loud (mostly because he also likes to wear his favorite shirts), but you look cuter than him, in his Kendrick Lamar concert tee. And besides, there is a secondary reason as to why he rummaged through your underwear drawer: he wanted to choose your panties for today. It might be a black lingerie set, but how is he supposed to know the difference between a t-shirt bra and a balconette? :^)

Yangyang makes his way into the kitchen, snagging a mini muffin off the island. With the work out he just had, he needs protein but there isn’t enough time to cook anything, not that he actually could; eh, he’ll end up buying something on campus. He tosses two more muffins into his backpack for later – one chocolate for him, one strawberry for you. On Mondays, between classes, he usually catches you in the student experience center, finishing some last-minute assignments. You always end up pushing lunch until after four, ergo he tries to bring you some snacks, whenever he can. Once, his research methods class got cancelled and you didn’t have any pre-lecture materials to work on, so he brought two cups of ramen. You two had a semi-date then. He wonders if it can happen again, today. Ten interrupts the thought though, before it can develop into a real plan, and he sighs. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps thinking about defining this relationship at the worst possible times.

“Yellow?” Yangyang answers, mid-bite. He shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can check your notification center for any missed calls. You have three. Ten has been going to voicemail all morning, Yangyang deduces, and if he was Ten, he would be damn suspicious at this point.

“Hi, baby,” Ten coos. “I’m outside. Buzz me in, yeah?”

Yangyang reflexively pouts. “I’m not your baby. I’m 20 now.” Still though, he complies, letting Ten into the building, and his friend is upstairs within a minute – not that it is too far. You live on the second floor.

“So,” Ten sings while glancing around the apartment. Yangyang wonders what for – hopefully, not searching for his secret relationship. Ten closes the door, his eyes landing on Yangyang and eying him down suspiciously, in a curious way. “What are you doing in the neighborhood, anyways?”

“I, uh, bought breakfast at Allen’s coffee, down the street,” he lies, “And I didn’t feel like walking back to the frat.” He shrugs too, trying hard to be as nonchalant as possible.

“A huh.” Ten does not seem to accept it, but he lets it slide when you walk into the room, wearing Yangyang’s t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Yangyang cannot see why Ten would recognize the top because you also happen to like Kendrick Lamar – one of your favorite songs is King Kunta, even though you cannot sing along to save your life. Yangyang finds it endearing that you enjoy rap music, even though you cannot match the flow or pitch.

His gaze is still endearing when you walk into the kitchen, beelining for the last mini muffin. Yangyang catches how intensely he was staring at you, after you blink at him (and Ten).

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they mutter, looking away.                        

“Okay,” you drawl suspiciously, swallowing half your breakfast. You fold the rest of it into the front pocket of your backpack and pick up your textbook. Yangyang meets your gaze but you immediately flicker to Ten. “Can we grab something at Starbucks really quick?”

Ten stares at Yangyang. You just got coffee for yourself, even though you were coming here? Yangyang waves a hand, unsure how to respond. This whole secret relationship has gone on longer than he thought it would. It was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing when he first kissed you, the night that Ten introduced you two back in March after Renjun’s birthday party, and not even a one-night stand! He just expected you to make out with him, not give him a blowjob in Kun’s bathroom then let him take you back to his room at the frat.

“What?” You look between them. Yangyang shakes his head, nothing. You stare him down and give in, then turn back to Ten. “I haven’t eaten anything. Please?”

“Alright, fine,” Ten cedes. He holds his hands up in surrender, his keys waving like a white flag. As you all file out the door, Yangyang jokingly asks if he can drive. Ten deadpans at him, protective over the car, and smacks him on the back of his head. “Let’s go.”

Yangyang barely notices when they pull into the drive-thru on 1st, too busy scrolling through Instagram while you and Ten talk about an EDM festival coming this weekend. He only picks up his head when you lean over the gear shift, blocking the GPS from his view (in the middle seat) – he was monitoring the distance to make sure that you get to class on time.

“Can we get two breakfast sandwiches, an iced coffee with 2% milk, and an iced London fog latte, extra pump of vanilla, with coconut milk?” You turn to ten. “Want anything?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows. Neither of them looks at Yangyang, and he lowers his phone, knowing that he is about to be caught in a lie. He didn’t think that Ten would ask anything because of the time crunch. Evidently, he was wrong, and now he doesn’t know how to unspin the lie.

“Who are you ordering all that food for?” Ten asks.

You look at him skeptically, a what the fuck hanging palpably in the air before you point to the backseat. “For the baby.”

“Not a baby,” Yangyang pipes up, voice cracking. He tugs on the collar of his shirt, smiling embarrassed.

Ten turns on his side, back facing the window as he stares between the two of you, ultimately settling on Yangyang. “I thought that you said you already got breakfast at Allen’s.” Ten rotates to you. “That’s why he’s in the neighborhood, right?”

A huh, yeah. Yangyang almost tells another lie but the monitor clerk asks if they want anything else, and they are holding up the line with an empty lane in front. Saved by the bell intercom. Ten orders an extra americano, then you all persist through the awkward silence until reaching the front window. You pay with the app as Ten passes out the round of drinks like a bartender. Yangyang pokes his paper straw through the lid. You can’t baby him if he does everything himself first.

“Uh, are you good?”

Yangyang looks up. You have your iced latte between your legs, holding it at the top of your thighs on your crotch like an ice pack.

“Yeah, what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ten enunciates, putting this drink in the cup holder, “people only put ice on their private parts when they’re sore.” He widens his eyes, posture stiffening and he points at you. “Did you have that guy over? The best y-“

“You don’t –“ You hold up a hand, physically interrupting him. Yangyang should have known that Ten would never seriously suspect him as your fuck buddy; he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. “- have to repeat it. I just feel sore.”

Yangyang smirks at that, but he has to hide it when Ten looks at him, pinching his cheeks down like a Tim Burton character. The look in Ten’s eyes is confused again, and he knows that one of two questions is going to come out: if he met that guy that you’re sleeping with, of if he is the guy that you are sleeping with. Fortunately, Yangyang sees the navigation touch screen, and the time is two minutes until eight and you are five minutes off campus. Ten has to drop the conversation and speed to the art building so that at least you get there on time. The extra few minutes he has to spend alone with Ten gives him the idea to cool things off with you for a few days.

That sounds bad, like he is blowing you off, but honestly, you agreed.

Yangyang caught you in front of the communal office space for linguistics GTAs, a few minutes before office hours ended. He snatched you into a supply closet, dragging you by the waist, and covered your mouth to prevent you from screaming bloody murder. You two acknowledged the thin ice that has been melting for a couple weeks now. And he brought up taking a break from seeing each other for a while. At first, you thought that he was breaking up with you – or as close to breaking up as possible, because still, you are not dating. But then, he saw your face and reassured you that he does want to keep seeing you, even in secret; maybe next time, you two should talk about your relationship.

Friends do not need to see each other every day, you know. Or, like, at least, casual friends don’t. Sure, you FaceTime Ten all the time and Yangyang lives with Xiaojun so he sees his best friend daily by default, but you two are not similarly close friends, especially not when other people can perceive how you two interact. No one has to know just that you see Yangyang just as often, in person. And you do it because, well, because you like him – which explains how he ends up back in your bed by Wednesday.

“I’m gonna be late again.”

“No, you won’t.”

Yangyang reaches around your collarbone, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip until he can comfortably hold your jaw. He draws you in for another kiss, his eyes mirroring yours - distracted, enamored, aroused. You cautiously spin around, throwing your arms around his neck to avoid getting swept away, which seems impossible because he holds you securely, at your mandible and the beltloop on your waist. He inhales upon the next embrace, closing his pretty mouth over your philtrum like a slow bite – like several slow bites. You meet him, every time, at the end of each kiss when he shifts onto his toes, getting too tall for your lips, and pull him back on the ground to get more. He moans, after you start roaming your hands under his shirt, running your nails over the crevices in his body like a memorization technique for an early class you don’t have.

You feel hungry, for love, wanting to feel warm. The sun will not rise for another half hour, but he is the warmest thing in the room, even though you are fully dressed, not expecting to be late like two days ago. He copies your moves, unbuckling his hand like a belt, sliding it under your shirt and palming your b.oobs. Then, you squeal, giggling breathily, when he spins you around again and smacks your ass, pushing your thighs into the mattress that you two are standing over.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers in your ear, sucking upward on your external jugular vein.

“No.”

Yangyang stops, deadpanned. He hits your butt again, like a punishment – his favorite kind of punishment, it seems because he repeats it every morning like a bad kind of player, the rich one who goes to bars and unexpectedly falls in love with an attendee, as if it is a coming of age Netflix movie. He repeats it again until you fall on your hands over the bed. You look behind your shoulder at him, jaw dropped. And he takes no time to interpret it, stumbling next to you.

You roll over, led by your hips, so that you can match him, latching onto his face with your hands on his cheeks. “Of course, I trust you, dummy.”

He looks down still, picking at the seams of your jeans. And you detect his teasing tone, easily, because he goes directly to your inner thighs, tracing up along the thread until he reaches your zipper. “Really?”

You roll your eyes, then make him look at you. He has that kicked-puppy expression in the way the outline of his eyes falls below his eyebrows, but the glint and the gummy smile have you knowing otherwise. “Yes.”

Yangyang pops your pants button undone, mischievously pulling his lips into a dramatic pout. “And you’re not lying to me?”

“No,” you emphasize. You brush his hair back, scratching your nails along his scalp, behind his ears. His smile cannot help itself, breaking out in a way that has you completely immersed. It reminds you of that time when you went go karting with Ten and a few others. You were undoubtedly a bad driver, bumping into the track walls, even during the straight lanes. One time, you made a particularly excellent sharp turn, surpassing Johnny to the finish line. Unfortunately, you were completing lap 3 of 5 and him 5 of 5, but Yangyang still congratulated you afterward – in bed. He also lit up, when you two were just laying under the covers, staring at the ceiling because the stars were too far away. You held onto the arm around your waist, laying on his naked shoulder as he told you about wanting to be a race car driver as a kid, then an automotive or aerospace engineer as a teenager, before he settled on psychology. He kept talking, as if crafting this beautiful galaxy. That is when you knew.

“Prove it.”

“What?” You sit up and straddle him. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Yangyang starts begging for affection, slithering his hand down your stomach, into your underwear. He pulls you into his chest, giggling when you topple him into the pillows, clearly not having estimated the force. You like that you never have to beg for his attention. He always, for some reason, notices you, and it is so hard not to pick up on it. You wonder just how no one has learned about you two yet. It’s not like you are being subtle. Although, the smallest acts he gives you can be found under subtle in the dictionary. Like now, he tucks your hair behind your ear, gaze flickering from his hand across your cheek to your eyes. You kiss him again – only a brief peck, because he inserts two fingers inside you, making you gasp sharply enough to break.

“Can I confess something?” you ask, suddenly braved by an idea to prove that you do trust him.

Yangyang stops fucking you, his fingers flexed still. He scans your face for an actual lie but knows that he will never find one, mostly because he already knows the next few words out of your mouth; he has felt the same way for months. And maybe, at this point, he owes you some explanation, for keeping his own confession unspoken. He wants to give it to you first, before your own declaration. It is something that he thinks he should do, like a societal norm for the guy to confess – that is what all the romantic movies say, right? Well, there is Princess Leia and Han with their whole I love you and I know dynamic, and while that was really cool in the scene, Yangyang has a fixed scenario in his head.

“I love you,” he blurts, quickly, sitting up.

“You love me?”

His heart drops. You are not supposed to surprised. He was nearly 100% confident that you had fallen in love with him, too, but this might confirm that so much was in his head. You keep staring at him, jaw slacked and hands on his shoulders. Only when he starts pulling away do you react, catching his hand.

“I really like you,” Yangyang reiterates, self-pouring salt into his bleeding heart. He hesitates for a second, unsure if he should even be vulnerable again, but what does he have to lose? “I –“ He swallows, still looking into your eyes – “I love you.”

Then you kiss him.

And he lets you kiss him.

He lets you kiss him because of the way you cradle his face, like he is made of glass, like he is the most precious crystal that you have to protect. Your lips get softer when he wets them with his tongue, after feeling confidence in your embrace. You kiss him in a way that takes away the word the love, wrapping him in a security blanket to return the warmth.

“I love you,” you whisper slowly, barely audibly enough for him to hear it over the smack of your tongue as you lower to him. You pause, mouth slightly ajar on his. “Too.”

Yangyang peers at your closed eyes, almost willing you to open them so he can tell you, again, that he loves you, so he can see your reaction when he really tells you. He grabs your face and sits up again. You roll your head to the side, like you anticipate his kiss. He gives it you, simultaneously returning his hand into your pants.

“What time is it?”

“What?”

“What time is it right now?” Yangyang asks you with a sense of urgency.

You turn around, fumbling around for your phone, which is now somewhere mixed in your sheets. The two of you had spent a good ten minutes remaking the bed after the night you had, and currently, blankets are strewn across, folded into messy piles. With the thought distracting you, Yangyang slips two fingers past your underwear again, twisting the crotch area with his thumb for easier access. You pause, sighing heavily, hand bunching up the linen as he scissors you.

“I asked you a question,” he reminds you, slightly stuttering at the end, hesitant to add a term of endearment. Even with the confessions you both just gave, it does not define your relationship and he doesn’t know how to broach it just yet, only wanting to kiss you closely and hear all the love sounds that he feels deprived of.

“It’s 6:21.”

“Good,” Yangyang whispers in your ear as he prepares you to take him. “We have time.”

Yangyang redirects your face to his, tilting your chin up as he leans to the side, almost inhaling your lips. Upon another kiss, he adds his tongue, tired of the light pecks. They don’t express his affection as much as he wants, because small embraces end quicker, causing you to withdraw – which is the furthest desire from his mind, especially considering that he just confessed, multiple times. He curls his tongue, placing only the tip beyond your lips. You check him, trying to catch his tongue but merely snagging his spit. He smirks because you whine again. Was that not enough? Obviously not, he notes after you pull back, breathing on his lips, making him chase you. Your breath sounds rapid and rough, and he wants to alleviate your nerves. Yangyang extends his neck again, craning to meet your lips. He gives you a second to recover, to prepare, panting the faintest ghost kisses across your lower face. Your hand comes above his shaking heart, stopping there as you bite your lip coyly. He wonders if you want to stop. Both of you just acknowledged a lingering more-than-friends adoration.

But then you slide your hand under his chin, making him really look at you.

“I love you,” you repeat.

The repet!tion exceeds his own confession, and he isn’t sure whether to confess again, but you take the initiative for him, rocking side to side like ridin’ d!ck bicycle. Yangyang parts his lips just enough to blow small, uneven breaths. He feels you open his jeans while shifting over one of his thighs, his fingers still trembling inside you. Sex with you always feels so reciprocated. Your nails graze his c.ock erect, your hand tightening at the tip, where you push your thumb on his pre-cum. It gives almost the same sensation as your tongue and the sensation gets more intense. He starts thrusting in tandem, making you clench, around his bicep, for support. When you start flicking the flesh on the underside of his penis (the part that connects the shaft to head), he stops your hand.

Yangyang comes forward, caressing your mouth and massaging your clit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“So cum,” you taunt him, smirking into the kiss.

Your resolve temporarily falters, dripping into a moan that he swallows up wholly. He keeps sinking his fingers at different depths, at a fast and shallow pace, waiting for you to reach the same point. You certainly feel wet enough. He touches that spongey tissue area in your p.ussy that has you seeing stars. You moan his name over and over again, until the two syllables become a tongue twister. He disentangles your tongue, using his own. All those years tying cherry stems in his mouth as a teenager really paid off. He starts making a come-hither gesture, simultaneously flirting with your lips. After your hand ceases, exclusively squeezing his base, right above his balls, Yangyang slows down, slipping his fingers away from your G-spot, up and over your clit, your orgasm weakening.

“Ugh,” you grumble.

“We have time,” Yangyang tells you, “to have sex.” He looks at you through his eyelashes, gradually lowering his head under your shirt, his shirt. After Monday, he wondered if you ever owned any shirts yourself, or if you donated all of them once you ‘discovered’ his closet. “Tell me you want it too.”

“I want you.”

He doesn’t know whether to clown you or flirt with you. The first option would make you laugh, but the second would get him laid. Luckily, you decide for him, shimming out of your jeans and panties, then you slide his pants down to his ankles. He wraps his hand around your throat, drawing you to his lips, and he unintentionally squeezes when you settle on the tip of his c.ock. As you ride him, your walls hug his d!ck nicely, giving it a nice tight feeling that he can’t help but moan at. You straighten your back to gain some height over him and slip your tongue in his mouth. His hands reach out to your ass, guiding your hips forward in waves. He starts breathing heavier and his grip gets stronger.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.”

Yangyang kisses you, pulling your words into his mouth, “So cum.”

“Fuck.”

He chases after your high, under the guise of helping you ride out this orgasm, getting his d!ck to twitch deeply inside you. When his hold gets too firm, you whine, suddenly over stimulated. Your nails dig into his bicep roughly, barely soothed by the t-shirt he still wears. He thrusts asynchronously with you before coming undone and dragging you into his chest. You feel warm and sweaty in this post-sex glow, your hand and head resting on his chest. He traces little hearts on your inner wrist, not wanting to let you go completely.

“You need to stop picking my underwear if you’re just going to destroy them,” you joke, kissing him on the cheek. “I have to double wash these thongs you know.”

“Can we –“ Yangyang swallows a lump in his throat. He feels like he is pulling you impossibly close, even though you are not moving away. “Can we go back to that thing you were saying earlier?”

“Hmm?”

“The,” he pauses, indecisive whether he actually wants to bring everything up right now. He ultimately decides for it. “Part with the ‘I love you’?” He knows that his voice sounds smaller than normal and that his eyes are shifting nervously at yours, but he wants to hear it again, wants the validation.

“Right,” you understand, nodding your head equally slowly. You straddle his lap again, and he immediately balances you by the waist, wanting to keep that impossibly close distance. “I’m – I’ve fallen –“ You swallow, looking away, but he needs you to look at him. Because if you can’t say it to his face, how does he know that you’re not just saying it out of obligation? Thankfully though, you see to be on the same wavelength, returning to his eyes, and his breath hitches, abs shaking in anticipation. You confidently give him the sentiment, “I love you.”

Yangyang tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, watching the way his fingers finish, stroking along our cheekbone. “I know,” he whispers coolly, leaning into your ear. “It’s hard not to love me,” he changes the subject, “I’m the best.” You scoff and push his chest, but he fastens an arm around you as equally fast, smiling too wide. He is a little sorry, for ruining the moment, but his laugh isn’t convincing at all. “I love you too.”

Sex, you think, feels infinitely better once the weight was lifted off your chest, once the spoonful of love was added. And the way Yangyang keeps kissing you, absolutely obsessed with holding your waist, tells you that spoonful is a misnomer, too small. The measurement for an entire ocean might be a better description. Still though, you would never call describe sex as love making, especially not to his face. At that point, you would be faced with an ‘oh, my god; that’s disgusting, man’ – not that you mind entirely, because the teasing smile he uses is so, so important to you, and sex feels just like that – the love part, not the disgusting thing. Although, sometimes he can be quite disgusting, yanno. Ah, he just makes you want to skip class and stay in bed beside him all day.

Except, both of you know how bad of an idea that is, with midterms are right around the corner.

Despite that, he spends the night at your apartment again, staying up until 3AM even though he has abnormal psych at 8 on Thursdays.

“I need a study break.”

You roll the cover of your design textbook towards your spiral notebook and toss the pile onto the floor, kicking the blankets off your feet. Yangyang barely spares you a glance, too absorbed in his case study. It is the last of five, and he only has the results, psychometrics, and summary statement left to write for this one before he is completely done for the week. Similarly, you have an exam on Joseon architecture later today and you are a third of a chapter away from catching up on reading, but honestly, fortresses get annoying to look at, especially when you have to compare militia structures against lower-class housing. So, you infiltrate Yangyang’s personal bubble, sliding an arm over his hips and your head into his lap.

“Does this mean I have you join you?” he teases, already putting away his pens. He pushes all his study materials by his feet, never leaning too far up, to keep your head in place. It gets even more comfortable when he relaxes again, resting across the pillows. You close your eyes, melting, when he massages your scalp, like he immediately knows where every knot or corner of tension are.

“I would really appreciate it, if you joined me.” You sigh. His touch is heavenly, and it makes you tighten your arm over his pelvis.

Eventually, Yangyang goes back to his homework, this time reclining in a way that lets you curl into his side. And you aren’t actually asleep, just mildly daydreaming with your eyes shut, thinking about literally anything (Yangyang) other than structures. When he raises a book midair, in front of his face, you move positions, sprawling across his chest, leg coming between his thighs. You (purposefully) annoyingly stick your head under his cheek, to ensure that you, at least, moderately block some of the passage.

Yangyang giggles. “Am I officially joining you now?” He puts his papers on your nightstand and wraps an arm around your shoulders, luring you to his lips. Your leg slithers above the waistband of his joggers, and he helps you straddle him again, sinking into the mattress to get a good view of the way you look in his oversize hood, in only his oversized hoodie. “You’re clingier.”

“Than what?” you ask innocently, rubbing his shirt fabric along his chest. You start pouting, as a response to his silence. Does he not want to cuddle? You shake your head. No, he does, given the way he pushes up the hoodie and yanks you further up his lap. “We cuddle the same amount.” You lower toward his ear, holding his neck in place, and whisper, “Do you not want to? Because I can leave.”

Before you can even think about getting off, he kisses you, sitting up. “Don’t go.” His hands come under your ass, squeezing as your arms circle around his neck. “It’s just –“ He bites his lip, suppressing a whine, which you can feel clog his throat. “You can’t sit on my lap like this. I’m getting hard.”

“Again?” you taunt. He slaps your butt, rather harshly, leaving a warm tingling sensation that he kneads away. You grind into his touch and kiss up his neck. “We can try the Pomodoro method.” You blow into his ear, shakily, as his hand presses particularly rougher. “I’ll set a timer for 25-minutes.” You look at him with chaste, despite the way you are purposefully making his blood rush. His fingers move to the edge of the hood, lifting it slightly. “Think we can have fun in just 25 minutes?”

“Mmmhmm,” he agrees early, nodding his head forward to kiss you. You don’t let him meet you though, not that you think he really noticed, what with being distracted by your very naked legs. He slowly sits up, all the way, and you feel his d!ck twitch against your thighs.

“Or do you think we won’t be able to finish?”

Yangyang throws you onto the bed and removes his shirt in one fell swoop. “Bet?”

“Missionary?” you ask, almost sticking your tongue out at him. “You’re getting more vanilla.”

Yanygyang gasps, then whacks your butt. “Take that back!”

You prop yourself on your elbows, eying all the naked parts of him up and down, from his low waisted briefs to his well-defined pecs to the rather cross sulk on his lip. “Make me.”

“Don’t have to.” He takes away your smirk, displaying it across his face. You tilt your head to the left, expression slacking blankly, but you catch on, feeling his fingers outline your sides. He slips his thumb between your lips, pushing it slowly until you basically give him a finger job, like a preview to the actual head he wants. “You’re already prepped.”

Your eyes flicker up, purely, as if he is about to ruin you for the first time. It’s his favorite part whenever you blow him – you looking into his eyes, taking every inch of him. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, dragging your lip down until he lets go, your lips smacking together. You bite your lip, suddenly feeling empty, even though neither of you have really done anything yet. “Are you going to fuck me then?” Your voice sounds so harmless, now lacking the bite as you mentally anticipate his d!ck to stretch you open right now. He shakes his head, no. “So what –“

Yangyang spreads your legs a little wider, strictly, darting in the direction of your main bullseye point. His touches remain light and teasing, not getting there yet, responding to all the little mannerisms that make your lower body so rhythmic. He rubs a finger, swirling the ends of his movements to get your hips riding his digits. You whimper breathily, voice cracking at such a high pitch. He sweeps your bottom lip, pressing his tongue softly, making you wish that he would fuck you already. It is insanely evil, for him to give you a preview of the intense foreplay without actually doing it, barely giving you the imagery of it all. You clutch his shoulder, to steady him for a constant kiss and to actually get on his slender fingers. But he never lets you. Instead, he pulls you by your ass, one-handed, forcing you to roll your hips on the silhouette of his d!ck. Fuck, how can you even feel his c.ock? His joggers are so thick. He maintains the stupid, inhumane taunts, kissing the air between you two, caressing everywhere along your hole. A few minutes pass without him changing the routine, so you reverse the positions, throwing him on your mattress and straddling his lap like a stripper. And with almost the same level of experience, or confidence (you hope it’s confidence), you seesaw over his d!ck. He swiftly locks your arms around his neck and his behind your lower back, palming your ass. You look into his eyes for a second, then kiss him roughly, smashing your lips on his.

“You’re. So. Eager. Today,” he says, muddied by elongated spit noises. His eyes are flittered closed as he smiles smugly, accepting your style of manhandling. Your embraces are light and rapid, doing everything in your power to prevent him from straying too far. But his abs get too shaky, too firm, the familiar build up washing over him, so he has to pull away. When he does, you try chasing him and he brushes your hair behind your ear, slowly stroking your jugular vein like ticking baby hairs. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too.” You peck his lips, now sitting sticky on his lap. He looks so pretty, eyes glazed and lips slightly parted. You just have to kiss him again.

Yangyang bends your back to the comforter, guiding you by the throat, simultaneously pushing his pants mid-thigh, c.ock bouncing more freely. It slaps your p.ussy, naturally twitching aroused. He is so close that when he pumps himself a few strokes, his knuckles rasp along your clit and you buck your hips for more touches. You feel his wet tip run along your slit, and you just know that his hand locks above his balls, right around his base, ready to push in. But you stop him.

“Let me ride you,” you pant, slowly opening your eyes.

He nods his head enthusiastically, and you pop off his head. You turn around, back facing him as you take off the hoodie, leaning down to graze your n!pples on the blanket.

Yangyang wails. “That’s not fair. I want to see.” He takes off his pants, to be as equally naked.

You redirect his attention back to your p.ussy, using your first two fingers to pinch your clitoral hood and gently tug it up and down, over his d!ck as you back into him. He lets out a loud moan at the sight; it takes everything in him to not thrust, listening to your command ordering him to wait. You brush your hair over your shoulder again and look at him behind your shoulder, sultry. Your mood changes are so sexy. His body moves automatically, hunching over your spine to litter you with kisses, his hand trailing behind his saliva. You take that palm and put it on your t!t as you grind his c.ock between your ass cheeks, sliding it to the most sensitive nerves of your p.ussy. He aids your building orgasm with two fingers, leaning his metacarpal inside of your thigh to rub circles specifically under your nub.

“Oh my god,” you exhale, walls throbbing in a vacuum of emptiness, needy.

You sit up and push him onto the pillows by his chest, then reach behind to grab his c.ock erect. His breath thunders, encouragingly. He waits for you to do something, scanning your bare back for every little love bite and mark. You slowly descend and use your knees to bounce, ass swirling between his thighs. Your hips oscillate from outward jumping to figure eights, to rocking sideways. And his favorite position seems to be when you take all of him, gyrating shallowly, letting only about an inch leave your p.ussy before you slam back down on him. You mimic his slaps, taking your hand off his inner thigh to grip your ass, dragging your nails up, leaving a tingling sensation. He rolls his eyes to the back of his head, recording the moment in his brain forever, then slaps your jiggling flesh several times. This position gets his big c.ock deep within your p.ussy, causing his balls to bump against your labia. Then he starts thrusting with you, pounding his hips up.

“Fuck, Fuck, Yanygang. Mmhm.”

He copies your expletives, adding some bad girl’s and other lewd nicknames, before slamming with some finality. You think that he is about to cum, but he withdraws, making you whine sharply. Yangyang flips you onto your back, immediately attacking your chest. His hands support you like a wired bra and shakes them, pushing the pads of his thumbs into your sternum so that your hardened n!pples remain level with his mouth. He licks one lightly, circling around the areola, then latches on, sucking with his tongue flattened under your skin. You arch your back to him, drawing him close. He repeats the action on the other, but longer, as he pinches and kneads your b.oob.

“Come on my d!ck again, you dirty little girl,” he orders, voice low and hoarse.

“Then stop pulling out,” you whisper, similarly breathless.

“Okay.”

You lean away from him, supported with your hands on his thighs, spinning your hips in circles and side to side. His hands squeeze your waist, jostling you to his chest brutally.

“Don’t do that,” he growls, teeth barring before he kisses you again, croaking the moan in your throat. He drags you close, fingers digging into esophagus so that his tongue and reach inside.

Your grip scratches on his triceps, pink lines haunting his skin. You keep bouncing up and down, until his chokehold drops. His mouth falls open, releasing strings of curses after gasps. He spanks you hard, twice, then grips your ass, jerking it savagely. You change the motion, grinding in tiny, little, miniscule circles. Your thighs shiver, your entire body following. He rotates his d!ck, thrusting asynchronously. And you claw through his hair, tugging the strands rougher and rougher as your abdomen keeps tightening.

“Almost, almost,” you whimper. “I’m so close.”

Yangyang pulls your bottom lip with his teeth. “Me too.”

You begin slowing down, no longer able to bounce up and down, choosing to rock back and forth. Then, everything stops for just a second, your walls compressing his springy c.ock until you break. All of his muscles grate against you, making you feel each ridge and movement. He follows your orgasm, feeling the way you milk every drop out of him, sucking his entire length balls deep. Your whine sounds like a treble, harmonizing with his lower moan. And you two spend another moment in cowgirl position, collecting your breaths, basically fused together.

“I love you,” Yangyang repeats. Ever since yesterday morning, he has been throwing out the sentiment spontaneously whenever he can: during sex, after sex, while cuddling, in the middle of study dates, behind his cup of coffee at the physics café in the afternoon when no one else is nearby. He follows up with another confession, “I want more than 25-minutes.” And it catches you off guard, considering his previous statement and the other, in the midst of sex, or love making, as some people would call it.

“The 25-minutes is just for right now,” you reassure him, gently patting his cheeks. “We have to study. I still have part of a chapter left to read.”

“Then say it back.”

You pull his face to yours, brushing your noses together. “I love you,” you tell him slowly, enunciating every syllable.

“So, spend the night at my place tomorrow,” he requests. His arms come behind your lower back, his eyes pouting like a lamb.

“Of course,” you answer impulsively, immediately going to kiss him after. Then you pull away, stopping him on the shoulders. “Wait. You have roommates. You have six roommates.”

“Four,” he corrects you – Sicheng graduated last year and moved in with Yuta. “We’ll be fine. Dejun is going with Kun to some conference; I don’t remember what. Hendery is staying at an AirBnB before the EDM festival this weekend. Lucas is …” Yangyang bites his cheek, trying to recall his roomates’ schedules. “I think he’s going on a date. I don’t know, but he bought roses and they’re sitting in the fridge. And Renjun … Renjun …” Yangyang swallows. He almost forgot about the tidbit that he learned at the Halloween party last weekend.

“Renjun what?” you ask, pecking him lightly and chastely.

“Won’t be there either.” Yangyang stops you. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

You sense the serious tone and straighten up, clasping your hands around his neck. “What’s up?” you prod slowly.

“Did you really like him?” he questions so softly that you almost do not hear him. “Renjun?” he clarifies after you stay quiet (even though it was just a few seconds).

“Yeah,” you answer quietly, not entirely sure if you even want him to hear you, the ambience settling into something melancholier. “But I love you.”

It seems like he ignores you.

“Why didn’t you get with him?”

“You don’t mean that.”

You shake your head, pulling back, your eyes painfully dry. All the fuzzy spots from your orgasm earlier connect the dots in your head, and you wonder what this is, if he doubts you, doesn’t trust you.

But he agrees, “You’re right. I just … I mean, why are you with me instead?”

“Instead?” you ask. You come back to him – it’s always him, and you hold his face, making him look at you. “I’m not with you instead of Renjun. There’s no compet!tion. I love you,” you enunciate the confession again to really emphasize it.

“But –“

It doesn’t seem to stick. And you sigh with your entire body, slumping away from him. “Does it really bother you that much?” You shift around, biting your lip while his soft c.ock scrambles inside you. He meets your eyes this time, scanning your pupils for more reassurance. “You are kind and smart and hard-working and insanely talented, and … and I love you.” He stays quiet, and you almost throttle him, needing a bit of affection too. “Say it back,” you beg, differently from minutes ago. You drop your forehead on his shoulder. “Please.”

Yangyang seems to understand and reciprocates, “I love you too.”

You pull yourself to face him and beam, mirroring his tender gummy smile. Then, you kiss him again, toppling him into the pillows. He rolls you over, causing you to giggle loudly as he peppers small bites along your cheeks, across your nose, and whispers the same confession on loop.

“I love you,” he ends, kissing you deeply. He comes up for air, inhaling sharply. “So, stay the night with me tomorrow – tonight. At my place.” He brushes your hair away from your face, to get a better look at the sweet glaze in your eyes. You think that you fall in love a little more, especially with all his domestic acts.

“Okay,” you agree.

“Okay,” he repeats. “Okay.” He nods his head, smiling wider, if possible, and kisses you over and over and over again.

Funny thing about Fridays: Yangyang doesn’t have a morning class, doesn’t have class at all actually; meanwhile, you have another art history class, at eight. The damn class is 90-minutes, so it is held three times a week. His lectures, you recall bitterly, go on for 2-3 hours each, granting him the three day weekend that every college student desires, pushing his classes to the first four business days of the week. That means he can stay up all night Thursday to Saturday, gaming for long hours into the night – not that you get to see it often, because when you do stop by the frat house, you spend time with anyone else. And usually, someone is visiting at the same time. You know, you write yourself into Xiaojun and Sicheng’s pool compet!tion, or watch moves with Lucas, but tonight (really morning, considering that it is 1 A.M.), you sit with Yangyang in his wide gaming chair, thumbing at The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (BotW) while he plays Overwatch with Haechan and Jeno. Thankfully, you don’t have any major assignments due later or any in-class presentations, so you can just curl up next to your boyfriend and pull an all-nighter, stealing snacks and drinks from his new mini-fridge so that you can avoid accidentally bumping into one of his roommates. Although, you Uber’ed to his place with a box of friend chicken and side dishes.

After the same gold lynel kills of Link for the third time in a row (the one in the Hebra region, outside the shrine, that has a sword you want), you lazily toss the controller onto his desk. Dying again and again gets frustrating, and you need to relieve the buzz. So, you turn to Yangyang, who looks to be in the middle of a campaign (is that what his levels are called?), and start asking him questions about his video game. Like, you know how sometimes people get so desperately horny that they ask their partner to explain Overwatch to them? Yeah, that is exactly how this feels, as Yangyang’s distracted voice describes his location and next move. And it is no wonder that he is a psych major – he is good at communication.

“What does that character do?” you whisper-ask, while the screen refreshes after he wins a battle.

“That’s an attacker.”

“A huh,” you nod along. You vaguely know what that means, based on the t!tle and all your years of the Club Penguin Card Jitsu game. “And that one?”

Yangyang removes his headset to around his neck and faces you, grinning sideways. “Are we sharing interests right now?” He pushes your legs apart, then straddles you over his thigh. His desk separates you and the game, pressing a fine line between the bones in your spinal cord. He turns the microphone down, muting himself from his friends. It is one thing for the two of you to be alone in the frat house and another for his close friends to physically hear you in his arms. “Or are you just needy for my attention?” Yangyang pulls one hand on your skin, rubbing small soothing circles. “That’s a sign of a relationship, you know.” He leans into your ear, whispering, “Like a date.”

You push him against the chair cushions, scrunching your nose at his laughter. “As if we haven’t done that already,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes for emphasis.

“What?” he asks. “Go on a date?”

You nod your head. Neither of you really call these types of things dates, but they are. Sometimes you also hang out in public, alone, maybe holding hand or kissing, even though lately it seems like you stay inside and study and have sex all the time. Actually, there is a rave going on this weekend with one of your favorite DJs – one shared equally by the two of you. You have yet to invite Yangyang, but now seems like a good time.

“You don’t really care about my games,” he pouts, “Do you?”

“I’m sorry,” you agree, pouting with him. “I don’t speak nerd.”

Yangyang gasps, sitting up straighter. “It’s not a nerd thing! It’s a game of strategy!”

You shake your head, still not understanding. “I don’t speak virgin either.”

He slaps your ass. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“Am I supposed to be the virgin, in this scenario?”

“Are you becoming a born-again virgin?”

You shrug. “What would you do if I did?” You completely straddle his lap, scooting up his thighs until his d!ck sits at attention between your abdomens, and you whisper in his ear, “Would you leave me?” You bite his ear, softly licking the external side then blowing on it. “Would you ruin me? Take it away?”

“Virginity is a social construct,” he reminds you, growling. He slips his hands into your underwear. “I’ll ruin you right now.”

Except, another round on his game loads, and you find yourself leaning onto his shoulder opposite the microphone so that he can play, despite the insane wetness soaking your underwear right now. Then, two more games go by and you want his attention. He asked you to stay the night with him, and this doesn’t necessarily feel like that. So, you get off his lap, slithering down his legs onto the ground, onto your knees.

First, you untie his pants and spring his d!ck out. It’s not difficult, because (1) he has pyjama bottoms on, and (2) he manspreads like a motherfucker, giving you easy access. Then, the blow job starts. You lick your palm a couple times and angle his tip in your mouth, starting soft. His legs tense momentarily, making you consider stopping, but a hand appears, pushing you halfway down his length.

“You look so pretty down there, angel.”

He obviously did not actually look at you; you know because he usually makes eye contact when he is close to cumming, enjoying the way your eyes glass over. And because his keyboard continues clicking.

You continue on that way – keeping one hand squeezed halfway down his d!ck; hollowing your cheeks, adding extra suction all over his tip; flattening your tongue on the underside and rolling it like sushi at the very top. Despite his d!ck being fully erect in your mouth, his attention is less than enthusiastic, fingers working diligently on those numbers. It gives you an idea. You start bobbing your head faster, in tune with his typing, egged on by his compet!tiveness. And when his voice goes up an octave, your grip gets tighter, only slacking when you drop back down halfway. His groan echoes in your ear, sounding like he lost (whatever that means), so you pull off. He breathes a little bit harder after the smacking sound falls from your lips, preceding all the fluttering little kisses down his shaft. You hold his d!ck up and lick one stripe up between his balls, and he shouts at his friends:

“Alright! I’m done for the night. Play tomorrow. Bye!”

Yangyang pulls you to your feet, standing with you. He scans your eyes, pulling you closer and closer, debating whether to kiss you or not; he never really kisses you after you suck his d!ck, unless he eats you out too.

“Bed now,” he orders you in whispers, patting your butt a little too hard. You fall onto his queen-sized mattress stomach down, bouncing with his fluffy duvet. He kneels next to you, lifting his sweater off your thighs and spanking you again, three times. Each smack precedes a loud, high-pitched gasp. “You’re so needy.”

“Fuck,” you mutter at a particularly hard hit, his hand slipping to the wet p.ussy lips that need some friction. “Is that a bad thing?”

A door shuts loudly down the hall, making you two straighten up in attention. You prop yourself forward on your elbows, staring at the door. Yangyang watches your reaction, his ears alert and back facing the door. You hear Hendery walking up the stairs, something jangling with him, like keys or plates. A second pair of feet march with him, making you look at Yangyang. He shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head; he thought everyone was going to be gone this weekend, which does not apparently start on Fridays for his roommates.

“You’re going to need to be quiet,” he whispers. This is nothing new. The two of you constantly fuck, like rabbits, regardless if anyone can hear you, but Hendery is two rooms down and Yangyang is sliding two fingers knuckle deep until hitting the urethral sponge. His curling has your thighs tensing to the point of shaking. As he settles between your legs (not letting up on the pressure), he taps your sternum twice, telling you to keep still and quiet.

But you moan. It just comes out, not something that you can control. Especially when he nips all around your clit, lip biting at your skin and sucking small bruises. He keeps going like this, nodding his head for more vibrations everywhere except the most sensitive spot. Your breath gets more labored, breaking loudly.

“You need to be quieter,” he reminds you.

“Mmm, I can’t. You’ll have to move slower.”

Yangyang speeds up his fingers. “Not a chance.” He swipes his thumb across your clit once, then twice, then harder, giving it a little pinch. “Even if you cum, I’m still going.”

You whine, disagreeing. “Mmm mmm, you can’t say things like that. Fuck –“ He starts crawling over your body, peppering light touches along your stomach, around your b.oobs, above your collarbone. “- I want to cum.” You mewl, again frustrated, because he pulls his fingers out. He gestures you to shush, putting them in your mouth. With his hands occupied around your face and throat, his d!ck jostles, sliding between your p.ussy lips without actually entering. “Please,” you beg, “I want to cum so bad.”

“Ugh,” Yangyang moans in your ear, this time guiding himself inside your warm and aching hole. “I know,” he tells you. “I can feel it.” He rotates onto his side, propping up one of his legs to get into an easier position where he can pound you better. You grab one of the pillows, briefly arresting it with your nails acting like handcuffs before settling it under your oblique. The new angle puts Yangyang right back at your G-spot, his tip abusing the sponge harshly. “You’re milking my c.ock, huh? You’re – You want me so bad, huh?”

“Mm hmm, yeah,” you agree. His gaze fixates on the way your ass claps against his pelvis. He doesn’t even have to lead you anymore; you start backing up on him, motivated the rougher he tugs your hair. “Please, please,” you chant in whispers. He spreads your cheeks, obsessed with the disappearing act you pull, needing to see it more.

“Fuck,” he groans. He cups your b.oob off the mattress, supporting the other one with his arm, and pinches at your n!pple, swirling it around between his thumb and index finger. “Come on, pretty girl. You need to cum?” You nod your head fervently, face warming intensely. “So, cum on my c.ock. You can do it; come on.” He drops your chest for your neck, pushing your head into the blankets so he can kiss you again, incoherently vibrating broken praises on your lips.

“Yangyang, Yangyang, I’m – I’m – Harder, please. I’m so – Oh, fuck.”

He moans your name seconds after, spilling into your pulsating core, and relaxes, chest falling into an equilibria rhythm with yours. His c.ock softens, finishing its workout, so you swing your leg away from him and spin around, placing a hand on his chest. You stare at him for a little bit, like watching the sun set. He peaks an eye open, then closes it quickly, teasing you because he knows that you saw it.

“You’re going to get cross-eyed staring at me,” Yangyang jokes.

“Then let me get cross-eyed,” you counter, slithering an arm under his head like a neck cushion.

“That’s disgusting.”

You scoff, pulling on the ends of his hair. “You’re disgusting.”

He smacks your butt lightly. It is definitely his favorite punishment. “And you can call it a kink, fyi.” He opens his eyes in time to see you pout, and in return, he pecks your lips, pulling away just as fast.

You look over his shoulder at the time: 2 A.M. and bury your face in his chest. “We need to stop sleeping so late. My body can’t handle this.”

“My body can handle yours.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, even though he would not be ready to go again, at least for twenty minutes.

You chew on your lip a little bit, then repeat a post-sex tradition (well, it has essentially become a tradition this week). “Can I ask you a question?”

Yangyang kisses your shoulder, wrapping a leg around yours to keep you locked nearby. “Of course, anything.”

“Do you want to go to the rave with me, this weekend?”

“Like,” he processes, still hidden the crevice of your neck, “as in a date?” He lays across your arm, and you notice the glint in his eye. “Are you asking me out? I was supposed to do that!”

“Oh?” you return the tease. “We can just not go then, and I’ll wait for you to ask me out.” You start getting up, but he drags you back down, tugging specifically on your hand. He kisses you as a confirmation that yes, he wants to go; he wants nothing more than to go on a real date with you.

[kuiinncedes]

and you knew what it was

author’s note: i don’t know what the fuck this is i was bored at the beginning of my break lol and i wrote some stuff based on a prompt list and a random number generator that gave me “here, drink this. you’ll feel better” and it kinda like ,, grew ,, into a lot

i’ve been sitting on this first part pretty much completed for a while and i think i want to just post it and i have two other “parts” that are sorta connected and idk yeah lmao they’re in progress rn and hopefully i can finish them soon if i post this one i just feel kinda stuck rn :P anyway idk lol i like this part tho hopefully i don’t change anything massively in the other two that would have to change something here XD

basically 1539 words of shadowhunter!quinntina hurt/comfort (or an attempt at it) maybe like sort of warning for mention of death and injury tbh am i trying too hard to be a ya fantasy writer lmao

title from “you are in love” by taylor swift <3

as always lmk if anyone wants any shadowhunter things to be explained lol :P

***

“Here, drink this,” Tina says, voice shaky and quiet, unsure. “You’ll feel better.” She helps Quinn sit up a little and slowly drink the whole glass of… something.

Quinn wrinkles her nose at the aftertaste coating her tongue and throat. “What was that?” Her shoulders are propped up against her pillow, and she awkwardly tries to situate herself somewhat upright. 

Tina shrugs, setting the cup aside. “Something Mike whipped up. Said it should help your strength and energy a little?” She crosses her arms, lightly gripping the fabric of her shirt at her sides—hugging herself.

“Mike needs to add some sugar or something,” Quinn tries in a joking tone. Tina smiles slightly but won’t really make eye contact with her.

The room falls silent and Quinn watches Tina, recognizes the expression on her face, her defeated posture, her smaller, quiet demeanor. Her outfit—a lot darker than what she’s often in these days, when she’s not in black gear. 

And Quinn remembers a few months ago, when Mercedes had her own complicated encounter with demon poison. She remembers how Tina cares, how she loves, how beautifully, how much. 

“Hey,” she says softly, and Tina finally looks up to meet her eyes. “Mike and the Silent Brothers said I stand a good chance for full recovery, right? So no tears,” Quinn urges gently. 

Tina huffs a light laugh and wipes under her eyes. “No promises,” she says hoarsely. Quinn wiggles her fingers and Tina releases the hand clutching tightly at her side and obligingly takes Quinn’s, who squeezes reassuringly.

Tina keeps sniffling though, and it seems to be getting louder. She covers her mouth with her free hand when Quinn looks over and says quickly, “I’m sorry, I know, sorry, it’s Kurt’s turn to see you anyway, I should go—” and starts to untangle their fingers but Quinn holds fast, squeezing again and she looks into Tina’s tear-filled eyes. 

“Come here,” Quinn says quietly.

“What?”

“Help me lay down, then get in bed with me.”

Tina pauses. “Are you—I don’t know if—”

Quinn smirks a little, starting to push herself back into a horizontal position. “I’m the one who’s injured, and I’m cold and I need my girlfriend close to steal her warmth, okay?”

Tina swallows and nods a little, replies barely above a whisper, “Okay.”

Once Quinn is lying down comfortably, Tina climbs under the blanket, facing her. Quinn tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, wiping some of Tina’s still-coming tears as she retracts her hand. 

Tina holds her wrist, lightly, almost only with the tips of her fingers, and presses a soft kiss to her palm. She lets out a slight chuckle. “Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you?”

Her tone is lighthearted but bitter and Quinn brushes her fingers through Tina’s hair. Her eyelids flutter, half closed, and she releases a small, comforted breath.

“You’ve definitely already done a fair amount of taking care of me. And I’m fine,” Quinn assures, and she really is fine, aside from the fact that she just missed a few days being knocked out from the worst kind of demon poison and she’s still feeling the effects of that, probably will be for a while, but that’s getting out of her system now, and with its complete departure her strength (and ability to move without pain) should also return, if Silent Brother healing magic and knowledge is to be trusted. “On the other hand, you look like you haven’t slept in days.” And knowing Tina, it’s all too possible that she hasn’t.

Tina shrugs a little. “Maybe.”

“Do I need to call Kurt in here to tell me?”

“Fine,” Tina grumbles halfheartedly. “I haven’t.”

But do you blame me? is her unasked—and unanswered—question. 

(Quinn doesn’t.)

Quinn tilts her chin forward a little to kiss Tina’s nose gently. “Go to sleep,” she says.

“Here? I shouldn’t—Kurt wants to see you,” Tina starts and Quinn shushes her again.

“Yes, here. Kurt will live without it, he knows I’m okay.” And Quinn knows Kurt is okay, and presumably will understand Tina staying for longer if he’s been around her the past few days. 

She just hopes—knows, really—that Kurt has helped Tina, that they help each other. They’ve always been close on account of being the two who could always be found awake in the latest hours of night, talking to each other and recently, working on designs and drawings together.

But it’s still different right now, for these past few days, and Quinn thinks that if either of them slept at all, it wasn’t much. Especially Tina. Kurt had the parabatai bond’s assurance while Quinn’s been out. Tina had Kurt’s assurance, but it still couldn’t have been as good as knowing it herself. And at night, Kurt had the bond as an extra layer of assurance when he went to sleep, but Tina didn’t, and Quinn knows how Tina’s worry keeps her up sometimes, and how she sometimes chooses energy runes instead when she knows something is weighing on her mind too much for her to sleep.

“You need sleep, love,” Quinn whispers, and she feels the resistance fade from Tina’s body. She pulls her closer, tucking Tina’s head under her chin.

“I missed you,” Tina says with a small gasp, voice cracking a little in desperation. “I’m so sorry.” Quinn can feel her tears on her collarbone and she hates it—hates that she’s the reason Tina’s crying and she can’t do anything about it because she was unconscious and on the verge of death for three days and then the Silent Brothers kept people away for a few more and Tina didn’t know how she was for a week, and Quinn really just woke up again and she’s mostly fine and she feels fine but Tina hasn’t slept for days and Quinn understands.

“It’s not your fault. And I won’t ever leave you,” Quinn promises. 

“You can’t say that for sure.” 

“Shh,” Quinn breathes, thinking about both statements. Tina’s right, she can’t say it for sure, and she knows that. With their life and what they do every day, it’s the most unsure thing in the world. Even just a week ago, she could’ve died if the demon’s stinger had gone in a little higher, she could’ve died if there were any more of them left, she could’ve died if Tina wasn’t there. Tina could’ve died if Quinn wasn’t there. (Would have, a voice in the back of her head creeps in, less than a breath, and she suppresses the shiver that it brings.)

But if Quinn has any control over it at all, it will be true. She tells Tina as much. “I won’t leave you,” she says again, quietly but as vehemently as she can, and Tina relaxes a tiny bit in her arms. 

And then for the other thing. “And there’s no way it’s your fault, okay?”

“If I wasn’t so fucking careless, you would be fine—”

“You didn’t push me into a demon’s stinger, did you?” Quinn continues to run her fingers through Tina’s hair. “You didn’t take its poison and inject it into my body. And you were killing the other ones. We could both be dead if you weren’t, okay?” Her tone is more blunt than probably necessary and she brushes Tina’s temple slightly in apology.

Tina burrows her face deeper and Quinn knows she’s winning, if only because Tina’s tired. But she needs her to know…. “It would never be your fault,” Quinn whispers. “Ever. Tell me you know that.”

After a second, Tina nods. “Yeah,” she says in a small voice. “Okay.”

Quinn can tell Tina isn’t completely convinced, but it’s a conversation for another time, another day when Tina isn’t running on a ridiculously small amount of sleep and probably an unhealthy number of energy runes, and only just coming down from the emotional rollercoaster of the past week. 

Quinn presses a kiss to the top of Tina’s head. “Go to sleep, love,” she says again. 

“Wake me up if I hurt you,” Tina breathes, on the cusp of sleep. 

Quinn smiles, runs her hand up and down Tina’s arm. “You won’t,” she promises, voice hushed.

It’s a testament to just how exhausted Tina must be that her breathing evens out within a few seconds, and her body is still and loose from exhaustion, mind finally quieted, for now, close to Quinn and reassured, and Quinn continues to rub her girlfriend’s arm gently and thinks.

She thinks about the word she just used—twice, and for the first time. Not the first time in her head, but the first time out loud. But unlike countless other times when she’s questioned her decisions and even after so many that have hurt her, so many choices that have led her astray—led her heart astray… she knows it’s right this time. Now, here, in her room, in the Institute that changed her life for the better, her family within the building’s glamoured walls, next to the one person she would always want to be next to, she doesn’t need to question it. And she closes her eyes and follows Tina into a hopefully peaceful sleep.

[a-town-called-hometown]

for the prompts, kris exploring castle town?

If Kris asked Ralsei nicely, they know he would be more than happy to give them a tour. He's spent so long alone. It would make him overjoyed to have someone to talk to. He probably has a lot of interesting things to say about Castle Town and how it came to be. He might even answer some of their harder questions about the nature of the Dark World, even though he'd probably keep a few secrets from them. It would make him happy. More than happy.

But they don't trust that he wouldn't try to talk them into giving up their free will again.

And if he has an answer about how to stop the Player entirely, they know he won't give it to them outright.

So, with a prickle of guilt, Kris heads in alone.

It's the middle of the night. They don't know how day and night works for Darkners, but it does work, there's a good chance Ralsei's currently sleeping. Susie certainly is; she rarely, if ever, texts them this late. They're glad for it, in a guilty way. She'd be sure to notice that they're purposely avoiding Ralsei, and that's not a conversation they want to have with her, either. They don't like lying outright. It's easier to keep everything a secret and hope that things continue without blowing up.

And how well is that working out for you? a little voice in the back of their mind says as they slide down a waterfall. It's not the best long-term strategy you could have come up with.

They try to ignore it. They've gotten good at that.

It feels strange to be slipping through the shadows of Castle Town in the middle of the night. The deserted streets and buildings have always felt uncanny to them, but the knowledge that it's nighttime lends the location an extra layer of spookiness. It's as if they've been dropped into one of the ghost stories they loved as a child. It both invigorates them and unsettles them. They're fully alert as they begin to explore.

Shops, houses, inns, storehouses. All are unlocked. All are empty, swept clean of any identifying marks. They're built of solid stone and wood and mortar and tile, but if anyone ever lived here, any trace of it is long gone. Kris searches every single building in the small town, looking over every single room and every plot of land. The same result greets them every time. It is a faceless town, and there is nothing to scar the perfect stillness. There aren't even any loose stones on the ground. The only sign of comes from the fountain reaching up from Ralsei's castle, arcing endlessly into the blackness above. Eventually, once their search has ended with nothing, they stand in the courtyard, staring up at it.

For a moment, they hesitate. It already feels like a breach of privacy to be in this town at all. Entering Ralsei's castle would be another level of intrusion entirely. They don't think that he would mind very much, but even still…

I'll just look at the library he mentioned, they decide. It still feels wrong, but the decision mitigates that wrongness just enough for them to keep moving. I won't look at anything else. I'll see if he has any answers about this in there, and if he doesn't, I'll just go. I'll ask him for a real tour later to make up for it later. 

Their heart pounds a heavy rhythm in their chest. They open the door as quietly as they can. There's only darkness in the room beyond. Nobody there.

Kris can't exactly be silent, with the way their feet habitually shuffle. But they can be quiet. Quiet is good enough. They don't open any of the doors, since one of them could be Ralsei's bedroom, but they do look through any entrances that are open. The walls and floor are as eerily featureless as the rest of the town was. There's the occasional tapestry bearing the Delta Rune, and each of the rooms they see have some furniture, but it's all so clean that it feels like nobody actually lives here. The more they look, the more the absence of life unsettles them. Why aren't there more people here?

Another question for the library, they think. I should have gone earlier in the night. The way things are going, I won't be back by sunrise. There's so much I need to see before I leave.

As they're resigning themself to another school day fueled by excessive coffee, their eyes catch on something. Through a nearby archway, there's a courtyard, with one entrance from each direction. Unlike everything else, it's not featureless. The fountain is there. And in the area all around the fountain's stone base, tiny blue flowers peek up from tufts of black grass. It's the first non-Ralsei life that they've seen in the town in the time they've been here.

As carefully as they can, they step onto the grass. They half-expect alarm bells to ring out, but there's nothing. As forbidding as this place feels, it seems that there's nothing to protect the fountain. They're fine.

Still, they're cautious as they approach. The fountain -- so impossibly black, as if the world's darkest shadows were made liquid -- is humming with power. The closer they get, the more they can feel it. It doesn't seem to be sentient, but there's so much magic that they can feel it buzzing in their teeth. Kris can't decode what the magic is being used for. Is it just an inert energy source, or is it a conduit powering something they can't see?

They've touched a fountain before. It probably won't hurt them. Just as their possessed soul being thrown into the other fountain opened a portal home, touching this might have an interesting effect. They can just yank their hand away quickly if anything goes wrong. They raise their hand --

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Kris."

The hairs rise on the back of their neck. Slowly, fighting the urge to bolt, they turn around.

Ralsei's wearing the cloak they first saw them in. The hood is down, but even without shadows obscuring his face, they can't read his expression at all. "You don't have the Player to give you extra resilience. It would hurt you."

"How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't. I couldn't sleep." The barest hint of a smile crosses his mouth. They still can't read it. "Fate works in mysterious ways."

They say nothing.

"Come with me. I have cake in the kitchen. It's not exactly polite to break into your friends' places of residence in the middle of the night, but it's okay if you didn't know that."

"I needed answers."

"You won't find them here."

They don't move.

After a long moment, he exhales. A tiny, weak smile spreads across his face. "I apologize. It's late, and I've had a difficult few days, but that's no reason for me to be rude. I promise I'm not angry with you, Kris. It makes sense that you would go looking for ways to escape what you see as a horrible fate. But you don't have to be afraid. Everything is fine."

Still, they don't move. The initial fear has worn away, giving way to guilt. Despite how complex things are with Ralsei, they do still consider him a friend. They aren't sure which fact makes them feel worse: the fact that they knew breaking in was morally questionable and they did it anyway, or the fact that he forgave them so easily for it. Their stomach is hurting.

They search for something to say. The only thing that comes up is "Why have things been difficult?"

"It's not something for you to worry about, but I appreciate that you care."

"I want to know."

"No. It's a personal issue. Really, I'll be fine. Sorry for worrying you."

"Ralsei, if you're not okay--"

He holds up a hand. "With all due respect, Kris, I'm supposed to be helping you, not the other way around. You'll be happier if you don't know this. I understand why you wouldn't trust me, but let me handle this on my own. Please."

They stare at him. He stares back. The tiredness that they've been ignoring hits them all at once, blunt as a brick thrown from a freeway overpass. They hadn't thought he would be a secret-keeper like them. It's… strangely upsetting to see that trait in him.

Finally, he looks away, dropping his hand. His cheeks turn slightly pink. "It's late. I'm… neither of ourselves are really ourselves at this hour. You should go and get some rest. We'll both feel better after a few hours of sleep."

They don't argue. Their hand rises to their collarbone, tapping out a self-soothing rhythm. Slowly, they nod.

"I'll walk you to the town gates. You can get home on your own, can't you?"

"I guess," they mumble. If they get too tired on the way back, they suppose they can just fall asleep in a bush or something. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Okay." He inhales, exhales again. "I'm sorry again."

"Yeah. Me too."

They follow him. As always, his strides are purposeful where theirs are not, his motions graceful where theirs are clumsy. He doesn't say anything more during the walk to the gates. They're grateful for it. They aren't sure how to make conversation with him right now. Or ever, if they're being honest.

The gate is open, as it always is. They step out onto the field. The air is fresher here, and it injects a little life into them. Their shoulders lift from the defensive hunch they'd taken on. They can breathe a little easier. 

"Wait," Ralsei says.

They turn back.

Before they can really process it, he's hugging them. They freeze instinctively, unprepared for the sudden contact. He doesn't hug them very tightly, but they can sense desperation in it.

Part of them wants to shove him away. They don't like being touched without permission, even when the person in question is someone they care about. The other part wants to soothe him. They don't know what's going on with him, but he's clearly more upset than he's letting on. He needs a friend right now.

Kris doesn't do either of those things. They simply stand where they are, waiting for him to let go. They don't have to wait long. It's only a handful of seconds later when he steps back. "Sorry. I should have… sh-should have asked permission."

"Please do that next time."

"I know. I know. I'm just-- I'm s-sorry."

They study him, the way he pointedly does not look at them, the way his expression looks like a jigsaw puzzle put together wrong. He looks like he's about to cry. It twists their heart. 

He was right when he said they're not meant to play emotional support. They don't know what to do with this. Whatever's plaguing him, it's obviously much deeper than they know how to handle. He looks like he's on the verge of tears. Like they're the last contact he'll have for a hundred years.

Carefully, they say, "Are you sure you'll be okay alone? I can send Lancer to stay with you."

He shakes his head. His voice is thick. "J-just go. Forget about it. The next time you see me…  the n-next time you see me, I'll be better. I promise I will."

They don't want to go. But a single look at his face tells them that this is something else they can't fix. If they were more like him, better at being what someone else needs, they could figure it out. Maybe they could fix it if they were the Player, even, but they're just Kris right now.

So they turn around. They obey his wishes, much as it bothers them. It's awful, but they know they can't do anything for him without knowing his secret.

They'll apologize to him tomorrow. They'll ask him for a proper tour, and let him feed them cake. If he's still upset, they'll send Lancer his way to cheer him up. It's not much. Simple, feeble gestures, temporary bandages for him. Not enough to make up for upsetting him.

It's been a weird night. They'll chalk their persistent dread up to that fact and put it out of their mind. They don't want to look at it any longer.

[howtolivealifelessordinary]

Egypt Day 9- Egyptian museum, Bazaar

We started our day with a delicious breakfast at our hotel and then began the days excursions at the Egyptian museum. Honestly, I would have been happy to spend the entire day there, especially with the midday itinerary, but we only had a few hours so I made the most of it. The collection here is insanely large and there's still thousands of pieces in storage that they don't even have room to display. They're currently building a new museum but I'm told the project has been delayed multiple times and they're not really clear as to when it will be complete. One of the first things you see is a replica of the infamous Rosetta stone and a bust of it's translator, Jean-Francois Champollion. The museum is separated by old, middle, and new kingdom so it's interesting to see the progression. All over are much better preserved statues than the ones seen at the temples and endless scrolls of papyrus telling different stories covering every wall. It's so much to look at, I think you stop absorbing it all because there's always something new to divert your attention. There was one piece that absolutely intrigued me. It was a black pyramid made of basalt, one of the most durable stones and almost impossible to break, let alone carve. If you were to smash a piece of granite against it, you'd do nothing more than pulverize the granite while leaving the basalt unscratched, or so we're told. But when you look at the stone itself there are deep hieroglyphs carved into it and completely straight lines. It almost looks machine cut, it's so perfect. Diamonds are the only thing I could think of them using but what do I know? There's well preserved burial rooms where you can see what the walls looked like when they were completely painted and it's a temporary fulfillment of my desire to have a time machine. These chambers have been frozen in time by strict temperature and humidity controls and are encased in glass to protect them and allow the public to view them. There's wooden statues, clay pots, and so much ornate jewelry on display. We only had an hour after our official tour of the museum to explore at our leisure so I decided to make the most of it by paying the extra money to see the mummy museum. Inside, are glass boxes with royal mummies inside, the final resting place of these great nobles. I wonder what they'd think of this display rather than the large and beautiful sarcophogi they'd originally intended to spend eternity in. I suppose they are eternal in this way but I don't know if it's what they had in mind. They're so shriveled and because of certain salts or preservation processes, vary in color. You can still see eyelashes and locks of hair, fingernails and teeth. Their skin has come off the bone in places and some are missing toes and fingers. The only parts you're able to see are the heads and feet but I wish I could pull away the linens blanketing them. I'd also like to smell them but they're encased in their new glass sarcophogi. One, a woman, was found with what was thought to be her mummified baby but after further examination using x-rays, they were able to determine it was actually just her pet baboon. When you look at these mummies, you begin to realize how much the ancient Egyptians really initiated for humanity. Wigs, ear plugs, gauged ears, sandals, and toilet seats to name a few and I'm sure the list goes on. One woman's cheeks even exploded from injecting too much fluid into them to give her cheeks a fuller look. These people were way ahead of their time and masters at their craft. How long did it take for them to figure all of this out? How many generations before them were performing the trial and error period for all of these advances? As always, I walked away with so many more questions than answers and I have a new-found respect for this once great civilization. We then headed to King Tut's section of the museum and I was once again brought back to his tomb in the Valley of the Kings. I remembered the small chamber that they found all of his belongings and as I was looking at the trove of treasures here in the museum, I realized that it must have been piled high from floor to ceiling and bursting with all of these objects. There's multiple chariots, multiple beds, statues, chairs, thrones, even an umbrella, some made of gold. And then there's the giant golden boxes, each perfectly fitting within the next where they finally revealed his sarcophagus and renowned 11 kilo solid gold mask carved and painted in his likeness. There were multiple pieces of solid gold jewelry layered around him, a crown, and even gauged plugs for his ears. Again, his tomb and it's belongings had a completely different feel to it. We wrapped up and stepped out into the hot Egyptian sun to regroup for lunch before heading to a couple of churches and the mosque of Mohammad Ali. To be honest, I had no interest in either. Being relatively agnostic but more in the Taoist realm, these places hold no spiritual significance to me. I'm sorry if that's offensive but I prefer the natural beauty of the God's work as opposed to man's interpretation of it, hidden away from the light of the stars. The church was free, so I reluctantly went in and saw where Jesus and his family supposedly hid from the Romans. My lack of interest made it difficult to pay attention and when the time came to go to the mosque, I opted out. I had been in several mosques before and preferred to save that money for the bazaar. If I could have opted out of the churches as well, I would have. As I said, my day would have been much better spent split between the museum and the bazaar. Instead, while everyone else was touring the mosque, I hung out with our driver, Imad, and we chatted over some Turkish coffee. This was way more fulfilling for me getting to know this sweet man who'd been our driver for the week and was always wearing a smile. After we picked up the others we headed to the bazaar in Cairo. This place was AMAZING! There's a lot of cheap Chinese-made stuff but also some real hidden gems as well. The narrow streets were packed to capacity and winding to random corridors and in and out of random buildings. It would be quite easy to get turned around if I wasn't so accustomed to major cities and finding my orientation landmarks. I'd say I navigated it fairly well. It was organized chaos within, with people of all ages winding and pressing to get to their intended destination. You've got a keep up or you'll get stuck while everyone else moves around you. Mothers hold tightly onto their children's hands as they pull them along and the kids are just used to it. The shop owners don't harass you and many speak no English so we have to do our negotiations on a cell phone or calculator just inputting numbers in until we agree on a price. I love bartering and they love my enthusiasm. At one point, I met Mustafa, a clothing store owner who had an abundance of comfortable and colorful clothes, all reasonably priced. I could lowball him but his kind face and bright demeanor made me want to give him a fair price, especially knowing how little the money is to me and how much it is for him. I started out buying one shirt but it quickly turned into two shirts, a dress, and two pants totalling 350 Egyptian pounds- a whopping $19 for me. He spoke great English and we laughed and joked around while he brought me outfit after outfit. At one point he jokingly asked, "How many camels do you think you're worth?" "At LEAST 90!" I proclaimed with a smile. "No no NO! I already have two wives but I pay a MILLION camels for you!" And we both had a raucous laugh. For those of you who don't know, this is not offensive in any way. It is socially acceptable in Egypt for a man to have up to 4 wives and the dowry is based on camels and horses. It may seem oppressive to the women but ultimately his first wife has final say of the other 3. It's her job to stay at home and take care of the family and his job to work hard and provide equally for all of his wives. If he buys jewelry for one, he must buy jewelry for all of them. It is more of a status symbol than anything else, I think, but all the women and wives I've encountered on this trip seem happy and healthy. And they are allowed to divorce if it's not, and the women can accept or decline a marriage proposal. To be honest, I think the men are getting the short end of the stick. But hey, I'm not here to judge, I'm here to enjoy the experience. For all of these reasons, marriage proposals, horses, and camels had become a running joke with the group and we took it as a compliment. I walked away, with a bag of clothes and started heading towards the main square, our meeting point, but not before I noticed a leather bag store. I walked in the dimly lit store which looked more like a western pawn shop with trinkets and luggage all over. It was dark and cool and the men in the shop were just hanging out having a hookah. I found a backpack that caught my eye and started asking about the quality. He assured me all were real leather and proceeded to flick his lighter on the material and let me have a whiff. I found a beautiful black bag with images of Egypt printed on the leather and talked him down from 600 to 400 Egyptian pounds. We shook hands and I had my new pack for $22 after the conversion. It was time for everyone to meet up to go back to the hotel, so I started making my way in that direction and was there in no time but not before taking it all in one last time. I didn't understand a word anyone was saying to each other and I absolutely loved it. We regrouped and headed back to our hotel, everyone sharing their experience and their finds. We were all quite happy with the outcome. Once back, we cleaned up a bit and decided to join for one final dinner before many of them were headed back home. We reminisced about the week and gave our highs and lows. Many of us agreed that the only real low was our stomachs and the farewell. I was technically in the wrong group so they were all leaving and I had to join a different one the next day. We had a great dinner and enjoyed each other's company before several had to catch their uber to the airport. I had a 4:45 AM checkout time so I retired to bed to get my stuff packed and ready for the 9 hour drive to Dahab and the Red Sea the following day. The goodbyes were warm and jovial and we all invited each other to our home countries. This is one of the things I love most about meeting fellow backpackers and the whole traveling lifestyle. The sense of camaraderie, hospitality, and appreciation for all walks of life.

[tenderlyrenjun]

the one with the morning classes [preview]

summary: you don’t really want to go to class, and Yangyang half-agrees.

↛ ↛ ↛ best friend’s younger brother!Yanyang x older reader

↛ ↛ female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, smut (18+), sneaky relationship/sex, morning sex, food mention, this is a preview! i just wanted to post it

↛ word count: 2,870k

part one > pt. 2 preview > part two

if you are under 18 and interact with this at all, you get blocked

An obnoxious ringing interrupts your day, way too early, and you whine at it, suddenly reminded about the terrible decision that you made last year with the on-call academic advisor: selling your soul to Satan, or, as they phrased it, taking an 8 A.M. class. The default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless right now, even though you have a class at this time every semester.

Still, it takes Herculean effort to pull your hot, sweaty face out of the pillows and actually get a breath of fresh air. You inhale once, twice, then support yourself on your elbows, tossing all your messy hair over your bare back, like a curtain, to draw it away from your cheeks. The sunlight makes you squint, not having given you enough time to adjust to it yet, because laying in bed, naked, is so much more enticing than actually waking up. Unfortunately, the ringing persists, getting louder, you think. You find yourself clawing through the sheets again, in search of that damn alarm. And when you do find it, screen faced down, you hit snooze via power button, giving yourself extra time before class.

After the annoying sound stops, Yangyang leans toward your naked shoulder, his d!ck thrusting in you at a further angle. He kisses the tip your spine with slightly parted lips, peppering more along your deltoid muscles, directed by his trailing tongue. You cannot tell was tingles more – the goosebumps left in his wake, or the blood rushing to your vulva, caused by the nipping at your skin. Yangyang finds a more permanent spot (that would be hidden by a shirt) above your collarbone and sucks deeper for a few seconds. Instinctively, you drop your cheek into the sheets again and swirl your ass up, before propping your lower body on your knees. His groans fall with you, and he nearly did too, but he stands on his hands. You are very aware of his strength, especially now as you close your eyes and he reverses your moves, grinding his hips forward. One of his hands reaches forward to grab your face and finally kiss you. He is slow and head spinning, and he continuously inclines his head at varying degrees to keep the embrace going.

Then, your phone goes off again and you break the kiss.

“We need to get – Oh, God.” Your forehead redirects onto the mattress, and your breath becomes shallow, cracked by sharp whines blurring out the alarm. As far as you are concerned, Yangyang is all consuming, from the way he kisses you to the way he makes you feel. “Ah, right there, please.” He squeezes your ass, fingers drilling deeply into you skin. His touch feels better than a massage, you think, almost loosening up all your muscle tension.

“So naughty,” Yangyang whispers, strongly. He sounds masculine without being so aggressive. It is very sexy of him. You try to show him, too, that he is hot, by reacting more enthusiastically. Unlike him, you say it silently and hope he knows. He replies, slapping your butt again, and smirks when you moan. “Wanna play hooky? You still, fuck –“ His breath drops, voice getting lower, huskier. He propels his d!ck shallowly, at the same pace your mouth widens in an ‘O’ shape. “- remember your manners.”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree. You roll your hips side to side, slowly stretching as if coming out of child’s position in yoga. It similarly feels satisfactory, like an injection of morphine. “We really need to get up. I have class; you ­– shit –“ His thrust pushes you forward, muting your counterarguments. “- you have class soon.”

Yangyang combs your baby hairs onto your opposite shoulder, gently nibbling around your thyroid, and you whine. “It doesn’t sound like you want to get up yet.” He guides your hips like a figure eight motion. His hand comes around front, between your thighs, holding on in a way that allows him to stimulate your clit. Every movement gets more intense: the speed, the pressure, even the direction of his fingers, as he elongates all the sensations. It even feels like he gets bigger too, lunging more alert with his thrusts. “You need a good wake up call, huh?”

You nod, eagerly, biting your lip. “Mmhmm, my morning ritual is, is really long, fuck.”

Yangyang smirks, motivated even more by the double entendre. And the way his tip rasps against your walls, oh god. You ball the sheets into your fists, putting a protective layer between your nails and palm because he gradually becomes erratic. He comes down to your ear, using his lips to bite at it while whispering, “Wanna turn off the alarm?”

“Hmm?” You open your eyes. “Oh, right.” It doesn’t feel like it has been nine minutes. So, after you pick your phone up again, you turn it over to look at the alarm settings, but it is replaced by a call acceptance slider. You blink a couple times and try getting a clearer look – which is difficult, considering that your head keeps bouncing as he grinds harder and harder, and harder. Then, the call restarts. “Shit.”

Yangyang stops moving to glimpse at what’s wrong. His chest brushes against your back and you can feel his erect n!pples graze your spine. You turn the screen at him, contemplating whether to answer it. Thank God, though, that Ten isn’t asking to FaceTime. You honestly don’t know how you would recover from him seeing Yangyang lay naked on you, especially after that comment at the Halloween party about feeling ‘too comfortable’ with him like this.

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“What?”

“I have to answer it,” you argue. “It’s Ten. He’s going to suspect something if I don’t.” The call ends again, and the notification center shows six missed calls. You turn over your phone again. “Shit, he’s been phoning all morning. I have to answer it.”

You brush your hair over your shoulder again and shakily redial Ten’s number. The line rings twice before he answers.

“Um, hello?” Ten answers skeptically, on speaker. “Are you ready? ETA 20.” You hear rustling on the other end that sounds similar to Yangyang shuffling your bedsheets. Ten doesn’t appear to find out about Yangyang’s presence, so you keep the line off mute. “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Hmm?”

All the excess noise stops, and you widen your eyes, glancing at Yangyang for some information but he doesn’t know anything either.

“It’s my treat, remember?” Ten tries to jog your memory. It’s just that you are too distracted at the moment to really recall any memories.

Yangyang starts sucking on your neck again, pushing his pelvis at your ass even harder to give you a better reminder: that you are currently being a good girl for him, to make up for being so naughty this morning (even though he also seemed pretty close to ditching class earlier).

“For breakfast yesterday, after the party,” Ten reminds you. Right, it’s Monday, and you often grab coffee with Ten on the way to campus because 8AMs are hell – you have to absorb new information when you can barely see through all the crap in your eyes, and he can barely comprehend his notes from the night before without morning bean juice. There is some shuffling on his end again, similar to shaking his wrist free of a swear to get a better look at his watch. It isn’t enough to hide the moan trapped in your throat. So, you try biting your fist as Yangyang swirls his hips, grazing the ends of your nerves. You roll your eyes to the back of your head and hit mute, in order to moan. “Unless you want to walk? I don’t think you’ll make it though. It’s, like, almost 7:20.”

“What?” your voice cracks. You are still muted though, so you un-mute and repeat the exclamation, whining a little when Yangyang tries to get you to orgasm faster, also having heard the time. Hopefully Ten does not notice anything. You think that you were quiet enough to push it off as a complaint.

“I’ll be outside your apartment in 20.”

Yangyang pulls your chin to make you look at him, staring at you to ask what is going on. You mouth a quick explanation: Ten. Ride. Coffee. 20 minutes. He is so close, warm breath enveloping your skin. You take the distance, initiating yet another kiss, essentially in front of your best friend, although the latter cannot hear or see either of you. Yangyang holds onto your chin, possibly afraid of being swept away or falling again. But you have enough support for both of you, and you know that if you fell, he would catch you. So, you kiss him again, and again.

“Hello?” Ten calls into the void. “Did you lose signal again? See, I told you not to choose the shitty complex on Main because the connection is so bad there.”

You put a hand above Yangyang’s heart and clear your voice, turning to the speaker. “I’m still here. Just, hold on a second.” You hit mute again, then turn to Yangyang. “Do you want a ride too?” Yangyang contemplates for a second, and you drop your forehead into your elbow, biting your lip because, after all, he is still inside you, inside your clenching and very aroused p.ussy, where you want him to finish. He nudges your shoulder with his nose and confirms that yeah, he needs a ride. You kiss him a few more times, unsure why, just wanting to be close – something about want to say in his presence, enjoying his presence. He swirls his hips. It feels really good to be with him. “Yeah, so Yangyang is in the neighborhood.”

“Wha-“

“A huh,” you whine, more at Yangyang than Ten. “He just texted me. He’ll meet you – us! He’ll meet us at my apartment. I’m going to get ready now, bye!” you say everything in one breath, hanging up as equally abruptly before Ten could insert his two cents. You drop the phone and turn around, kissing Yangyang deeply. As he returns your affection, you enunciate slowly, “Five minutes, then we have to get ready. Ten is getting too suspicious.”

Yangyang finishes a little bit after five minutes, not that you mind. Non-residents have to get buzzed into your building, and Ten doesn’t have a key to your front door. You indulge the moment, laying on your arm bent under a pillow. He looks at you with all the care in the world, no longer that suave fuck buddy from a few moments ago but a young romantic who caresses your inner thigh and talks big game about all the connection you two have in common, or don’t. Your hand dips to the top of his head, combing a small section with your nails to his ends. Yangyang asks you for the time, and you almost don’t give it to him, preferring to spend time with him here than overanalyzing some stupid thesis statement that you wrote at 4AM. Ten will arrive in ten minutes – ironic, you laugh.

Yangyang runs into the shower ahead of you, jokingly holding the glass door shut for a few seconds. And when you glare at him, he thinks you look really hot, so he lets go. You jump in with, prepared to scold him. He grabs your ass, pushing you against the wall, making out with you for a few more seconds, until you start stretching at the lavender body wash on the shelf behind him. This time, he finishes first, hopping out to spray the roots of his hair with dry shampoo so that Ten doesn’t get too suspicious. If Yangyang has wet hair, then it would be obvious that he stayed over. He puts back the bottle and wanders into your room, towel wrapped around his waist, even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There are a few of his clothes in your closet from all the times you stole his clothes, or all the mini getaways that you two have taken. After changing into an outfit that he can wear in public, he picks out an extra oversized shirt and drapes it on the towel rack for when you get out. He knows that you really like his clothes, especially the organic band t-shirts. It is another plus that the two of you have the same music taste. Hopefully, none of his friends can pick up on anything.

He likes that you spend a lot of time in his clothes. They always end up smelling like your lotions. It is comforting and reminds him of all the nights ‘studying’ until 3AM .You know, not that he would actually say it out loud (because he also like to wear his favorite shirt), but you look cuter than him with his Kendrick Lamar concert tee. And besides, there is a secondary reason as to why he looked through your underwear drawer: he wanted to choose your panties for today. It might have been a black lingerie set, but how is he supposed to know the difference between a t-shirt bra and a balconette? :^)

Yangyang makes his way into the kitchen, snagging a mini muffin off the island. With the work out he just had, he needs protein but there’s not enough time to cook anything. He tosses two more muffins into his backpack for later – one chocolate muffin for him, one strawberry muffin for you. On Mondays, between classes, he usually catches you in the student experience center, finishing up last minute assignments. You always end up pushing lunch until after four, so he tries to bring you some snacks, whenever he can. Once, his research methods class got cancelled and you didn’t have any pre-lecture material to work on, so he brought two cups of ramen. The two of you had a semi-date then. He wonders if it could happen again today. Ten interrupts the thought, with another call, and he sighs. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps thinking about defining this relationship at the worst possible times..

“Yellow?” Yangyang answers, mid-bite. He shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can check your notification for any missed calls. You have six. Ten has been going to voicemail all morning, and if Yangyang was him, he would be damn suspicious.

“Hi, baby,” Ten coos. “I’m outside. Buzz me in, yeah?”

Yangyang reflexively pouts. “I’m not your baby. I’m 20 now.” Still though, he complies, letting Ten into the building, and his friend is upstairs within a minute – not that it is too far. You live on the second floor.

“So, Ten sings, glancing around the apartment. Yangyang wonders what for; hopefully not searching for his secret relationship. Ten closes the door, eyeing Yangyang up and down suspiciously, in a curious way. “What are you doing in the neighborhood, anyways?”

“I, uh, bought breakfast at Allen’s coffee, down the street,” he lies, “And I didn’t feel like walking back to the frat.” He shrugs too, trying hard to be as nonchalant as possible.

“A huh.” Ten does not seem to accept it, but he lets it slide when you walk into the room, wearing Yangyang’s t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Yangyang cannot see why Ten would recognize the top because you also happen to like Kendrick Lamar – one of your favorite songs is King Kunta, even though you cannot sing along to save your life. Yangyang finds it endearing that you enjoy rap music, even though you cannot match the flow or pitch.

His gaze is still endearing when you walk into the kitchen, beelining for the last mini muffin. Yangyang catches how intensely he was staring at you, after you blink at him (and Ten).

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they both mutter, looking away.              

“Okay,” you drawl suspiciously, swallowing half your breakfast. You fold the rest of it into the front pocket of your backpack and pick up your textbook. Yangyang meets your gaze but you immediately flicker to Ten. “Can we grab something at Starbucks really quick?”

Ten stares at Yangyang. You just got coffee for yourself, even though you were coming here? Yangyang waves a hand, unsure how to respond. This whole secret relationship has gone on longer than he thought it would. It was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing when he first kissed you, the night that Ten introduced you two back in March after Renjun’s birthday party, and not even a one-night stand! He just expected you to make out with him, not give him a blowjob in Kun’s bathroom then let him take you back to his room at the frat.

“What?” You look between them. Yangyang shakes his head, nothing. You stare him down and give in, then turn back to Ten. “I haven’t eaten anything. Please?”

“Alright, fine,” Ten cedes. He holds his hands up in surrender, his keys waving like a white flag. As you all file out the door, Yangyang jokingly asks if he can drive. Ten deadpans at him, protective over the car, and smacks him on the back of his head. “Let’s go.”