#knowledge and makeout scenes

[meriishungry]

If you write a book and there's no sneaky library makeout scene then I don't want to read it 👎

[cherryredcheol]

"lovie"

tldr: all the ways jeonghan uses your nickname a/n: but mom, i love him. (there is a makeout scene in this...)

pesters: but only in good fun

“lovie,” he coos at you, encouraged by the blush on your cheeks. he could tell by the look in your eyes, you were embarrassed but not upset. you hadn’t thought anything of it when he suggested you wear the green hoodie in your closet to visit him and the members in the practice room. 

“need to let everyone know we’re together?” he couldn’t help but poke fun at you as you walked into the room wearing a matching hoodie to his. you had no knowledge he had even worn the offending garment today. if you had, you wouldn’t be in yours, especially not in front of his members and their staff.  

“i’m pretty sure everyone already knows.” his teasing didn’t let up, even as he wrapped his arms around you, pleased to see you had fallen right into his trap. you faintly heard joshua scoff somewhere behind you, too focused on the man in front of you to really give him any attention, “you guys are gross.” 

whispers: when he wants to check in

“lovie,” his whisper pulls you from your thoughts. “i don’t think that pork will come back to life no matter how hard you stare at it. mingyu grilled it really well.” you rolled your eyes but turned to look at him nonetheless. he looked awfully handsome under the dim light of the bbq restaurant. he always looked handsome, you supposed. 

“are you okay?” he was still whispering. wanted to keep this moment as private as possible so you could speak freely. he knew dinner with his members could be a lot, especially after a long day at work. 

“you can tell me if you want to go. you know i’ll never pass up an opportunity to go home with you.” his eye dropped in a wink, and this time you smiled when you rolled your eyes. going home with him did kind of sound like a good idea…

breathes: in between kisses

“lovie,” it escapes him like a sigh, slipping out between you two in a heated moment. you were on his lap, completely blocking his view of the tv, and in the back of his mind he knows he wanted to see this one but he couldn’t bring himself to care. not with the way he is consumed with the feeling of your weight pressing on him, your warmth almost burning his skin even through layers of clothes. 

when you pull back and look at him, he swears he feels his heart skip a beat. face oily and bare from the skin care you had completed before joining him on the couch for movie night, he’s never thought you more beautiful. he can feel your lip balm on and around his lips, a reminder you’d been there.

“whatever you’re doing, it’s working lovie,” he praises. “you’re practically glowing.” if he thought you were radiant before, you beamed under his praise. the last thing he saw before his eyes closed to continue kissing you was your toothy grin. 

giggles: behind cupped hands

“lovie,” he was snickering when he pulled you into a secluded corner of seungchoel’s apartment. game night was in full swing and you had just started the third round of mafia. while the rest of the members were distracted by mingyu and soonyoung’s bickering, he whisked you away, his mischievous smirk on his face. 

“can you keep a secret?” he was talking in hushed tones, hiding his mouth behind his hands to avoid prying eyes. when you nodded in confirmation, he leaned impossibly closer, breath tickling your ear. 

“i’m the mafia.” it took everything in you to keep your face neutral. you didn’t want to blow him in after he spilled such a big secret. it warmed your heart that he trusted you enough to tell you his role in the game. “if you tell anyone, i’ll kill you next.” 

scrawls: on a post-it

“lovie,” the note brought heat to your cheeks. you really hoped your coworker at the desk across from yours didn’t notice. when had he even slipped this in? you packed your own lunch and he wasn’t even awake when you left for your shift this morning, still snuggled beneath your comforter when you pulled your shoes on and headed out the door. 

“i miss you. hope you’re having a good day!” his neat handwriting brought a smile to your face. this wasn’t the first time he had snuck a note into your lunchbox, but he didn’t do it often so this was really a treat. and on a friday, too! what a great way to end the week. 

“i can’t wait to spend the weekend with you.” you shared the sentiment. looking forward to a free weekend with no plans or schedules. free to rot in your bed for the next two days with your beloved. “love you!” 

[s7toru]

FLAWLESS EXECUTION — GOJO SATORU

in which gojo helps you escape death by recovering your memories the only way he knows how, by taking you out on one last date

warnings & tags: 5.3k, pure fluff if you ignore the ending, mutual pining where the only cockblock is the fact that you're a wanted criminal, profanities, dumb gojo and dumber fem!reader, lukewarm makeout scene, tons of bickering, amnesia plot

an impenetrable fog clouds your thoughts, keeping them apart from sparking and making sense of your situation. with a groan, you lift your head and slowly track your eyes around the unfamiliar room.

white papers with odd symbols decorate all four walls, fluttering ominously despite the lack of wind. you seem to be sitting in a chair, though how you got here and why your hands were being constrained to said chair was a mystery. the position causes your shoulders to ache as your arms are pulled behind you, tucked away using a strong knot. 

with a yank, you attempt to free your wrists but the rope only digs deeper.

"you're awake."

your head snaps up at the sound, locking eyes with the man in front of you, seated in a similar chair to yours. somehow, he makes the chair seem small. his white hair and obnoxious black blindfold is hard to ignore, which makes you wonder how you could have missed the sight of him earlier.

"who are you?" you croak, throat protesting after the lack of use. "where am i?"

"you ask a lot of questions, don't you?"

"are you going to answer any of them?"

"my name is gojo, gojo satoru." the man swings his arms over the front of the chair, leaning forward. "and you're in a waiting room."

"waiting for what?"

"execution."

"what?" the noise escapes you before you can think them through. weren't you just a normal, ordinary citizen last time you checked? there was no way the small shenanigans you got up to in your average life would ever result in a death sentence much less in a filthy, dim lit room such as this one. "listen, i think you have the wrong person. if you let me go now, i won't tell anyone what happened!"

"that's real cute, name, but i definitely have the right person."

you flinch when he says your name. "the worst thing i've ever done is illegally crack games. i'm sorry for doing that, i repent. but don't you think execution is a bit too much?"

"this isn't about your irrelevant gaming addiction. this is about the lives of millions." gojo stands from his seat and you have to crane your head to hold his eyes. "you're name, ex jujutsu student, current rogue sorcerer. on a causal saturday, you annihilated an entire clan albeit an irrelevant one, and now the higher ups of the jujutsu society want you dead. you decided that the best plan of action was to mind manipulate yourself with your curse technique and forget all about it, society and all, living instead as a normal citizen."

he circles around you, whispering the last few words in your ear. "ring any bells?"

you jerk away, wishing your hands were free so you could cup your red ears. "what is wrong with you? and no i don't remember, what is a jujutsu anyway?"

gojo shrugs. "i didn't expect you to remember. your control over your cursed techniques was always really good. as you are right now, you're simply a less interesting shell of who you once were." his hand lightly holds onto your arm and you have to twist your neck to watch.

slowly, he drags his fingers down your arm before stopping at the rope. "now that we have you in our hands again, the higher ups are going to execute you. want to know why?"

"isn't it because you think i'm responsible for ending lives?"

"correct! you're catching on quicker than when you hadn't erased your memory." even though you didn't know the you he was referring to, you still felt insulted on her behalf. "but it's also because you're useless to them in your current state. without knowledge of jujutsu, they have no use for you."

"jujutsu this, jujutsu that, why don't you just let me go before i get the cops on you, you lunatic." you growl.

his finger shakes on your wrist as he laughs. "do you think non-jujutsu people could hurt me?" gojo gives the rope a tug and the knot comes apart, thudding to the floor. your wrist fall at the loss of the ropes and you immediately pull them tight to your chest, scootching to the edge of the chair to place distance between the two of you.

with a newfound caution, you study gojo. "thank you?"

he grins. "no problem."

"didn't you say the authorities wanted me dead? why are you setting me free?"

"you aren't useful to them as you are now, which is why you're set up for death. the simple answer to this situation then, is to pretend like you remember who you are. if you do that, then they can place you on a leash and get you to do their bidding before they get bored and decide to kill you again!"

you stare at him. "so death or later death. those are the options i get?"

"i'm glad you get it!"

you clear your throat. "that's nice and all but—"

with a start, you stand up and grab the legs of the chair, lifting it over your shoulder before throwing it at the suspicious man. you made sure to put all your strength behind it, hoping to dent the ridiculous smile he had on his face.

unfortunately, the chair starts floating in the air.

with the chair in the way, gojo sulks. "that wasn't very friendly of you."

"the, the chair! it's floating? how are you doing that?" you babble mindlessly. there's only one conclusion you can reach. "you're magic."

"i'm jujutsu, technically." gojo gestures with his fingers and the chair settles back comfortably on the ground. "shall we have a talk? without any thrown chairs?"

there's a silence whilst you judge your options. there was a door in the room, obviously, but the fact gojo wasn't guarding it made you uncertain. and, you'd seen him stop a chair in the air with his mind alone. he was no longer a person you wanted to deal with.

you look back and sit on the chair he was sitting at earlier, and he rests on yours. you clear your throat, pressing your knees together and bringing your hands into your lap in hopes to appear smaller under his gaze. “sorry.”

“you’re oddly timid.”

“well,” you hesitate. “you’re magic.”

“it’s jujutsu.” he clarifies again. “and you’re made of it too. that’s how you massacred a family clan twenty one days ago and how you wiped your memory five days after that.”

“you’re saying all this but i really can’t imagine myself doing that.”

"can you imagine yourself doing anything?"

you open your mouth to question his strange words, then close it abruptly. under the spotlight, you couldn't fathom an image of your person. there were vague ideas, like the fact you had been working cooperate before this incident, or the fact that you had a cute little kitten waiting in your single apartment, but details about your likes or interests were blurry.

you swallow, but it's uncomfortable and your mouth is dry. "seriously?" you whisper. "i did all that?"

something on his face falls before he picks it up. "cheer up, name! that's why i'm assigned to your case. all you have to do is follow my orders and i'll get your memories back one way or another!"

"and the whole execution thing?"

he's still smiling as he say, "we'll work it out when we get there."

whatever comfort you felt at his previous words dissipates. "that sounds reassuring."

"doesn't it?" gojo seem oddly proud of his words. "now, you understand the gist of the situation, yes?"

"you all have it out to get me?" you murmur, somehow bitter.

"yes, and the only thing standing between you and death is your technique. and me. all you have to do is pretend you've reversed your technique on yourself and allow yourself to be used by the society. while that's happening, i'll help you actually get your memories back."

"and how will you do that?" you narrow your eyes at him. "did we know each other before the whole, you know, incident?"

"i was also a student back then. with you."

you scan him under a different perspective. "were we close, back then?" you ask.

gojo doesn't give an immediate answer. in fact, his entire body suddenly becomes rigid and his relaxed posture gives way to looking awkward.

"or not?" you murmur under your breath, looking away and clearing your throat to cover up the pause. that was embarrassing.

"we were close." gojo finally says after a moment's silence. "yeah, we were pretty close, huh."

something about his words make you think it's less that he's talking to you, rather that he was talking to himself.

it was his turn to clear his throat, readjusting his facial features to look joyful again. "you have so many questions, name. i can go through each and every one of them, but after you make your decision. it'll be useless to know all this information if you're just going to die here, after all."

"let's not get ahead of ourselves here, i don't even trust you yet. what makes you think you can recover my memories?"

that same, sad smile. "i found you again, didn't i?"

gojo doesn't elaborate on his words, allowing them to sit in the air.

there was something heavy in your chest. the entire time the two of you had been speaking, you've felt it like a persistent ache. yearning might be a word to describe it, but it was stronger, more intense, an innate emotion that kept your eyes on his. somehow, you knew his eyes would be the most brilliant blue. the thought left you curious, and before you could think it through, you were already making up your decision.

"i'll do as you say." you whisper, finally.

you shove the crepe in your mouth and hum in delight as the delicious aromas of chocolate and powdered sugars surround you. the steady bustle of the cafe moves all around you and there's a kind of comfort that comes from watching the world continue, even when you yourself had stopped moving. 

gojo watches you, sipping absentmindedly at his hot chocolate, doused in chocolate syrup and wearing a heaping of whipped cream. it’s untouched and you find such a sight a rarity, though you’re not sure why. "when i said to tell me something that might recover your memory, i thought you'd say something like seeing a family member, or visiting your workplace. not go out to get a crepe."

you lick chocolate off your finger. "you must have kidnapped me before i had breakfast because all i can think about is sugar right now." 

“whatever, just hurry up. clearly, it's not doing anything for you and there’s nothing good about this place except for its crepes.”

“and god are the crepes good.” 

he makes a face at your words, chewing at his straw. 

“are you sulking?” 

“no. are you ever going to finish that crepe or do i have to jump in and help you?”

“so you are sulking.” you hold out your crepe to him, offering the dessert with a smile. “i’m sure you’ll feel better if you take a bite.”

gojo blinks before leaning forward, taking a massive chomp and chasing after a dribble of nutella as it drips out. he misses, and it lands just above his lip. 

you giggle as he licks it up. “well?”

“i guess i do feel better.” 

your laughter cuts short, crepe pausing halfway to your mouth. "that felt way too natural."

gojo doesn't say anything, pretending to take his time chewing the mouthful of crepe he stole from you. you give him a skeptical look before returning to the more important task of figuring where the next bite should be.

should you take the bite along the edge where there was less filling? it would ensure your next bite would be the best, abundant with powdered sugar, banana and nutella. or should you take the mediocre bite near the middle making your next bite similarly mediocre? before you can make up your mind, gojo's face drops down close to yours and scarfs down the entire thing.

you cry out but the damage has been done. you hadn't even noticed him standing from his seat and heading over to you.

gojo pulls back, humming appreciatively, and wipes a thumb to catch the residue on his lips. "now that i've tried it, they really are good."

"my crepe!"

"i think a strawberry crepe would go crazy right about now."

"my crepe!"

gojo gives you a funny look. "yes, i heard you the first time."

"then you'd know that i'm furious right now!" you stand up too, intending to appear intimidating. "you ate my crepe! all of it!"

"you had a few bites."

"it wasn’t enough." you growl.

a grin splits across his face. "i hear desserts taste better when they're shared."

"whoever said that was idiotic." something in his smile makes you pause. slowly, you draw your finger up and point it to your chest. "me?"

he nods.

"oh." you crumble up the napkin in your hands, the one that once held your beloved crepe, and toss it into a nearby bin. it goes in easily, and you wonder if you had been athletic before the incident. "what were we doing eating desserts together?"

looking up, gojo was already at the door.

you hurry to catch up to him. "hey! i wasn't finished talking yet!"

"i'm taking things into my own hands." he says, strolling down the sidewalk with a confidence that has you following after. "you're not going to find your memories at the end of a crepe."

"i might." you huff, settling at a comfortable pace beside him. "so? where are we headed?"

he scans the streets in silence.

it was midday, if the bright, hot sun was any indication, and a weekend at that meaning the sidewalks were busy with excited high schoolers seeking a break and partners bonding in their quality time, holding hands and giggling amongst themselves. you peek down at gojo's empty hand and wonder why you can imagine the grooves and bumps of his fingers.

"the game arcade across the road." gojo says suddenly, and you blink away the temptation. "it was your favourite."

"claw machines." you breathe out. "even without my memories i think i remember the sensation of losing my sanity to small plushies."

"looks like i made the right choice then." gojo grins down at you, stopping at a crossing. the red light flickers to green and the accompanying beeping tells you to move, but gojo stays still.

you tilt your head at him. "something wrong?"

he pauses before shaking his head. "nothing. come on, hurry up! the arcade might close before you even step inside."

"you're the one looking like a deer caught in headlights."

"do you like deers?"

"what?"

"deers. do you fancy them?"

you blink at him. "they're cute."

a smirk splits across his face. you might be imagining it, but gojo's stride is somehow bouncier, full of energy, but you find it isn't distasteful.

as you enter, you're surprised to finding no one looking at the both of you. sure, at first sight you hadn't noticed anything off about gojo's attire but after staring at him for so long, you wonder why it was that not a single person was pointing and laughing at his ugly navy outfit. it didn't help that he was tall, towering over you as he slides a coin into the machine, and that he adorned a thick blindfold over his eyes. surely, he would be a sight that garnered attention.

"gojo." you start, maneuvering the joystick over the plushie that had caught your eye. "why isn't anyone making fun of you?"

he doesn't say anything for a while as you play. "what? why would they?"

you spare his a doubtful look. "i mean, look at you."

"what does that mean? name, use your words."

"you're not very conventionally dressed." you put it lightly.

"i think this uniform looks great on me!"

the claw misses the plushie by a large margin, and you pretend you don't hear gojo laugh. gritting your teeth, you slide in your own coin and readjust the claw. "you look terrible, like you're wearing a cosplay."

"it's the jujutsu uniform, we're all made to wear it."

"damn." you mumble, paying just enough attention to reply. the small strawberry cow plush stares into your soul, telling you that this attempt would be the one to take it home. you listen to its calling, bumping the joystick towards it. "i must have looked pretty terrible in that, then."

"you looked great." a pause. "i mean, you still do."

your hand suddenly twitches, bumping into the claw and sending it down into the pit prematurely. swearing, you watch as it inevitably misses the plushie you had been eyeing and grabs a whole clawful of nothing but air.

gojo whistles. "even without your memory, you're still as terrible. i thought losing your memories would turn you to a different person, guess you're still the same terrible player i once knew."

you whip your head to look at him. "what did you say before?"

"you're shit at the game?"

"that's not what you said. and no i'm not, you just messed me up, is all."

he's wearing that irritating smirk again and you hate how attractive you find him. "i bet i could do better."

you cross your arms, stepping back. "you’re free to try.”

unfortunately, he really is good. there’s an ease in his fingers you had lacked, a type of inherent skill that allows him to grab plushie after keychain after more plushies. at the end of it, your arms are full of every stuffed toy you could ever want, and every machine has been touched by his talented hands at least once. face framed by the heads of all of gojo’s wins, you glare at him. it pisses you off.

“whatever.” you say.

“so, still think you’re better?” gojo dangles two keychains around his finger, the sanrio characters bumping into each other as they spun. your eyes track the movement. 

“fine, you can have this win. i won’t uncover whatever cheat you used to get so many.” 

“you still can’t admit when you’ve lost.”

you huff, looking away. “i didn’t lose.” you say, but it doesn’t manage to convince even yourself. 

something flies at you and instinct has you stretching out your arms, balancing the plushies using the bend of your elbow, catching the small object easily. when you open up your palm, the small sanrio keychain stares up at you with black, beady eyes. 

you flash gojo a look and find him holding up his own keychain, the sanrio characters wearing matching sailor outfits. even though your arms are full of prizes, the tiny keychain feels the heaviest in your hands. “what’s up with you? haven’t you given me enough already?” a smile threatens to escape, but you bite down on your lip. 

gojo shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. “they’re matching.” he says, as if it wasn’t obvious enough. “my students would make fun of me if i came back with these. so i’ll just give this one to you.” 

warmth overflows in you and you laugh. “looks like you still can’t admit to being cheesy.”

he doesn’t join in and your chuckles trail off, somewhat uncertain. worried that you had offended him, you sneak a peek at his expression and find him looking strangely perplexed.

something was dawning on you, and it was dawning quickly, threatening to ram into your mind and dump three years worth of memories into your brain, him in the centre of it all.

before you can breathe out the conclusion you’ve reached, the glass window at the front of the arcade shatters, and your body dodges to the side just as something flies out at you. unlike what gojo had thrown at you moments ago, this was a less appreciated move. 

gojo hisses out a curse, reaching out to grab your hand. “we need to go.” 

there’s a sense of urgency in his voice you don’t dare to disobey, so you quickly push your pile of plushies into the arm of a confused bystander, ensuring the single sanrio keychain remains in your pocket. “what’s going on?” you ask over the chaos. 

“i lied.”

“what?”

the two of you dance around the aisles, avoiding the window as much as possible. at the off chance you’re able to glance out past the shattered glass, you make out a dark figure crouched on a building opposite to the arcade, a small red light shining from their position. customers had gathered around the front, whispering amongst themselves and you feel a spike of danger. “gojo, we need to help!”

“they’re after you, name. and jujutsu techniques won’t hurt non-jujutsu citizens, the only person you should worry about is yourself.” gojo clarifies, dragging you out into the street. “they want you dead.”

his hand squeezes yours in emphasis and you wonder why it felt so natural to squeeze back. instead of bringing it up, you say, “but i thought i had time! i thought i just needed to remember…”

gojo drags you into another building, free hand pulling out a phone. “damnit.” he was muttering to himself. “they weren’t meant to realise i broke you out so quick.” 

it falls into place in an instant. the jujutsu society had never intended to give you a chance, your execution was determined the moment your body was brought to that small, ominous room, your fate sealed when the door closed shut behind you. but gojo had other plans. he had taken you out, given you one more day with him.

and then what? you wonder. what were you to him that he would go to such lengths and betray those higher? this wasn’t the time to confront your newfound memories, but you do so anyway, squeezing your eyes shut as gojo leads you further in, embracing the rush of comfort you feel as your cursed technique loosens its grip on your soul and you remember.

three years flash past your eyes, of late night slumber parties in getou’s room watching horror movies tucked under his doona, of convenience store icecream and breaking icepoles apart perfectly, of one summer night where gojo had pulled you aside, awkwardly confessing one day early simply because you had looked so pretty under the moonlight, and the teasing cheers shoko and getou had echoed when you rejoined them. the memories come faster now, and every single one is with him. 

until they don’t, until it all halts and ends in a room covered in blood. 

you gasp painfully, pulling your hand back from his to clasp at your head. you're whole again, ambitions, love, memories and all.

gojo pauses almost immediately, looking back at you with concern. “name? hey! name, what’s wrong?” 

“satoru.” you seek comfort in his name, and relish in the familiarity of saying his name. “i think i—”

he catches you as you stumble forward though there’s no time to stand around because the both of you sense your pursuers hot on your heels. you tune your technique to the employees within the office building and skim through their memories. the layout of the block sketches out across your mind, and you grab onto gojo’s hand, ignoring his words of concern as you pull him towards where you know there will be less people. “i’m fine, but not for long if we stay here. this way.”

you drag gojo around the corner, and find yourself staring at a dead end. panicked, you glance around for anything, really anything that you could hide behind, and find nothing.

"name—"

your eyes catch a door and with relief, you rush over. "satoru, in here!" he follows wordlessly, entering the storage cupboard with only the slightest hesitation, and watches as you wiggle in yourself, slamming the door behind you.

his breath tickles your forehead and you lean into his chest, telling yourself that you didn't want to be pressed against the door if it is ever thrown open by your pursuers.

gojo breathes out your name again, low so as to avoid being heard from anyone but you. “back up a little.”

“sorry.” you mumble into his chest, but there’s little space to step back.

even though he had told you to place distance between the two of you, his arm hovers on your lower back, and he clears his throat before saying, “you’re calling me satoru again.” 

you curse him. “is this the right time to be talking about this?” you glance over your shoulder to try and sense your pursuers but gojo grabs your chin, turning it back to face him.

"forget about that, look at me."

"i'm looking and let me tell you i am not impressed." you shake off his hold. "we can reunite later, right now we need to—"

"i missed you."

you almost break your neck spinning around.

your lips quiver, struggling to hold back a stupid smile. "are you serious right now? you're doing this here?"

“well.” gojo starts. something in his voice makes you look at him, look at him properly. you can’t make out the direction of his gaze past the blindfold, but you’re suddenly conscious of his lips as they part to speak. you watch as his tongue sweeps his bottom lip, out of nerves perhaps, and maybe he’s watching you just as intently because they stretch into a smirk. 

you aren’t able to revel in the sight because his lips crash onto yours in an instant, and instincts take over to reciprocate the kiss. gojo’s hand finds purchase in your hair, fingers tangled in your strands, and his other tightens around your waist, pulling you even closer. you can only vaguely feel this happen, too immersed in the feeling of his lips and tongue against yours. you press up against his chest and run your hands up his nape just the way he’s admitted to liking before. 

he tries to utter your name but it’s swallowed up by a groan. there’s a hunger in you that you doubt could be fulfilled today, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. 

you yelp as his tongue sweeps a sensitive spot in your mouth, and you almost whine when you feel him pull back, slightly. 

“sorry, are you sure you remember—” gojo starts, and you see his frown through bleary eyes.

you don’t let him finish, reaching up to continue the kiss, muttering a quick “please” in hopes that he will understand your need. he pulls you closer, parting your legs with his knees. 

when the two of you break away, you’re panting for air.

gojo tenderly brushes a strand of hair from your face. “does this mean you remember me?” he asks, voice hoarse, lips swollen, fingers lingering on your cheek. 

you resist the urge to kiss him stupid, and laugh instead. “would i  have kissed you otherwise? of course i remember.” the memories were overwhelming you still, and the emotions you feel carry over until the present you feels it too, smiling up at him like a lunatic.

he’s beaming from ear to ear, and you think he might go in for another kiss, but he drops his head onto your shoulder instead. “you don’t know how annoyed i am at you.”

running your hands through his hair, you hum. “why’s that?”

“you left me! and the worst way possible too, you know i still have trauma from getou.” 

“i had no choice.” 

“you could have taken me with you.” 

you fiddle with his ear. “your future’s too bright. you could, well, can, do better than wherever i shackle you to. i couldn’t drag you down with me. and hey, you found me anyway.” 

gojo straightens. “right, and now we’re being chased by some of the best jujutsu sorcerers and they want my lover dead.”

“i have you, aren’t you the strongest?” 

he lets that compliment settle on his shoulders before shaking his head. “i’m trying to tell you that you made a mistake. don’t you feel even the slightest remorse for leaving me?” 

you go on your tip-toes to give him a quick peck, but nothing that’ll last any longer. “of course i do, that’s why i left you the address to my apartment. but this is just the start, you know it too.” even now, you can feel the persistent cling of someone's cursed energy seeking you out.

he follows you after you pull back, and you should have none something like a peck wouldn't be enough to satisfy his longing.

gojo slides his hand into yours, and gives it a painful squeeze. pulling you close, he presses his lips fiercely against yours again, pushing past your weak defenses to savour you completely. it's hopeless, this kiss, all desperation and sorrow, and you taste your own regret in his mouth. but it can't change anything, no matter how hard he grips your cheek, no matter how painful he imprints his mouth against yours.

it's hopeless.

"satoru, you need to let me go." you mumble into the kiss, feeling his will break in your arms. 

your lips part with a pop and when he looks at you it's clear he's annoyed. "again."

"yeah, again."

"you have to understand why i don't want to do that, name." he says through gritted teeth. as if to emphasise, his fingers dig deeper into your wrists.

the sounds of footsteps thud faster, and the sensation of someone’s cursed energy radiates throughout the entire building, overwhelming and threatening you to come out. you didn’t sense anyone in the corridor yet, but that won't always be the case, it was only a matter of time, so you wriggle out of his hold, intent on running.

he catches your hand again, still frowning. "name."

"satoru, i'll find you, i promise."

he doesn't answer, his expression says enough.

you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, having been already raw from before , feeling your own reluctance to part like a throbbing ache. but if a little heartbreak was enough to stop your ambitions, you wouldn't have killed that first person way back when. “i'm going to kick down the door." you say.

gojo clicks his tongue, shaking his head shortly after. "you never stop and listen to me."

"maybe give me advice i'd take and i will." you smile to show there's no hard feelings.

he chuckles humourlessly and runs a hand through his hair, "fine, we'll do it your way. just like we always do then?"

"of course."

your countdown doesn’t come out as enthusiastic as it could have, but your body moves as you utter “three”, kicking open the door and rushing out. the door slams into the face of a sorcerer, and you wince at the sound. 

gojo walks around, holding off another pursuer. he glances back at you, reluctance obvious. “hurry.” he says, and you wonder if the urgency is due to the onslaught of sorcerers or from the thinning of his patience and his desire to chase after you. 

you give him a smile because you know the answer. running to the exit, you give him one last glance and find him staring. you reach into your pocket and pull out the keychain he’d won from you earlier, and bring it to your lips. 

“i’ll find you this time.” you mouth. 

giving up, gojo nods and turns back to deal with the attackers.

you leave him as you did the day society had forced your hand, though this time with your memories in tact. if that was the case, finding each other again would be an easy task.

you let your heart be comforted by this thought as you run. 

a/n: we almost dodged the angst ending and it would have ended with "just like we used to :smirk:?" "just like we used to... heh"

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 22.0k ➠ warnings: cursing, mentions of drinking (there’s a frat party), everything i know about hockey is from internet research for this fic i’m sorry for any inaccuracies i tried ➠ genre: fluff, gets quite suggestive (a heavy makeout scene/near sex scene) but no actual smut, college au, hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), halloween-themed at the beginning, sungchan’s not a frat boy but he’s like... a frat boy by association ➠ extra info: the ages/relative ages of the members in here are whatever i want them to be, don’t read into it too much. this is a very usamerican take on a college au btw. also i call kunhang ‘hendery’ in here like it’s his government name for a one-line gag bc i think i’m hilarious the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines and thoughts/experiences as a chronically ill person are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines and chronic illness, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds ➠ author’s note: hi so this has been a wip for like a year lol. this one long predates sungchan’s deneofication (and subsequent re-debut in riize), hockey player sungchan just lives in my brain rent free ok. anyway, i hope you like ➠ series masterlist

“You agreed to go to a frat party?” Chenle’s eyes were bugging out of his head as he sat across a high top in the dining hall from you. “Do you remember what happened last time, Y/N?”

“Hard to forget,” you snorted.

“And yet it seems you did, somehow, lost in dreamboat Jung Sungchan’s eyes.”

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 24

“Now shoo!” Dr. Son waved the small group of you out of his dimly lit office.

It was Phantasmagorical Phriday, a time-honored tradition going back to your freshman year of university. Dr. Son had been intrigued by the four freshmen who were somehow in his third-year class on Gothic Fiction and actually seemed to “get it.” His “Phantasma Phour” as you dubbed yourselves (a nickname that got quickly worn out, persisting only as the title of your groupchat):

Wong Hendery, who ended up in the class accidentally due to an error on his academic advisor’s part (she had gotten him mixed up with a Wong Henry, a junior Literature major who actually needed to take Dr. Son’s class) and he subsequently changed majors at least three times to your knowledge, so you were genuinely surprised he was graduating on time—he finally settled on Communications;

Jung Sungchan, at the time a promising young rookie hockey player who had now blossomed into your school’s reliable team captain—Biology major, being an athlete meant he could pre-register for classes and he picked Dr. Son’s at random to fulfill a gen ed Literature credit;

Zhong Chenle, an honorary member of both Nu Chi Tau, one of the biggest frats on campus, and the hockey team, as somehow 95% of his social circle were Nu Chi brothers and/or hockey players despite Chenle being neither himself, your best friend and also sometimes you swear a demon sent straight from hell to kill you—Literature major, who bullied you into taking the class; and

You, Chenle’s best friend who used to hate anything and everything Gothic fiction that got bullied into taking it anyway and now adored the genre more than any other—Literature major, who took the last spot in the class on registration day.

Dr. Son would invite you all to monthly extracurricular workshops in his office that built up to this: Phantasmagorical Phriday, a writing competition to see which of the four of you could write the best gothic short story. The stories were actually submitted the prior week, but it was the Friday before Halloween that was dubbed the Phriday in question. The four of you were invited to his office that night after classes (and Sungchan’s hockey practice) to review your pieces: how he thought everyone had improved from last year, discuss the writing process, and to finish off the night, Dr. Son would announce his top two stories. Those in the top two had the chance to send him a persuasive letter about why they should win. They had to be sent to him that night because the next morning, your professor would email the top two individually with the results.

Since this was your last Phantasmagorical Phriday, Dr. Son pretended not to see when Hendery brought out four celebratory White Claws for you all. You still had your warm, unopened, orange-flavored seltzer in your hand as the small group of you left the Literature, Writing, and Foreign Languages building together.

“I still can’t believe you couldn’t find anything classier for our last Phantasmagorical Phriday, Hendery.” You shook your head. “Ever heard of champagne? Literally any wine?”

“So you’re not gonna shotgun that, Y/N, is what I’m hearing?” Hendery teased as you all stopped under the light post right outside the building.

“Is that a challenge or what, Wong?” You scoffed, handing it back to him. “But no, I’m good.”

Sungchan thankfully cut in and changed the topic of conversation, “So are you going to start writing your letter of reconsideration, Y/N?”

This year’s top two were you and Sungchan, the member of the Phantasma Phour you spoke to the least. Outside of the monthly “workshops” (which at this point with your differing majors were just get-togethers of questionable academic value), you never saw him. You obviously saw Chenle all the time, and despite the fact that you considered him a bit obnoxious, you were sort of friends with Hendery, joining him for lunch if you happened to see him at the student union or at the coffee shop on campus. Sungchan was perfectly nice and all, you just found that you never really talked to him like the other two.

You looked down at your watch, taking a quick inhale when you saw the time. You’d stayed in Dr. Son’s office a lot later than you’d realized.

“Oh, no,” you casually waved off Sungchan’s question, readjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “I’ve got something more pressing right now. Anyway, see you guys. It was a good four years, I’m glad we got to do this.”

Lifting your hand in a wave of finality to the three men, you departed.

“She’s really not going to submit a letter?” Sungchan asked, still watching after you as your figure faded away in the distance.

“Nope,” Chenle shook his head, reaching for the spare White Claw in Hendery’s hand. “Y/N never does.”

“You didn’t know that?” Hendery questioned the hockey player, holding the drink away from Chenle.

“Why not?”

“She’s not in it to win really.” Chenle lunged for the can as Hendery jerked it away at the last second. “Just wants to make stuff.”

“So she was lying about doing something?”

Hendery and Chenle were now running circles around Sungchan in their game of keep-away with the seltzer.

“No.”

“What do you—” Sungchan sighed, yanking the drink from Hendery’s grasp and holding it high above his own head, well out of either of their reaches. “Hey!”

Now with their attention, the hockey captain kept his arm straight up as he returned to his question, “What are you talking about, Chenle?”

“Y/N does have something pressing right now. If I tell you where she’s probably going will you give me the White Claw?” Chenle bargained.

“You’d exchange your best friend’s location for an orange White Claw? Not even watermelon?” Hendery asked incredulously.

“It’s Sungchan, someone we’ve known for like four years, not some creep off the street who’s going to wear her skin.”

“No, Chenle, you don’t have to tell me that,” Sungchan shook his head, offering the can out for either one to take.

The Literature major was able to snatch it first, jumping up in celebration, “Suck an egg, Hendery!”

“I wouldn’t—” Sungchan’s words were too late though, as Chenle had already popped the tab, and the overly-shaken seltzer exploded all over all three of them.

“Zhong Chenle, I’m going to strangle you, you little weasel!”

“Ah! Sungchan, save me!”

“I would, except you got fucking orange White Claw in my eyes and I’m fucking blind now! Goddamn!”

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 25

Rolling over in bed the next morning, you let out a big sigh and buried your face in your pillow, fully intent on going back to sleep. Saturday morning. No school, no work. Just you, your bed, and some much-needed sleep.

Then, the obnoxious blaring of your phone came from your nightstand. You groaned, reaching blindly for the object, and barely opening one eye just enough to snooze it. Damn, you really had slept in, to be woken up by your first medication alarm. Well, you weren’t going to die if you took your morning doses fifteen minutes later than normal. You were about to stuff your phone under your pillow when you briefly caught sight of your lockscreen after the alarm disappeared.

Text notification from Jung Sungchan?

Flopping onto your back and bringing your phone with you, you squinted against the harsh light of your screen to make sure you were reading that right. Yep, Sungchan had definitely texted you a few hours ago, separate from the Phantasma Phour chat. At almost 7:00 a.m., too. What the hell?

Curiosity won out over a need to sleep for fourteen more minutes, and you opened the notification.

[jung sungchan: Congrats, Y/N!]

You stared blankly at the text, your groggy mind desperately grasping around for any sort of context as to why Jung Sungchan would be texting you that at 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday. Then it struck you like lightning, and you let out an audible “Oh, duh!” as you remembered where you both were last night. Phantasmagorical Phriday. The writing contest. You and Sungchan were the top two. Dr. Son must have sent the email out already, and apparently you had won.

Normally, you wouldn’t check your school email on the weekend until Sunday night, unless you were waiting to hear back from a specific professor—and the Sunday night check was just to see if any of your Monday classes were cancelled. Lord knows you definitely wouldn’t have checked it at seven in the morning on a Saturday. You let out a snort of disbelief as you reread the timestamp on the text. But still, it was nice of him. A good show of sportsmanship, as one would expect from the hockey captain.

You quickly checked your own student email, and did in fact see an email from Dr. Son at the very top with the subject ‘PHINAL PHANTASMAGORICAL PHRIDAY RESULTS.’

‘Y/N and Sungchan:

Thank you again for your submissions. I enjoyed working with everyone these four years.

The winner this year is Y/N. Good job.

Dr. Son.’

An amused smile crept across your face at your professor’s usual blunt email style. But this was also some of the nicest feedback he’d given your writing, even when you had won Phantasmagorical Phriday in the past, or in classes that you’d taken from him over the years. Something about it truly did feel... final.

And so with an odd bittersweetness, you drafted an equally short and blunt email back to your professor.

‘Dr. Son:

Thank you for taking us on these past four years. I will never forget the experience.

Y/L/N Y/N.’

Then finally, you went back to the original reason that you were even doing this.

[you: thanks, sungchan!]

Then, your alarm went off again, making you jump out of your skin. Well, time for your morning meds.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 27

A tall figure was nearing the corner table you had claimed in one of the campus coffee shops the following Monday afternoon, and you looked up from your laptop screen, a little surprised at who it was. Jung Sungchan was standing at the end of your table, black flannel over a graphic t-shirt and dark wash jeans, one backpack strap slung over his shoulder. He had an iced coffee in one hand.

You paused the movie playing on your laptop, taking out both your headphones as you looked up at him inquisitively, “Uh hi, Sungchan.”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Are you here to study or something?”

“Mm.” He couldn’t seem to meet your eyes. “Not really. Just grabbing a coffee and saw you. Do you mind if I sit with you for a bit?”

“Oh, sure. I’m waiting out the storm to leave,” you gestured to the near-constant downpour that had started right after you’d arrived over two hours ago. Noticing that some of Sungchan’s hair and shoulders were damp, you added, “The storm you apparently got caught in without an umbrella.”

“Oh, yeah,” he ran a hand through his hair to push some of it away from where it had been falling into his eyes.

“I don’t mind having some company while I wait.”

To your surprise, instead of sitting across from you, Sungchan plopped himself onto the same bench that you were on, one leg slung over either side so he could face you directly.

You picked up the mug in front of you, your second cup of your drink of choice. You’d gotten a refill after it became clear that the rain wasn’t letting up any time soon. Sungchan was already a third of the way done with his iced coffee as you blew over your hot drink before taking a small sip. He glanced up at you, and you felt like you were going to choke on the uncomfortable silence. So you took a gamble. Turning in your seat to face him as well, you hiked a knee up onto the bench, bringing your mug with you.

“Do you want to ask me something, Sungchan?”

The hockey player startled, having to catch himself from nearly choking on his coffee. Seems like you were right. Sungchan finally stopped sucking down his drink, setting it down on the table and wiping his palms on the knees of his jeans. “I heard that you never sent in a letter to Dr. Son. Any year you were a top two.”

“Oh, yeah, nah.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t seem worth it,” you shrugged.

“What?”

“Every year I participated I wanted my work to stand on its own two legs. After the death of the author, that’s all that’s left, right? The work. It has to speak for itself.”

“Oh,” Sungchan nodded, then squinted his eyes, confusion entirely overtaking his features. “Wait, what?”

“Sorry, I don’t know how much Lit Theory you’ve done. Probably not a lot as a Bio major, huh? Death of the author is both literal and metaphorical. Removing what the author meant to do or say with a text from how you actually interpret the text as the reader. It’s a lot easier when they’re actually dead, but the abstract concept is practiced when they’re alive too. It’s… seeing the text as separate from authorial intent. Mind you, it’s only one tool in a literary critic’s arsenal, but I liked it for our Gothic fiction class. All the authors we read in that class, they’d been gone for a while, we had no way to know what they really meant when they wrote all that stuff. And it didn’t really matter for our purposes. All we did have was what they wrote, and that was enough for me. So the same should be enough for whoever reads the stuff I write. Even if it’s just Dr. Son.”

“Huh.”

“Though I guess I just explained myself a little, oops,” you laughed at yourself, taking another sip from your steaming mug. “I’m getting less and less mysterious by the second, aren't I?”

“Chenle made it sound like you didn’t care about winning,” Sungchan asked, cheek in hand.

You arched an eyebrow at this. “You asked Chenle about me?”

“W-Well you left so fast after we saw Dr. Son, and you two are you know...”

“Oh he’s my best friend,” you clarified for perhaps the ten-thousandth time in your life. “And while others may use any litany of swears for him and Hendery calls him a little weasel, I prefer ‘actual demon sent from Hell to kill me.’”

“What?” Sungchan’s eyes widened.

“He pushes me out of my comfort zone. In a good way, most of the time.”

“Got it. Then what do you do for him? If he’s your yang…”

“I’m entertainment?” You snorted, taking another sip of your drink. After setting it back down, you answered more sincerely, “I’m kidding. Sometimes it feels like that but I did ask him one time a couple years ago, when he was tipsy enough that I believed the words coming out of his mouth but not so drunk that it was unintelligible. ‘A safe place.’ And since then… I can see it in us. That’s my yin to him.”

He smiled softly at you. “That’s... really nice.”

“Sorry, what were you asking me before that?”

“Oh, uh— Chenle said you really didn’t care about winning Dr. Son’s contest, you just wanted to make stuff? That’s why you didn’t submit a letter.”

“Generally, sure. Winning would’ve been great, but I didn’t write what I thought Dr. Son wanted. I took all of his feedback with a grain of salt. Took stuff that I liked from him, took stuff I liked from other profs I had. Mixed and matched to make something that was mine.” You pressed your lips together, then leaned forward like you were about to tell him a secret, “I didn’t live for Phantasmagorical Phriday, Sungchan. You do know that, right?”

“Wow,” he blinked, seeming a bit disoriented. “I’ve never really thought about… you like that.”

“Well to be fair to you, you only ever knew me there and in Dr. Son’s class. Makes it hard not to think of me only through that lens. All you know about me is that I presumably like Gothic fiction and I’m a Lit major, right?”

“Right.”

“So what do you think I was doing here before you showed up?”

“…Reading Edgar Allan Poe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, turning your laptop screen to show the paused movie to him, “I was watching Pacific Rim.”

His jaw literally dropped, and you felt the need to save him at least a little. Grabbing a book from your bag, you held it up, “I did come here initially to finish reading this new mystery novel I just got, but then the storm came and I had nothing else to do after I was done with the book.”

“But still… you’re so…”

“I have interests outside the one class we took together?”

“Smart,” he finished, an absolutely adorable expression of wonder across his face.

You weren’t expecting that, surprised giggles bubbling up out of you as you felt yourself growing warm under his awestruck gaze.

“Anyway, your turn,” you tapped his knee with your book before putting it back in your bag.

“For what?”

“To expand my horizons of you. All I know about you is that you’re the hockey captain, and a Bio major who took a gothic fiction class one time like three years ago. Show me you’re a multifaceted individual, too.”

“Uhm, that’s about it.”

“Oh come on, Sungchan.”

“No really, if I’m not on the ice, I’m in class; if I’m not in class, I’m with my team; and if I’m not with my team, I’m studying.”

“You’re here, right now,” you pointed out. “Last I checked I’m not on your hockey team, and we’re not studying. You have to do one thing that’s not for school or hockey. My thing was just watching Pacific Rim this one time, remember?”

“Alright…” he paused to think, fingers tapping along his thighs. “I used to play the piano.”

“Past tense, but I’ll accept it. When did you stop?”

“High school? Around when piano lessons and hockey practice started conflicting.”

“And you chose hockey?” You asked, hoping it didn’t sound judgmental. You really were just curious, trying to understand him.

“Actually, the choice was made for me.” He held his right hand out in front of you, and it was then that you saw his pinky finger was unnaturally crooked as he pointed to the digit. “I broke it in a game without even realizing it. Bruises and stiffness sometimes are normal so me and my parents didn’t know anything was up until weeks later when I was fucking up all the notes at my piano lessons because it still hurt. By the time I finally saw a doctor and got a splint on it, it set up wrong. All dexterity for piano out the window. Hockey on the other hand… guys have done a lot more with a lot less.”

You couldn’t help but curiously run a gentle fingertip over the crook in his pinky. “Does it hurt at all? Now?”

“Not really.” He went to bend and flex the fingers of his right hand, and you saw how the fifth finger didn’t curl up as much as the others. “It’s just a lot stiffer. Doesn’t bother me all that much.”

He brought his left hand up and wiggled the fingers on that hand. “Besides, I’m a lefty anyway.”

“So—apologies if this sounds like a stupid question to you, I don’t know anything about hockey—are there like, different hockey sticks for left-handed and right-handed players?”

Sungchan immediately broke into snickers, and you set down your mug to cross your arms over your chest indignantly.

“Hey, I didn’t laugh at you for not knowing what death of the author was—”

“I wasn’t making fun of you, I’m sorry,” he covered his mouth. “That was just… too cute. Uhm yes, there are lefty and righty sticks.”

You had to bite down your bottom lip to not smile at him calling you cute, and instead keep up your ruse of being offended. “I feel patronized.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” There was still a hint of a giggle in his tone, and you felt your self-righteous façade slip away as he continued, “You should come to a game, then, if you really want to broaden your horizons. The season just started. First home game is this Thursday, actually. 7:00 p.m. and students get free admission with your student ID.”

“Thursday?”

“Fridays are for basketball, Saturdays are for football.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You don’t go to those games either, do you?”

“Oh no, did I make it obvious?” You asked sarcastically.

“A bit,” Sungchan jested back.

Outside the window visible past Sungchan, the rain had let up a few minutes ago, and you briefly glanced over at your laptop for the time. Shit, your next alarm was going to be going off soon. If you left now, you should be home at roughly the right time for your next dose.

Clicking your tongue, you started packing up your things, “Well, looks like the rain’s finally let up enough to allow me safe passage. That’s my cue.”

“Oh.” The hockey player with you looked over his shoulder at the newly sunny day outside before turning back to watch you put your things away.

“Are you heading out too?” You nodded to his empty cup.

“I’ve uh, got some homework to do.”

“Guess this is where we part ways then.”

“Um, you didn’t say if you were going. To the game.”

You tucked your chin to your chest to hide your smitten smile as you put your laptop in your bag. Typically just asking for the details would’ve been taken for a yes, but Sungchan wanted extra confirmation. This boy wasn’t good for your heart, truly.

Turning back to him, you gave him a firm and nearly business-like nod. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

A bright grin lit up his features. “Okay! Great! Uhm, feel free to bring some friends, I know just sitting in the stands by yourself might be lonely.”

“I’ll see if I can drag somebody else out. It’ll be a tall order, though. Literature majors, you know, we prefer our Shakesperean poetry readings.”

“Oh, well—”

“I’m kidding,” you laughed and stood then, slinging your tote onto your shoulder. “Honestly, have you seen Chenle at a rager? Boy can drink twice his body weight I swear. He shouldn’t, but he can.”

Before you could reach for your cup and saucer to buss your place, the hockey captain spoke up, “I’ll take care of your mug, don’t worry.”

“Oh, thanks, Sungchan! I’ll see you Thursday then.”

“Bye…” Sungchan trailed off, watching the door long after it had closed behind you.

He didn’t actually have any homework to do, and scrolled on his phone for a few minutes to make sure you were out of the area before leaving himself. He grabbed his long-empty plastic cup and your mug. His went in the trash, and as he went to put yours up with the other dishes and trays, his eyes were caught by the iridescent glitters left behind on the rim by your lip gloss.

[you: hey what are you doing thursday at 7:00?]

[chenle: depends on what weird poetry reading you’re trying to drag me to]

[you: not this time. Sungchan’s hockey game?]

[chenle: you want to go to a sporting event?? why????]

[you: i told him i’d go please don’t make me go by myself]

[chenle: did you offer to go or did he ask you to come?]

[you: he asked me to? i guess?]

[chenle: haha yeah fuck no i’m not going with you]

[you: why not????????]

[chenle: a guy invited you to one of his games? yeah no way am i coming with you]

[you: what difference does that make? you’re seriously going to make me go to a hockey game by myself?]

[chenle: i don’t know how to tell you this gently so: he wants to fuck you]

[you: bro???]

[chenle: especially hockey? caveman brain is activated, he wants to show off how big and strong he is for you over the other males]

[you: damn can’t believe i just blinked and woke up in 200 BC]

[chenle: i’m warning you, only go if you’re ready for the consequences. i.e., that]

[you: so you’re not coming with me]

[chenle: no <3]

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30

Your chronically early self had gotten there as soon as the doors opened to spectators in order to scope out the perfect spot for yourself. Somewhere not too close to any speakers, where you could still see what was going on, hopefully somewhere Sungchan could maybe see you, but you could make a quick escape if need be. A lot of parameters, hence the need to be early. That meant that you got to watch the visiting team warm up first, and now your school’s team was warming up before the game. Finally the stands started filling up, and you had to do a double-take at the newest figure entering.

“Zhong Chenle, you lying little bitch!” You cursed out your best friend who was approaching you.

He immediately went to defend himself as he plopped down beside you, “Look, I told you I wasn’t going with you, not that I wasn’t going at all. Come on, Lit major.”

He finished off with a solid knock on your head, which didn’t hurt all that much through the beanie you were wearing, but you still slapped his arm away with a glare.

“Are you sure you want to live until graduation day? I can’t tell sometimes.”

“Half the team are Nu Chi guys,” Chenle explained his being there, then waved at one of the players skating by, 23, who gave a salute back. “Jeno.”

“Oh.” You belatedly waved too, but your friend had already turned back to warming up.

Chenle then gave you the run-down on all your friends and acquaintances’ numbers as he spotted them.

“Goalie. Sicheng, 7.” He just blocked a shot from a familiar number, 23. “Already told you, 23 is Jeno. Right wing.”

“Does he always suck?”

“Here’s Ten, number 10. Right defense. He’s never told me which came first, his nickname or his jersey number.”

Sicheng blocked Ten’s shot.

“2 is Mark, center.” His went in.

“66, Donghyuck, center alternate.” His also went in.

“24, that’s Yangyang, left wing—and a miss!”

“This doesn’t bode well that so many of our players apparently kind of suck.” You muttered to yourself, well aware that Chenle was no longer listening to you.

Finally, the tallest of the team was skating up to take a shot. “And there’s your guy, Y/N. Number 27, Jung Sungchan, left defense, captain, your dreamboat—”

“If you don’t shut up—”

“Oh! All net!”

“Isn’t that a basketball—”

“Hey, you got your earplugs, right?”

“Yep, same ones for concerts,” you confirmed, reaching into your purse for them. You hadn’t been able to take your full tote bag into the school sporting event, so you had to condense the essentials into your smaller purse.

“Good, because uh, it’ll get loud.”

“I figured.”

“Yeah, remember how half the team are Nu Chi guys?”

Your eyes widened in realization, “Oh god.”

“Here they come!”

Whipping around to face the same direction he was looking, you saw a horde of about ten to fifteen guys storming the rink, practically shaking the audience section. They were all donned in blue and orange, your university’s colors, various hockey or Nu Chi merch and paraphernalia, and you would’ve absolutely bet money that at least three of them had Nu, Chi, and Tau symbols painted across each of their chests under their shirts. Chenle leapt up to greet them all, the volume of the area immediately rising tenfold at least.

You recognized most of the Nu Chi frat brothers, they were mutual friends or acquaintances of yours through Chenle over the years, and there were even some familiar graduated faces. Lee Taeyong was the first to pick up on your presence, squeezing past Jisung—a new pledge that had glommed onto Chenle in particular—to plop down behind your seat.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Taeyong asked you with a tilted head. “Not exactly a good place for you, is it?”

Taeyong was frat president for your first two years of college and his last two. You had an absolute disaster at a Nu Chi party in your freshman year that he was witness to. Ever since then, when you would see him in passing at other lowkey (or as lowkey as frat functions could get) Nu Chi events that Chenle took you to during those two years, you always got the distinct impression that he was keeping an eye on you during them.

“Could be asking you the same thing, Taeyong,” you countered, fully turning around in your seat to chat with the man. “Didn’t you graduate two years ago? You don’t have anything better to do on a Thursday night? Like your taxes or something?”

“Us old-timers who peaked in college like to come back and re-live our glory days vicariously for the first home game,” he entertained your jibe, making you giggle. “And somebody’s got to be these kids’ DD. They always go at it too hard after the first game. Win or lose.”

Johnny, another graduated Nu Chi brother, spoke up then, eyes laser-focused on you, “So Chenle’s finally dragged you out to a game, Y/N?”

You immediately looked at your friend with wide eyes, knowing what the answer was, and exactly what reaction said answer would garner. Chenle, on the other hand, seemed all too thrilled to join in, turning to face you with his hands on his hips and a knowing smirk on his face.

“Oh no, I didn’t bring Y/N. She actually didn’t know I was coming at all. I found her here all on her own,” he announced to all the guys, who were hanging on to every word he said. If literally anything else were happening, you might’ve laughed at how they were all wrapped around his finger.

“No offense, but you don’t really seem like you’re interested in hockey,” Jungwoo, a junior who you’d shared a couple literature classes with, said curiously.

You sighed, giving Chenle a frank look before admitting, “Jung Sungchan invited me.”

They exploded with various hoots, hollers, whoops, and whistles.

With a shake of your head, you turned back around to look back at the players on the ice, knowing full well that there was nothing you could do alleviate—or even really participate in—the absolute chaos that was happening behind you.

Eventually, the game started. Taeyong, who had moved to sit on your other side from Chenle, quietly explained the basics of what was going on to you: positions, plays, scoring, why the referee made certain calls. Chenle was caught between cheering along with the other Nu Chi guys and rattling off hyper-specific stats on individual players to you, so you were truly grateful to have Taeyong giving you your “hockey for dummies” tips and tidbits throughout.

You kept your eyes on number 27, as Chenle had pointed him out to you earlier. The gear made it somewhat difficult for you to really recognize any distinguishing features about Sungchan himself except maybe his height, made even greater by the skates he was wearing. But as much as the intellectual side of you might’ve hated to admit it, there was definitely some part of you that very much enjoyed watching him play; that got some kind of thrill every time somebody tried to check him and he didn’t budge—or when he checked somebody and they most definitely did budge.

Before you knew it, all three periods were over, and you were jumping to your feet along with the others, cheering wildly. Your school won by a landslide.

“Oh, they’re going to get plastered,” Taeyong murmured from beside you fondly.

All of you had been in the cheering section milled around in the ice rink lobby waiting for the team to get out of the locker room.

“That was fun,” you declared to Chenle as the two of you stood off to the side from the larger group of loud Nu Chi brothers.

“Yeah, you didn’t seem like you were listening to a word I said.”

“Because you were telling me sports stats, Chenle, I’m surprised my brain didn’t start bleeding out of my ears.”

“Well I’m surprised your nose wasn’t bleeding watching your dreamboat Jung Sungchan beat up all those other guys,” Chenle teased. “200 BC called, they want their cavewoman back—”

You lunged at him, managing to get an arm around his throat in the beginnings of a questionably friendly chokehold, “I’m going to kill you, you little—”

“No murder in the rink!” Came the chastising voice of Johnny Suh from afar, and you reluctantly let him go.

The players started streaming out of the locker room soon after, and you nervously scanned the crowd for Sungchan. Chenle was easily dragged into the chaos of everyone celebrating, leaving you standing off to the side waiting.

Finally, you spotted him. Sungchan was wearing a simple pair of black sweatpants and black hoodie with your school’s name embroidered across the front, his hair a bit mussed up. He was deep in conversation with Sicheng, brow furrowed. The goalie’s features were similarly serious as they gestured to each other. You stayed put, not wanting to interrupt. Taeyong had mentioned that Sicheng was sort of like a co-captain, you guessed they might be doing something important.

Then you’d suddenly made eye contact with Sicheng, who was facing you. He gave you a casual head nod, and said something to Sungchan you couldn’t quite make out. The captain whipped around, a bright smile coming to his face as soon as his eyes landed on you. You lifted your hand to give him a small wave and smile back.

Sungchan quickly ended his conversation with Sicheng, making his way over to where you were standing by a wall.

“Hey, Y/N,” he was still smiling down at you, his eyes practically glittering even in the harsh fluorescents of the lobby. “So you really made it out.”

“I said I would.” You fidgeted with the straps of your bag.

“And…?”

You tilted your head, “And?”

“What did you think? You know, are your horizons super broad now or something?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. His phrasing was funny, but also remembering how he played and was now giving you his undivided attention admittedly made your chest flutter.

“It was good, yeah. I had fun,” you confirmed. “You uhm, you played really good. I think.”

“Thanks,” Sungchan scratched at the back of his neck, and you swore the tips of his ears were pink, but that could’ve just been the cold. “Did you drive yourself?”

“Walked, my apartment is close.”

“Uh, so, we all go out to a bar after games usually. It’s kind of a sleazy dive bar, and I know it’s a Thursday, but I’d really like for you to come. I’ll buy you a dr—”

“I’m really sorry, Sungchan, but I can’t. I’d love to, but…” You trailed off, wracking your brain for some concise way to explain why he couldn’t buy you a drink.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” Sungchan assured you, and you winced at the way the hopeful smile fell from his face.

An awkward silence descended over the two of you. You were chewing on your bottom lip, desperately trying to think of something to say to gloss over your rejecting his offer. You didn’t want to end the conversation on such a sour note, nor did you want to leave him just yet either. Stealing a glance at the clock above you on the wall, however, you knew that you’d need to be going soon anyway.

The hockey player was the one who ended up breaking the silence, “Can I walk you home? It’s late for you to be out by yourself.”

A relieved smile overtook your features, and you hoped he could see the sincerity in it, “Sure, thank you. Let me let Chenle know he’s relieved of his man-shaped friend duties for the night, and we can go.”

You got on your tiptoes to look around for your friend, finally spotting him in a headlock by Jeno, with Yangyang giving him a noogie. They all seemed to be laughing, so it didn’t look too much like bullying that you felt the need to intervene.

“You know, I’ll just text him, actually,” you chuckled, bringing out your phone to do just that.

“Man-shaped friend duties?” Sungchan questioned as the automatic doors parted for the two of you.

“His words, not mine,” you snorted. “But you know, making sure a woman doesn’t walk places by herself at night, that kind of stuff. Having a man just with her makes her safer, as fucked up as that is. Chenle corrected it to be man-shaped since he’s not the manly protective type.”

“I see.”

“But it looks like you’re on man-shaped friend duties for tonight, Sungchan.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you wanted to stuff them back in. Friend. God, that was absolutely not what was happening here and you knew it. Chenle’s previous texts flashed across your mind. You obviously knew why Sungchan would’ve wanted to invite you to his game, and you said yes purposefully. Friend. Foot, meet mouth.

Sungchan blinked down at you, but seemed to take it in stride, “Of course, Y/N. Anytime you need a man-shaped person at your side, just call me up. I’ll bring my hockey stick.”

He patted his gear bag that was slung over his shoulder, making you giggle.

“I’ll keep you on speed dial, then.”

It was a short walk to your apartment, and you and Sungchan mostly talked about the game. You asked him a couple questions that Taeyong hadn’t covered during it— which Chenle might’ve, except you had tuned him out. And as you came to a stop at your front door, you didn’t yet fish your keys from your bag.

“How often do you have away games?” You asked.

“They’re usually about half,” Sungchan shrugged. “It’s a bit annoying missing classes, and the bus is kind of rank on the trip back.”

“Ew…” You wrinkled your nose.

“But they’re always a lot of fun.”

“So, uhm, when’s your next home game?”

His face brightened as he seemed to realize what exactly you were asking, “Next week. Same time.”

“Okay, cool.” You bit your lip.

“Cool,” he echoed.

You looked up at Sungchan, catching his eyes for a heart stopping moment. Both of you were standing on your welcome mat, he was close enough that you could catch a faint whiff of the detergent from his clothes—a college athlete with freshly washed clothes? You might already be in love—and watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. You had the urge to grab him by the front of his hoodie and yank him—

A garish, blaring ringing going off interrupted your split-second pros and cons weighing that had been going on. Sungchan startled at the noise, reminding you very much of a baby moose in the moment. You groaned as you reached into your bag for your phone.

“Oh my god, stop it,” you hissed under your breath as you snoozed the alarm that was going off on there. Once it was quiet, you looked back up at the man with you sheepishly, “Sorry about that.”

He joked, “Curfew?”

You laughed lightly, “No, just a reminder for something I have to do after I get home. It’s fine.”

“Well, before you go do that, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Nu Chi and the team are hosting a joint Halloween party this year, and I’d really like it if I could see you there.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow, people will probably start showing up after like ten, eleven. It’s at the Nu Chi house, theirs is bigger than ours.”

“Fascinating phrasing,” you snickered.

“I know this is last minute, so I get if you have other plans or something.”

“I… can probably swing by for a bit, yeah,” you nodded.

“Great!” Sungchan beamed. “Oh, it is a costume party, by the way.”

“Costume?” You arched a brow. “What’ll you being going as? And please don’t say hockey player.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Definitely not… that would be lame…”

“You were planning on going as a hockey player, weren’t you?”

“Me and Mark have been putting all our spare time into planning this thing, I haven’t had any time to think about a costume.”

“Well you’ve given me 24-hour notice for a costume, so this is your 24-hour notice for one too. When I find you at the Nu Chi house tomorrow, I do not want to see a hockey jersey, Jung Sungchan. Any sports player is off-limits, understand?” You poked his chest with finality.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded in assent.

Just then, your alarm went off again, and this time you jumped out of your skin. Apparently, another 5 minutes had elapsed. With a sigh, you reached into your bag for your keys.

“I should let you go do that thing,” Sungchan chuckled. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Sungchan,” you unlocked your front door. “See you tomorrow.”

Sitting at your kitchen table a couple minutes later, you were looking down at the vitals displayed on the screen of your blood pressure cuff.

“Jung Sungchan…” you muttered to yourself as you added the reading to your digital record, noting how the line graph jumped up with the new data.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 31

“You agreed to go to a frat party?” Chenle’s eyes were bugging out of his head as he sat across a high top in the dining hall from you. You two were grabbing a quick lunch between classes, and doing an obligatory catch-up on how your short but sweet walk with Sungchan went last night. “Do you remember what happened last time, Y/N?”

“Hard to forget,” you snorted.

“And yet it seems you did, somehow, lost in dreamboat Jung Sungchan’s eyes.”

You threw a fry from his plate at him, “It wasn’t like that!”

He ducked, letting it sail by his head and hit the wall behind him.

“Then what was it like?”

“It was more like a big puppy that I couldn’t say no to and—”

You were cut off by loud gagging noises from your friend, and went to kick him under the table, but missed and hit his chair leg instead. He still got the message, quieting down to let you continue.

“I told him I’d be able to just pop in for a bit. I’ll be in and out before it’ll get too bad.”

“Famous last words...”

“Hold on, LeLe,” you grabbed your friend’s arm to stop him on the sidewalk in front of the Nu Chi Tau frat house.

Taking another look into your tote bag, you made sure once again that you had everything you could possibly need tonight. Medications, snacks, water bottle, ear plugs, the usual. After closing the snaps on the bag, you nervously fidgeted with the hem of your costume. Generic witch, it was the last thing the costume store had in your size that wasn’t garishly scary. You understood well and good how college Halloween parties worked: you had to look hot, not terrifying. Not to mention that those horror show costumes were also much pricier than your “Sexy Witch” one.

“You look cute, Y/N,” Chenle reassured you, readjusting your witch hat for you. “Jung Sungchan won’t know what hit him.”

Chenle, on the other hand, was an almost scarily realistic zombie. If you hadn’t spent an ungodly amount of time hanging out on his bathroom counter this afternoon watching him apply the SFX makeup himself, you would’ve thought he had hired a professional makeup artist to do it. He’d always gone ham on Halloween since you two were kids, ever since he figured out how to make a Transformers costume out of cardboard boxes in primary school. You usually participated in partner costumes with him, but you really didn’t want him to make you a gross-looking zombie tonight.

“Thanks.” You gave him as confident a smile as you could muster.

Resecuring your grip on your go bag, you started up the walkway to the house with your friend.

You had been able to faintly hear the thumping bass of the music from outside, but once inside, you were almost immediately hit by a wall of music. Just inside the front door you were faced with a mass of people in bright costumes, flashing lights, corny Halloween decorations of cobwebs, spiders, ghosts, and pumpkins all over the walls.

Chenle looked over at you expectantly, “Y/N?”

“I couldn’t find my concert earplugs, only my noise canceling. I won’t be able to hear anybody unless they’re shouting at me if I put those in,” you replied, having to raise your voice to make sure he heard you. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” He sighed and grabbed your elbow. “Come on, let’s find a quieter spot in the house then.”

You gave him a thumbs up and bright grin, already feeling your ears acclimate to the loudness. You could totally do this. It was one night, and you were just going to see Sungchan for a bit then go. Pop in then back out, just like you said.

You didn’t have to wait long to spot Sungchan. Chenle had barely tugged you into the next room over from the small foyer when a familiar head was visible over the crowd, his bright smile focused on you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sungchan grinned down at you. He was dressed in a suit and tie, what you were guessing was probably his only set, and his hair was parted to one side, styled off of his face. The tie had already been loosened, and the tuck of his dress shirt wasn’t so crisp.

“Hi, Sungchan,” you smiled up at him, amazed that you could hear anything over both the music and now your heart beating so loudly in your ears.

“So you did find a costume.”

“Oh, yeah,” you messed with the hem of your skirt. “Last one at the shop.”

“You look great.” He was still beaming down at you, and you could feel your skin growing warmer. “I’m really glad you could make it.”

“Thanks. Uhm, so what are you? Funeral director?”

“What? No, I’m—” His sentence stopped in its tracks as he looked down at the front of his suit jacket. He started patting his empty breast pocket, then other jacket pockets, then pants pockets, then looked around on the floor. “Fuck.”

“What?” You looked around under your feet, but weren’t able to see anything other than the usual party debris. “Did you lose something?”

Sungchan looked back up at you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I was about to say that I’m Mulder from the X-Files. But I’ve apparently lost my fake FBI badge. So it looks like I’m a funeral director now.”

You giggled. “Maybe you can be Mulder when he retires and buys a funeral home.”

“Yeah, the perfect costume. Won’t take too long to explain to anybody, they’ll get it immediately,” he laughed.

“Hey, I’m just glad you didn’t wear a jersey.”

“I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

“Oh, have you seen Chenle’s makeup by the—” But when you turned around to gesture to your friend, you found that he had disappeared, leaving you and the hockey captain all alone.

“Chenle?” Sungchan asked with a tilted head. “I didn’t even realize he was here yet.”

You shook your head fondly at your friend’s antics. Well, you’d have to thank him later.

“He must have gone to get a drink or something. Either way, it seems I’ve been abandoned.”

“Well, you can come hang out with me and some of the guys, if you want?” He offered.

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” you nodded, readjusting your bag to make sure it was pulled in tight to your body.

Sungchan led you through the frat house with a hand on the small of your back, and you snuck a glance up at him when he went to greet someone who had called his name as you passed by. He kept you tucked into his side as he slowed to give the guy a friendly slap on the shoulder. As soon as Sungchan had stopped to say hello, two more people appeared seemingly from nowhere, eagerly greeting him as well. You faintly recognized one, Jisung, a new Nu Chi pledge. He’d been at the hockey game you went to, and always found Chenle at Nu Chi events that you tagged along to. You looked up at Sungchan’s animated, handsome face again as he continued talking.

“This is Y/N.” Sungchan’s voice suddenly pulled you into the conversation. You snapped your focus down from his face to the other three that were in front of you, and realized that they all definitely knew that you’d been staring.

“Oh, hi.” You gave the three boys a nervous smile.

“Y/N, this is Jisung, Shotaro, and Renjun. Jisung and Shotaro are Nu Chi pledges, Renjun’s a sophomore brother, and he’s—you’re a Literature major, right, Renjun?”

“Yes.” One of them nodded.

“Renjun’s a Literature major too, Y/N,” Sungchan finished the introduction.

“Cool, cool,” you nodded. It had been Shotaro that called Sungchan over in the first place, you were pretty sure.

“Anyway, thanks for the offer, guys, but I already promised Hyuck I would, so we’ve got to go.”

Sungchan ushered you away to the tune of a chorus of disappointed groans from the three boys, and you wracked your brain to see if you could recall hearing any sort of proposition from them. But nope, between the loud music and your prior lack of attention to the conversation, you had nothing.

“What did they want?” You gave up and finally asked Sungchan.

“Beer pong. Hope you don’t mind that I declined. I’ve already had a couple and am not looking to get wasted quite yet.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” you shook your head. Thank god you didn’t have to deal with that yet. “Not really my thing anyway. Terrible hand-eye coordination.”

Sungchan seemed about to say something when someone walked by you with an exceptionally pungent cologne. The whiff shot directly to your head like a bullet, the sharp pain making you wince and hiss. It took everything in you not to cover your nose like Edward Cullen and instead shift to breathing through your mouth for a few moments.

“Y/N? You okay?” Sungchan’s voice was clearly concerned.

The sharp pain was gone just a couple moments after it had registered, and you opened your eyes up again, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, don’t know what that was.”

“Okay, good.” He squeezed your shoulder before dropping his hand back down to your back and continuing your trek through the Nu Chi house.

You and Sungchan finally made it to a room adjacent to the main living room, where there were a couple of beat-up old couches and lots of Nu Chi Tau paraphernalia. The bass of the music playing in the next room over would occasionally make the picture frames and plaques on the walls rattle, and you could hear every word of the songs crystal clear, even though the room that you were in was packed to the brim with partygoers as well. Sungchan stopped you at a group of people gathered around one of the couches, tapping the shoulders of two of them who had their backs to you. Donghyuck and Hendery turned around, immediately parting to make room for the both of you in the group upon seeing you.

Almost everyone in the group was familiar to you either as friends or acquaintances. Your social circle was big thanks to Chenle, who was friends with practically the entire hockey team and Nu Chi house, despite being a member of neither. But now you didn’t have your best friend at your side, just Sungchan and your tote bag, both of which you were keeping close to you.

“Oh shit, Y/N!” Hendery grinned, pulling you into a one-armed hug of greeting. “Damn, it really is you!”

“Yeah, I’m a witch, not a ghost, Hendery,” you retorted jokingly. He was dressed as Prince Eric, if you weren’t mistaken.

“Well, when Sungchan said you were coming, some of us were a bit... skeptical.”

Someone dressed as Venom cut in from Hendery’s other side sharply, “No, I believe you said ‘never in a million fucking years, loverboy.’”

The rest of the group erupted in tipsy snickers and ‘ooh’s, and you felt Sungchan jostle a little as someone had presumably given him a teasing shove.

“Alright, guys. You can cut it out now,” Sungchan spoke over them authoritatively. He then looked down to you, features softening. “Sorry. Anyway, this is Donghyuck, he’s on the team and in Nu Chi—”

He pointed to the boy right next to him, wearing a very classic vampire costume splattered with a little bit of fake blood or fruit punch (you couldn’t tell in the poor lighting), and you wondered if he had also gone to a Halloween store last-minute like you. You knew him both from the game, and from a couple times you’d seen him with Chenle outside of frat or hockey events.

“Mark, frat president and he’s on the hockey team—” He was next to Donghyuck, dressed as Spiderman. You were already familiar with Mark, both from the game, and a group project in a class last year. You wondered if Mark remembered that.

“Ten, hockey and Nu Chi—” Ten was reclined on the couch, a top hat that had presumably been on his head earlier now resting on his propped up knee. Between that and his eyepatch, he clearly was dressed as some character that you couldn’t identify in the moment. You knew Ten outside of hockey, the frat, or even Chenle. He was a Lit major, so you had shared classes and study groups over the years. He raised a friendly hand in greeting.

“Sicheng, my co-captain and he’s in Nu Chi, too—” He was on the couch with Ten, sequestered to one corner as his teammate was taking up most of the space with his legs. Sicheng was dressed up as an angel, fake wings, little halo, and all. And you knew Sicheng through Ten, they’d been roommates since freshman year and could often be found together around campus. He gave you a nod of familiarity.

“Dejun, Nu Chi—” Sungchan had finally reached the man who was dressed as Venom.

“And you of course, unfortunately, know Hendery, Nu Chi.”

“Oh, boo, Sungchan,” Hendery stuck his tongue out at the captain.

You smiled and nodded a little bit at everyone else, but you were finding it hard to concentrate with the music in the background. Did it really need to be that loud?

“Y/N?” The sound of your name snapped your focus up, and you looked around for the source.

A few of the guys had gone back to their own conversations. Sungchan was looking down at you, head tilted inquisitively. Presumably he had been to the one to say your name.

“Oh, sorry,” you tried to give a nonchalant chuckle, but it was getting harder and harder to even articulate yourself with all the stimulation. “The music...”

“Oh!” Sungchan perked up at this. “Do you want to go dance?”

He was offering a hand out to you, and you stared down at it, mouth opening and closing as your brain felt like it was moving through sludge. You quite literally could not process what that string of words actually meant for a good second, and then it took even longer for you to even tie together the right way for you to respond. Cognitive fatigue. Oh this was not good. You squeezed your eyes shut, then open.

You again gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’m- I’m kind of light-headed right now. Could you get me something to drink?”

His features immediately turned concerned. “Of course. Do you need to sit down or a ride h—”

“Can you just get me a drink?” Your brain was stuck in a perpetual loop now that it had locked onto one task. It took all of your energy just to regulate your tone enough to keep your voice (hopefully) as sweet as possible, despite the fact that you had cut him off.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He squeezed your upper arm reassuringly before taking off.

Your eyes were fixated on the spot where he had just been, your vision seeming to continuously zoom in and past your head. Squeezing your eyes shut once more, you took a deep breath through your mouth to try to recenter yourself. But it didn’t help any. Your head felt like a balloon that someone was overinflating, and you knew exactly what was coming next. You swallowed thickly, taking a second to look through the crowd. Nope, you couldn’t wait for Sungchan. Not like you could even verbalize much of anything right now. You had to go take your medication.

So you hurried into the crowd, clutching your tote bag to your chest like your life depended on it—which it really did. Mumbling ‘excuse me’s to everyone you shouldered, bumped into, or stepped on the toes of, you finally made it to a door that you were pretty sure was a bathroom. You tried the handle first, and when it gave in, you still knocked as you opened it, just in case. It was miraculously empty. Maybe there really was a God. Then, the balloon started to deflate, the pressure in your head inverted, becoming a harsh, squeezing pain instead. Nope, nope, definitely not a God. Or at least not a benevolent one.

You locked the door behind you with clumsy fingers and shuffled over to the sink. The countertop was in good enough condition for you to toss your bag up there and start rooting around through it. Bottle after bottle after bottle, then you finally secured the right two. You shook out a pill from one, then a pill from the other. The lights above the mirror were becoming more insufferable by the second. You cracked open the fresh bottle of water you had stored in your bag too, and knocked both pills back in one big gulp.

Tossing the water back into your bag, you could fucking finally flip the switch and turn the lights in the bathroom off. After feeling your way along the wall, you eventually found the bathtub, and sat yourself down. The music was somewhat muffled in here, and you figured this was going to be the darkest room in the whole Nu Chi house. Right now, your plan was to wait in here for your medication to kick in and hopefully stop this migraine before it really got going. Then you could make your great escape, and send Sungchan some bullshit apology text later. After tossing your witch hat to the ground vaguely beside your bag, you gently rested your head against the cool tile of the shower with a sigh. Chenle was right, you shouldn’t have come. Cynically, you thought that you should have timed it. See how long you lasted before you got a migraine. You’d be surprised if that was even 15 minutes.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sungchan returned to the group with your requested drink in hand and another for himself, frowning when he immediately noticed your absence. “Hey, where’d Y/N go?”

“Oh, shit, uh…” Mark looked around with a baffled look on his face. “No clue dude, she was just here a second ago.”

“I’m going to go find her. Here.” He shoved both drinks into Hendery’s hands.

“Sungchan, come on, take a hint, man,” Donghyuck sighed, patting the taller boy’s shoulder sympathetically.

“What?”

“She asked you to get her something to drink and then slipped away when nobody was looking.”

“Y/N’s not like that.”

“And denial’s a river in Egypt.”

“No, she hasn’t been feeling well all night. I think. I’m going to go look for her.”

“So you’re admitting that you make her physically ill.”

“Dude, you’re just asking to get your shit rocked, you know that, right?” Ten warned him.

“Hey, I’m standing up for women—”

Mark cut him off, “Hyuck, you’re on your own if Sungchan decides to fuck your shit up. I don’t care if you’re my little, I’m not—”

“Oh, wahhh, my big strong big won’t protect me.”

“Christ, I swear he’s only had like four shots and a couple…”

His friends’ voices quickly faded into the din of the party as Sungchan pushed through the crowd. He couldn’t spot you, but found maybe the next best thing.

“Hey, Chenle.” He grabbed him by the elbow, turning him away from the arm wrestling competition between Jeno and Yangyang that he was spectating. Or, he at least hoped this was Chenle, it was a bit hard to tell with the zombie makeup.

“Hey, Romeo!” Chenle greeted him jovially, punching him in the shoulder over-zealously. Okay, definitely him.

“Have you seen Y/N? In the past like, five minutes or so?”

“You lost her?” The zombie asked angrily, cheerful mood immediately soured.

“Uh, yes? Sorry?”

“No, I’m not pissed at you,” he shook his head at Sungchan’s apology. “You go check the bathrooms, I’ll look outside. Don’t bother calling her, she’s not going to pick up.”

“What’s—”

But Chenle was already gone.

You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting in there for, but you could feel some of the overstimulation from the party beginning to slide off of you. Which could be either a good or bad thing. Cognitive fatigue was usually a prodrome and postdrome for you. Regaining some clarity could either mean that your medication was working and the migraine was going away, or you were about to enter the proper migraine phase. The fact that the pain hadn’t gone away was worrying. But at least it was dark, and relatively quiet. Oh, quiet... you could put in your earplugs now too.

Just as you had gone to grab for your bag, there was a knock at the bathroom door. You froze. Shit.

“Occupied!” You yelled out hesitantly to them, wincing at the loudness of your own voice. Okay, ow.

The person knocked again, harder.

“Seriously! Busy in here! Puking my brains out!” You yelled even louder, hoping they got the fucking idea this time. There was no way you wanted to have to actually get up and deal with a drunk partygoer that needed to piss and/or puke.

“Y/N? That you?” A familiar voice came through the door. “It’s Sungchan, can I come in?”

“Oh, sure, hold on.” You clambered out of the tub as carefully as you could in the dim lighting coming from under the door.

Against your better judgment, you turned one set of lights on in the bathroom, then cracked the bathroom door open. Sungchan was in fact on the other side, and you stepped back to let him in. He looked around the bathroom, worry on his face.

You shut the door behind him, saying sheepishly, “So, I was lying about the puking my brains out.”

“But you don’t look okay.” He peered down at your face as you were still wincing against the bright lights. “You didn’t drink anything tonight, what’s wrong?”

You went to sit on the side of the tub, feeling a pain in your eyes now. You gestured to the light switch. “Can you turn that light off?”

“Uh, okay…” He obliged, and the room was dim once again.

Your eyes adjusted quickly, and you could still see the general outline of everything in the room. Sitting back in the tub, you pulled your knees to your chest. Well, no chance for your great escape now. Sungchan climbed into the dry tub with you, facing you. He didn’t fit great in the small space, all gangly limbs, and your knees bumped into each other. But he sat there with you quietly.

“I’ve got a migraine coming on, I had to get somewhere quiet and dark and take my meds.” You told him bluntly, opting to just take the plunge. Not like you could even attempt flowery language at the moment anyway. Sure, some of your speech capabilities were coming back now that there was less sensory input, but you weren’t going to be doing any soliloquies tonight.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sungchan said quietly. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, no. I actually- I actually don’t want to be alone right now, if that’s okay?” You surprised yourself with your answer.

“Yeah, of course.” He said reassuringly. “Do you want me to take you home?”

���I might not have drank but you did. I’ll be okay here, for the most part. I’m the one who came knowing that I get sound-induced migraines.”

“Wait, really?”

“Mm, yeah,” you pinched the bridge of your nose to alleviate some of the tension there for a moment. “Remember when I said Chenle pushes me out of my comfort zone in a good way most of the time?”

“Right.”

“One of the times it wasn’t... good was when he got an invite to Nu Chi’s Halloween party our freshman year, dragged me with him. And he always means the best when he does stuff like that. I hadn’t made any new friends at college, meanwhile he had a bunch, including some of the pledges at Nu Chi.”

“How he got the invite.”

“Exactly.” You needed to take a pause, resting your head against the cool tile again. After a few deep breaths, you pushed on in the story. “Anyway, we’d been there for a couple hours when the loudness and the music and everything finally got to me and I got a migraine. I had my go bag on me, and went to what I thought was an empty corner of the house to take my meds. But a couple other people saw me knocking back pills and wanted some. My head was hurting like a bitch, and they were trying to grab them from me and anyway, I spilled a bunch of them all over the floor, drenched myself with my water and their beer, and elbowed a dude and gave him a bloody nose.”

“Holy shit,” Sungchan breathed out.

You opened and closed your jaw a couple times to try to relax the muscles and joints there. “I couldn’t even open my eyes because my head hurt so bad. Chenle told me later I was screaming and Taeyong wanted to call an ambulance until Chenle ran up and explained what was happening. They put me, Chenle, and Jeno—turns out that’s whose nose I broke—in Taeyong’s room in the house for the rest of the night. Neither Chenle nor I were in any shape to drive ourselves home.”

“Wait is that how you met Jeno?”

“Yeah, and it turns out he wasn’t one of the ones trying to take my pills, he was trying to break up me and the people who were. Collateral damage.” You recounted it regrettably.

“When Jeno found out I’d invited you, he told me he’d keep his room clear in case we needed it. I thought he was just being a dick.” Sungchan sounded like he was having an epiphany. “Y/N, do you think you’ll be okay to move up a floor?”

The bass was thudding through the door, and you knew that if you stayed here when you transitioned into the throes of however bad this migraine fully got, you’d regret it. Grabbing your earplugs from your bag and putting them in, you gave him a thumbs-up and attempted a smile, but you knew it came out like more of a wince.

Sungchan kept you between him and the wall as you moved through the Nu Chi house, casting as much of a shadow against the garishly flashing lights as possible. Even through your earplugs, the music was raucous, people were practically screaming at each other, and you gripped one hand around his arm and the other onto his suit jacket to keep yourself balanced and to not lose him. When you got to the stairs, he fully wrapped an arm around your shoulders to jerk you out of the way of a drunk Nu Chi member stumbling his way down, and kept it there the rest of the way up. The noise was squeezing around your head like a vice, and you shut your eyes tight at the top of the stairs for a moment in an attempt to clear your head.

Sungchan’s voice was right beside your ear, muffled through the earplugs, “We’re almost there, Y/N, I’m sorry, come on.”

You were vaguely aware of the man with you feeling around on the top of a doorway before jiggling a doorhandle, and finally you were in a blissfully dark and quiet-ish room. Your head definitely hurt more than before, and you practically collapsed onto the bed.

“He was kind enough to stuff all his dirty clothes in the closet,” Sungchan muttered.

You managed a strangled chuckle at that, dropping your go bag onto the floor beside the bed. A moment of silence passed, and you could hear Sungchan awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet at the doorway.

“Sungchan,” you said his name, then patted the empty half of the bed beside you. “You can sit. I know Jeno doesn’t have any other furniture in here besides the bed and his PlayStation.”

“He probably only has a bedframe because it came with the room.”

You snickered, but were cut off by the squeezing pain turning to a sharp, stabbing pain behind your left eye, “Oh fuck!”

“Y/N?!” Sungchan was right beside you, and you felt the bed dip as he sat down beside you.

“Sorry, sorry, it feels like I’m getting an icepick lobotomy! Jesus!” You hissed, cupping a hand over your left eye as if that were actually going to do anything. “It’s normal, I’m fine. Relatively.”

“Okay…”

Still clutching your eye, you rolled onto your side and brought your knees up towards your chest. You blindly fumbled towards the head of the bed, and felt a pillow being pressed into your hand.

“Thanks,” you muttered, tucking it under your head.

“Do you want to lay under the covers?” Sungchan whispered.

“Do they smell like Jeno’s washed them in the past week?”

He laughed breathily at that, “Miraculously they do. I think he was planning on getting laid.”

“He gave up getting his dick wet for me. Jeno’s a real one,” you mumbled, feeling the covers that you were laying on top of being pulled out from under you.

Sungchan gently brought the sheet up to your shoulder, then a blanket too. The stabbing pain behind your eye was still there, and your stomach filled with dread as you acknowledged that your acute medication wasn’t going to be working this time. This was going to be a full-blown migraine, and who knew how many hours it would last.

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else you need? Water?”

“No. Just uh, let me know when two hours have passed, I can take another dose of my meds that aren’t fucking working then.”

“Oh. Will do.”

You opened and closed your jaw, letting out a distinct groan. Another few minutes passed. Or, you think it was a few minutes, you couldn’t really check your phone for the time.

“Sungchan.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to stay. I’m sure the party is a lot more fun.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“…No.”

“I want to stay. I’m not going to have any fun out there knowing that you’re in all in this pain all alone in here.”

You squinted your right eye open, and had to crane your neck to look up at where Sungchan was sitting against the headboard. He had taken his suit jacket and shoes off at some point, now just in a rumpled dress shirt, loosened tie, slacks, and socks. He held your eye contact steadily, head tilted slightly and a frown across his handsome features.

Reaching your unoccupied hand up towards him, he watched it with confusion.

“What do you need? Your bag?”

“No.” You grabbed his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“Oh.” An adorably radiant grin was on his face now instead.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1

Sungchan knew you’d finally fallen asleep when you stopped muttering swears and curses under your breath, the pained expression fell from your face, and your hand that was holding his went limp. He could still hear the party going strong outside of Jeno’s bedroom, and a glance at his phone told him it was just after one in the morning. He had no want to rejoin his friends, to leave you.

He took his tie all the way off, thinking to himself that if you were feeling better, you might have joked that he looked like Mulder the off-duty funeral director. And he would’ve laughed and watched the cute way the corners of your mouth quirked up when you said something that you thought was funny. He set the tie down with his shoes on the floor beside the bed.

Careful to stay on top of the covers that you were sleeping under, Sungchan shifted until he was laying down too, pillow tucked under his head, facing you on his side, hand still holding yours.

Like usual, you didn’t remember falling asleep, but you did remember shutting your eyes tight and wishing really hard for your head to stop hurting so bad. Or to die. Whichever the Universe felt like granting. And judging by the fact that you were now waking up without a migraine, it seemed like the former.

The first thing you were aware of before you even opened your eyes was that you felt like shit. Sure, your head didn’t hurt anymore, but jeez the morning after wasn’t much better. Tired, achy, and your brain felt like TV static.

The second thing that you were aware of, after opening your eyes, was Jung Sungchan just a few inches from your face. He was still asleep, soft bursts of air passing from his lips and mussing up strands of hair that were falling into his eyes. You didn’t quite have enough in you to coo over his bedhead, but you could give half of a fond smile as you pushed yourself into a sitting position, running a sleepy hand over one side of your face.

Only one of your earplugs was still in your ears, and you looked around the bedsheets for the other one. After securing it, you scooted over to the edge of the bed to put the plugs back into your carrying case before rolling back over and pulling the blankets over you again. You deserved this, honestly. Sleeping in late, a comfy bed, warm blankets, a cute boy next to you, nothing to—

Your happy thoughts were ripped away by the sound of a loud alarm. You shot up, scrambling towards your tote bag to grab your phone from the depths of it and turn your goddamn alarm off before it woke Sungchan up.

“Mm?”

Too late.

Sheepishly, you looked over at him, “Sorry…”

“‘S okay,” he mumbled, flopping onto his back and rubbing a hand over his face. “How’s your head?”

“Better. A lot better, thanks.”

“Good, good.” He yawned, “Morning, by the way.”

“Good morning.”

His eyes were closed as he laid there, a hand resting on his chest, and you weren’t sure if he had fallen back asleep.

“…Sungchan?”

“Hm?”

Taking his inquisitive tone as a sign that you could keep talking, you said, “Uhm, that was the first time I’ve had anybody around for one my migraines in a while. I’m sorry if it was… well, I don’t know. What was it like for you?”

He opened his eyes, rolling onto his side to face you and tucking a hand under his cheek, “Oh, uh, I mean, I wasn’t quite worried, since you seemed like you knew exactly what was happening, you know? But still, I… I was wishing there was more I could do. It was weird knowing that you were in pain but not being able to see where it hurt.”

“I should’ve figured that might be upsetting. Sorry about all that.”

“No, Y/N, it's okay. I get it, you just wanted someone with you when you were hurting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I did,” you nodded, curling one of your hands into a fist in your lap, digging your nails into your palm in an attempt to not cry at how easily he saw right into you.

“I was more than happy to sit with you.”

“I’ve had these stupid migraines for years now. Tried every treatment in the book, been on every regiment. And my friends and family, they don’t treat me like I’m made of glass or anything, which I’m grateful for. Everyone in my life knows I’m a pro at it all: I’ve got my go bag, all my meds, my alarms, I’ve been going to doctors’ appointments, testing, everything for years. But like... they still hurt. The migraines still fucking hurt.” Your voice cracked over the word, and your nails dug in deeper. “And I just… think they forget that part sometimes? I don’t know, I guess they hear the word ‘migraine’ thousands of times over the years it sort of loses its meaning. They kind of forget what one actually is. But it hurts Sungchan, my head just hurts for hours or even days, sometimes so bad I throw up from the pain. I can’t do anything but lay in bed in the dark and cry. Last night’s wasn’t that bad but still… thank you. I needed for it to all be real to somebody.”

Sungchan pushed up into a sitting position, and through your watery vision you could see that his brows were furrowed. You followed where his gaze was locked, and watched as he gently unfurled your fingers. You used the thumb of your other hand to rub at the divots that your nails had left in your skin.

“The migraines are why I’ve been all weird, by the way.” You added, trying to ignore the strain in your voice.

“What?”

“When you wanted to buy me a drink after the game. One of my migraine medications that I take, I can’t drink alcohol on it. It just felt like a weird and long explanation to have to give in the moment. And when you asked if I wanted to dance with you last night, the music would’ve made the migraine come on quicker than it did, but explaining it to you then, again it felt like it would’ve ruined the moment even more.”

“Oh… don’t worry about it.”

There was still one big thing you hadn’t smoothed over. But it looks like you’re on man-shaped friend duties tonight, Sungchan. Stupid, stupid.

Pushing through the discomfort prickling at your skin, you asked, “Sungchan, do you want to go on a date?”

“A…” He looked you dead in the eyes for a moment, mouth parted, and blinked once, twice before he was absolutely beaming at you. “Yeah, yes, I do.”

“Okay.” You couldn’t help but giggle, nerves buzzing through you as your chest was airy and you were lightheaded for two reasons now, “Okay, good.”

“Is it bad for me to say that I’m relieved? That you have migraines? Well, not that you have them, because obviously they hurt, but like, that this is what it was? I seriously thought I was being stupid, like mixed signals or something. Like, you came to my game but then you didn’t want to go to the bar.” He ticked the instances off on the fingers of one hand.

“Medication,” you nodded.

“Right. Then you let me walk you home after, but you called me your friend.”

“That was just plain stupidity,” you admitted with a groan at having to relive that moment again.

“And you said yes to coming to the party, but then you didn’t want to dance with me,” Sungchan had now run out of fingers and dropped his hand back down to the bed.

“The music...”

“And when you disappeared, I thought you left because you didn’t like me. I just… felt like I was going crazy.”

“It’s not awful of you to be relieved about this. I’m sorry, Sungchan. Migraines aren’t conducive to romance, apparently.”

“Oh, bullshit.” He pushed back immediately. “They’re just not conducive to drinking and loud parties. That’s not romance.”

“Alright, fair. I’m wont to agree with you.”

“And you need to stop apologizing for your migraines. It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Well, I did come to a loud ass party knowing I’d probably get a sound-induced migraine.”

“Okay, aside from that— which, I’m very flattered by and will never ever ask you to do anything like this ever again.”

“Okay.”

Suddenly the door handle rattled, then there was a banging on the door. “Hey! Are you two done in there?” Jeno yelled through the wood. “You better not be having post-headache sex on my bed!”

“Seems like he didn’t get laid last night,” Sungchan muttered.

“If he keeps up that pounding I’m going to get a rebound headache and he’s going to wake the entire house, please let him in,” you groaned.

The boy with you quickly moved to do so, unlocking the door and throwing it open to whisper aggressively, “Jeno! Shut the fuck up! People are still sleeping!”

“Oh. You’re dressed.”

You rolled your eyes at your friend, “I don’t know what you think a migraine is like, but getting my back blown out is pretty far down on my to-do list for immediately after.”

“How are you feeling?” Jeno was nice enough to ask as he rooted through his closet.

“Like shit. While you guys nurse actual hangovers today, I get to nurse a migraine hangover. Same awful morning after without the fun night before.”

“That sucks.” He secured a rumpled shirt and inside out pair of sweatpants. “I told Chenle you were crashing here last night, by the way. He didn’t just abandon you for shits and giggles.”

“Oh, thanks. He was sober enough to drive?”

“Mark had a Breathalyzer and everything.”

“Wow…”

“Now I recommend you two get the fuck out before everyone else wakes up and sees you sneaking out together.”

“Right,” Sungchan nodded, sitting on the edge of Jeno’s bed and pulling his shoes on.

You quickly gathered your shoes, phone, witch hat, and go bag before giving Jeno a short goodbye and following Sungchan out. The Nu Chi house was thankfully quiet as everyone was still asleep in their own rooms, save for the partygoers and brothers who had passed out on the couches in the living rooms. Once you were on the front porch, the two of you dared to speak again.

“I’ll drive you home, Y/N,” Sungchan offered.

“Mhm, thanks,” you squinted against the bright sunlight, reaching into your bag for the spare pair of sunglasses you kept in there.

He gestured to your bag. “So what all do you have in there?”

“Everything but the kitchen sink.” You sighed, finally securing your sunglasses and putting them on. They did help, but you knew there was no way you were going to avoid a rebound headache today. Realizing that Sungchan might actually have been genuinely asking and wasn’t just trying to be polite, you decided to give him a sincere answer as well. “Uh, my meds, my blood pressure cuff, earplugs, sunglasses, some snacks, other miscellaneous non-migraine related stuff like an umbrella.”

“Blood pressure cuff?” He stopped in front of a sedan parked on the street, and opened the passenger door for you.

Even through your unpleasant migraine hangover, you couldn’t help the giddy smile that crossed your lips at the gesture.

Once the both of you were in the car, you explained, “One of my medications affects my blood pressure. I have to check it every few hours, or whenever I feel kind of funny. That’s partially what the snacks are for too.”

“Really?” He started the car and pulled out into the street.

“Most of my meds I need to take with food, so keeping snacks on me makes it easy. The sweet ones are in case my blood sugar drops though.”

“Blood sugar too?”

“A different medication affects my appetite, secondary effect is on my blood sugar. Fun fact, it’s the same one that keeps me from drinking alcohol. Anyway, if you’re ever craving something sweet, I keep gummies and stuff on me usually.”

Sungchan let out a deep breath. “Wow…”

“Oh and water.” You perked up as you realized you’d forgotten something, and reached in for said item. “I've got my water bottle. I need water to take my meds, obviously, but I also need to drink water to make sure I don’t get kidney stones from my medication.”

The car had stopped at a stoplight, and he looked over at you in disbelief. “What the fuck.”

“Hey, it’s this or be entirely unable to participate in society.” You explained. “I used to get five or six migraines a week, with really bad or mild headaches constantly in between. I couldn’t do anything, they were disabling. Clearly, they still are now when I do get them, but I only get one or two a month.”

“I can’t imagine— I… yeah…” He trailed off as the light turned green, a deep frown etching itself on his features as he clearly was trying to imagine what a huge shift in his life that would be. And was having a hard time doing so.

“People without chronic illnesses usually can’t, until they get one,” you shrugged. “I know I couldn’t imagine it either. Then I got my first migraine. Then my second, and my third. I think the ‘chronic illness’ part really hit for me when I had to order my first sharps disposal bin for the monthly injections I take.”

“You’re…”

“Do not say that I’m so strong or any live laugh love type shit right now.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “No, no, not what I was going to say. I was just thinking… you’re really cool.”

“I just info-dumped about my migraines, medication, medication side effects, and treatment to you for ten minutes straight and that’s the conclusion you came to?” You asked in disbelief as he pulled into your apartment complex, and it dawned on you just how long you had been talking about yourself for. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been that detailed with someone other than your neurologist or your mom about your condition and treatment.

Sungchan put his car in park to turn and look you in the eye. “I’m looking at the bigger picture here: You’re a Lit major, you like Gothic fiction, you’re good at writing, you’re smart and know things like death of the author and stuff, you like Pacific Rim, you’ve come to one of my games, you’re funny, and you just info-dumped to me about something personal for ten minutes. So yes, I think you’re cool. Actually, cool might be an understatement.”

“Jung Sungchan, you…” Your cheeks were hurting with how wide you were grinning. Whether it was the migraine hangover or truly from how warm and happy his words made you, you couldn’t formulate a proper response, “Congrats, I’m speechless.”

“I think that's good?” He laughed again. “Anyway, you told Jeno earlier that you felt like shit, so I won’t hold you up anymore. Rest well today, Y/N.”

“Thanks. You too, Sungchan.” You wrapped your hand around the door handle but stopped just short of actually opening it. “Oh, and uhm, I don’t know if this too eager or whatever, but I’m free tomorrow.”

His face lit up with recognition at what you were implying. “Me too. But are you going to be okay? Like, recovered?”

“Yeah, I’ve got all day today to sleep it off.”

“Okay.” He grinned.

“Okay.” You repeated. “Text me?”

“Yes, yes. I will.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

And with that, you got out of his car, making sure to take your go bag that had been on your lap for the whole drive.

Halfway to your front door, you turned around to give Sungchan a final wave goodbye, and he waved back through the windshield. Once you’d finally disappeared into your apartment, he looked over at his now empty passenger seat. Well, not completely empty, he realized. Your witch hat was on the floor of the passenger side, you’d forgotten to grab it on your way out. He picked it up, gently setting it on the seat beside him. He’d just give it back to you when he saw you again for your date tomorrow.

“A date,” Sungchan sighed happily, feeling his chest swell and nearly burst with joy. “A date, a date, a date.”

Putting his car in reverse, he looked through the rear window as he muttered, “Suck an egg, Donghyuck. Man-shaped friend, my ass.”

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 2

Sungchan picked you up at 7:00 p.m. on the dot for your first date. You made sure to take your nighttime meds early and silence your alarms so there was nothing to bother you that night. Migraines notwithstanding, of course. You still had to bring your go bag just in case you needed anything acute, but you didn’t think twice about leaving the majority of it in the car, tucking just a couple individually packaged tablets into your pocket before accepting Sungchan’s hand that he offered to you after opening your car door for you.

Walking into the movie theater with him after he bought your tickets, you were about to start off in the direction that the usher had pointed you when your date stopped you.

“You want anything from concessions?” He nodded towards the long line of other couples, families, and groups of friends.

“I’m not big on overpriced popcorn,” you shook your head with a smile. “Thanks though, Sungchan.”

“You sure you don’t want a soda or candy? How’s your, you know, blood sugar?”

It was then that your polite smile morphed into a genuine, touched one, and you squeezed his hand that you were holding. “I’m doing good, promise. I made sure I ate before. But thank you, seriously. You’re really sweet.”

“Okay, but let me know if you need anything.”

“Sungchan, can I tell you something?” You ducked your head in towards him conspiratorially.

“Yeah, of course.”

You gently shook one side of your jacket, and a muffled rattling sound came from within it. “I snuck a bag of Skittles in,” you whispered to him.

He chuckled as you dropped your jacket back down and smoothed over the inside pocket inconspicuously. “Two steps ahead of me.”

“I just didn’t want to ruin our date if I got low.”

“It’s very thoughtful, thanks.”

“So are you!” You tried to reassure him.

The two of you entered where your movie would be showing, and picked your seats. The previews had already started, so you had to drop your voices to whispers.

“But you’re going to be good with the bright light, and the sounds?” Sungchan double-checked with you.

You nodded insistently. “You’re the one who made me compile a list of stuff that I could do, remember?”

“I know, but you also came to that party knowing that it was like 100% guaranteed to give you a migraine. So I think I’ve earned some skepticism.”

“Okay, fine. You got me there,” you sighed. “But I get nothing out of suggesting things that will give me migraines other than cutting our time together short. Which I don’t want to do.”

Sungchan shifted in his seat, and when you looked over at him, you could see a small, bashful smile on his face. “Good. Glad we got that cleared up.”

The previews finally ended, and the entire theater quieted down, including you two. You settled in to watch the movie, scooting closer to your date, looping your arm under his, and resting your head on his shoulder. He hesitantly leaned his head against the top of yours.

As you left the theater hand-in-hand with Sungchan, you two were deep in discussion about the movie, and in the back of your mind, you realized with a panic that you had far too much that you wanted to say that wouldn’t fit into the short ride back to your apartment. Not to mention that you didn’t want your night with him to be over yet.

“Hey.” You called for his attention as he opened up the passenger door for you, stopping before you got in the car.

“Hey.” He offered you a lopsided grin, still holding the door open with one hand and now caging you between him and the open car door.

If the parking lot wasn’t literally swarming with other movie theater patrons, you swore you would’ve grabbed him and kissed him stupid right there and then. But a family of five walked by at that moment, so you swallowed down the itch.

“We should go somewhere,” you suggested, trying to sound equal parts nonchalant and hopeful. Which was a weird combination, you knew, but you didn’t want to come across as too desperate. Again, a ridiculous sentiment, but it was engrained in you with social conditioning or whatever.

“We just went somewhere,” he pointed out knowingly, and you swore that was a smirk that you spotted on his face in the shadowy lighting afforded by the parking lot streetlamps.

“We should go somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, despite how desperate you felt on the inside to just be around him right now. “Somewhere. Are you hungry?”

“Are you?”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. “Well—”

Finally, he smiled, nodded towards the car, and said, “I know somewhere. Get in.”

Sungchan closed the car door after you before walking around to get into the driver’s side. He didn’t offer you any information or clues as to your new destination as he left the movie theater parking lot. The hockey captain drove with one hand casually holding the bottom of the steering wheel, the other tapping out the rhythm of whatever song was playing over his speakers onto his thigh. You dragged your eyes from his fingers to the passing scenery.

Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a good date. Even the last date you’d been on was a distant memory. Lunch with some CompSci major your freshman year, a blind date set up by a mutual acquaintance. He just talked over you the whole time. You didn’t deign to go on a second date with him. It wasn’t that your migraines made it impossible to date—they hadn’t even come up at the date with the CompSci major (mostly because he didn’t give you the opportunity to say much of anything)—but you knew that it was always going to be something to get out of way. Either up front or at some point down the line. And it was exhausting enough for you to have to completely restructure your life around them, how could you really ask some stranger who barely knew you—or didn’t at all—to consider doing the same? It felt like it just made your dating pool even narrower, an added standard that you didn’t even get to pick.

But with Sungchan, it had happened in the worst way possible, you disappeared on him because you were having a migraine, without even having told him anything about them. And not only was he more than chill about it, he stayed with you through your entire full-blown migraine. Listened to you explain every ailment, medication, and medication complication that you have, and just tucked all that information away to keep track of your wellbeing. Taken it all in stride and made it look easy. And that was before your first date. It almost made you angry. Not at Sungchan, but at the fact that other people had ever made you feel like an inconvenience.

The car slowing to a stop knocked you from your thoughts, and you didn’t even realize that you had been silent for the entire trip. Sungchan didn’t seem to mind, though, as he hadn’t tried to start a conversation either. He put the car in park as you looked around, trying to gauge where exactly you were.

“Are we… on campus?” You turned to him with an eyebrow raised.

He was already out of the car, though, jogging around to get your door. As he opened it for you, he tilted his head innocently, “What was that?”

You stepped out, taking in your surroundings. “Are we at a campus parking garage?”

“Specifically, the top floor of Evergreen Parking Garage,” Sungchan clarified, rolling the passenger window down.

Evergreen Parking Garage was a commuter-only parking facility, meaning that this level was empty this late at night. It was also located at the furthest reaches of the north block of campus, which bordered a nature preserve, meaning that while on one side was your university campus, the other side was entirely evergreen trees. Hence the name.

Sungchan had parked on the side that faced the nature preserve, and as you turned to question your date as to why exactly he’d taken you to campus, you were instead greeted by the sight of him hunched over to lean into the open passenger window, seemingly messing around with the audio controls of the still-running car.

You tilted your head to one side, then the other as you just watched him struggle for a moment before finally speaking up. “What uh… What are you doing, Sungchan?”

He banged his head on the frame of the window as he went to stand back up. “Fuck! Ow…”

Covering your hand to muffle your giggles, you waited patiently for him to turn around and answer you.

Still clutching his head, he said with a sheepish smile, “Just give me a sec, sorry. Technical difficulties.”

And with that, he opened the door to properly sit in the passenger seat, futzing with his phone and the car radio. Finally, there was music playing from the speakers as opposed to the radio station ads, and he turned the volume up before getting back out of the car and shutting the door. With both the driver and passenger windows rolled down, you could hear the song clearly.

“I was originally going to try to take you to this lookout, but there were other cars there, so I had to keep driving by it and oh my god why did I tell you that—” He scratched the back of his head nervously. “Anyway, since we didn’t get to dance at the party…”

Sungchan offered his hand out to you, and you set yours atop it. The upbeat song that had been playing finished just then, switching to a much slower, softer one. You stepped in closer, smiling up at him as you looped your free arm around his neck. His other hand settled on your hip, and he slowly started leading you in an uncertain sway of sorts.

You let out an airy chuckle, “Was this really the kind of dancing you had in mind for a frat party?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” He questioned.

“Would you believe me if I said that I believed you?”

“No.”

You snickered. “Smart man.”

“But this is good, too. Better, even.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, there’s not a bunch of other drunk, sweaty, loud people everywhere knocking into us. I don’t have to worry about somebody spilling beer on me, or other guys looking at you, or the DJ picking something bad. Or you getting a migraine.” Sungchan slotted his fingers with yours. “I just get to think about you.”

You rested your head on his chest, eyes zoning out on your linked hands. It was his right hand, so his pinky finger couldn’t quite fold down along with the others. “Yeah. I like this, too,” you agreed softly.

A cool breeze gently blew across your cheek that wasn’t resting on Sungchan’s chest, and you were glad for the warmth of him pressed against your front. Your feet awkwardly bumped into each other, making you chuckle, and he apologized with a nervous laugh.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I haven’t exactly taken any ballroom dancing classes. Have you?”

“Well...”

You jerked your head back to look him in the face. “You have?”

“You know how Greek life has those formals every year?”

“You’re not in a frat...”

“No, I’m not. But freshman year, Nu Chi had pitched in for this dance teacher and— God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Sungchan said regretfully, tilting his head back to look up in embarrassment.

“Sungchan, come on!” You pleaded.

“Hendery swore me to secrecy...”

“Well now you have to tell me!”

“Hendery’s date couldn’t make it to one of the lessons, so he asked me to fill in for her...”

Your jaw dropped with delight, “Was his date an Amazon? How did that work? He couldn’t have possibly dipped you! Or twirled you!”

“She was taller than him, to be fair,” he admitted. “Nothing that couldn’t be adjusted for with some thick soles, but, you know...”

“You’re such a good friend, Sungchan,” you said through a couple of giggles, imagining the two of them attempting the aforementioned twirls and dips.

He dropped his head, shaking it. “Right, thanks.”

“So I guess I should be leading then, hm?” You teased, your feet bumping his again in that moment.

“I feel like you’d lead us over the edge of this parking deck, Y/N,” he joked.

Before you could make a retort, he stepped back from you to gently twirl you around by the hand, and a cross between a surprised yelp and a laugh tumbled from your mouth. As he brought you back into his chest, you could barely think over the joyful buzzing in your head that resonated out to every square inch of your body.

“Okay, okay, I guess you can lead,” you surrendered, looping your arm back around his neck again.

After some time, the songs had picked up tempo again, but you and Sungchan were long past actually dancing to them. You were more so just holding each other, leisurely swaying, and from here you got to listen to the sounds of his breathing. He’d taken to rubbing absentminded circles into your hip with his thumb, and the fingers of your arm that was around his neck had dipped below the material of his collar, resting on his bare skin.

“Sungchan?” You murmured.

“Yes?” He responded, his voice rumbling right under your ear.

“Thank you for not making me do this in front of a bunch of other cars at the other lookout.”

He let out a couple quiet laughs, his chest shaking with each. “You’re welcome. I figured all of the teens making out in their cars also didn’t want to watch us do this either.”

You mock gasped, pretending to sound scandalized, “You were going to take me to a lover’s lookout? On the first date? Jung Sungchan…”

“Who are you, my grandma? Nobody calls it that anymore.” He pinched your side. “And only because it’s actually got a great view over the city and—”

“I’m kidding, Sungchan.” You pinched him back, lightly, on the nape of the neck. “Besides, I wouldn’t have been opposed to a trip to a lover’s lookout with you anyway…”

You heard the breath hitch in his throat, then Sungchan swallowed and inhaled through his nose, before he finally spoke, “Really?”

His grip on your hip tightened, sending a bolt of electricity along your skin out from the contact point. You brought your head out of his chest and used your arm around his neck to draw him in even closer.

“Really,” you echoed, blatantly staring at his lips now that they were centimeters away from yours. “And it looks like we’ve got our own right here.”

Then Sungchan was using his hold on your hip to push you back step by step until your back was against the side of his car. Your own arm around his neck kept him anchored to you as he stood hovering over you, blotting out any light that would’ve come from the light post above you. Your noses were almost touching, your breaths mingling in the negligible space between your mouths. You were looking at Sungchan’s eyes now, usually a warm, deep brown, now all inky blackness in the dark of night, and staring down at your own mouth. Your tongue instinctually darted out to wet your lips, and that seemed to be the final straw.

His mouth on yours was desperate, but not desperate to get laid, like your previous lover’s lookout banter might imply. Like he was just desperate for you. He stole kiss after kiss from your lips, but never forced his tongue into your mouth, nor moved his hands anywhere else. Despite leaning more and more of his weight forward onto you, utterly pinning you to the car, he kept his bruising grip on your hip and never let go of your hand.

You parted your mouth with a bedraggled gasp of his name, and he finally took this as an invite to slip his tongue into the mix. You shifted to rest the hand that was laced with his above your head, on the roof of the sedan, giving his hand a squeeze. He squeezed your hand back.

Turning your head and breaking the kiss, you hoped he’d get the idea as you continued laying there half-spread out under him. He did, thankfully, kissing from the corner of your mouth across your cheek and down your jaw and neck.

“Sung…chan…” You breathed out his name, stroking the back of his head with your free hand as his lips latched onto a spot at the base of your neck.

Trailing your hand down further, you snuck it up under the hem of his shirt, feeling over the expanse of his chest and stomach. Oh fuck yeah, hockey players. You pulled the article of clothing up towards his head insistently, and he detached from your neck for the two of you to jointly strip him of it. Oh fuck yeah, hockey players. You truly didn’t know if he looked or felt better, but you couldn’t ogle him for long, because he was back on top of you as soon as he’d thrown the shirt into the front seat via the open passenger window beside you. His lips were so warm on yours, his skin even hotter under your touch now as you unabashedly felt up every inch of it and the muscles underneath.

But soon that wasn’t enough either, and you were fumbling at his pants button. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating down into your own chest, as his hand snapped around your wrist.

“Ahh…” He hissed regretfully.

“What?” You looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I can’t get my dick out in public.”

You glanced at the car behind you, with its tinted windows, then back at Sungchan. He met your eyes, then shrugged. “That’ll work.”

It was a mad scramble to get the door to the backseat open, so much so that you accidentally smacked Sungchan in the leg with said door. After lots of apologies through giggles, both of you were in the backseat with the doors closed and locked. Sungchan had the task of awkwardly reaching forward over the console to roll the windows back up first, during which you made a couple observations about his backseat, which you hadn’t seen much of before. His practice bag for hockey was back here—which was different than his gear bag, as you’d already been told. The gear bag actually had his equipment that he needed to play with like mouth guards, sticks, and all of that, while his practice bag had more personal stuff like changes of clothes or hygiene products. You figured his gear bag was either in the trunk or at the rink, as he didn’t always need to carry it back and forth with him. But other than the practice bag and a couple of reusable grocery bags on the floor, the backseat was pretty clean. You were genuinely impressed, especially because he made it sound like he tended to chauffeur a lot of his teammates/roommates around frequently.

Sungchan eventually reentered the backseat fully, focusing a content, closed-lip smile on you. You’d taken it upon yourself to lay down on the seat, your knees propped up by your feet. He settled in to kneel on the same cushion as your feet, but just rested an arm on your knees and his chin atop that forearm to gaze down at you, still smiling.

“What? What’s that smile for?” You asked, starting to feel a bit self-conscious.

“Nothing, I just—” He reached both his hands out towards you, fingers spread, and you got the idea, linking yours with them. “I hope you don’t get the wrong idea. I want this to be a real thing, Y/N. Like, I don’t just want to sleep with you. I don’t even do this kind of stuff—car sex on the first date in a campus parking garage?—literally ever. I’m just kinda crazy about you. I know for most people usually it’s the opposite; you know, they save it for later for really important people. They try to make it special, but I know it’ll be special just because it’s you.”

“Sungchan... I’ve never done something like this either,” you admitted, squeezing both of his hands tight. “I think I’m just kinda crazy about you too.”

“Okay. Cool.” He beamed at you, and you felt your insides turn to mush in that moment. You didn’t think they’d ever un-mush again.

“Now can you please take my clothes off before I spontaneously combust?”

“Fuck. Yeah.” He nodded, immediately turning serious as his brow furrowed and he leaned forward to lock his lips with yours again, propping himself up with one hand to hover above you.

You let your knees fall apart to give him room to settle in between your legs. He pulled at your jacket first, and you sat up to help yank it off, dropping it to the floor with his practice bag. With you no longer laying down, he could use two hands to get the next part, your top. His fingertips skimmed along your skin as he grabbed the hem. You broke the kiss so he could start pulling the clothing up your body—

A loud knock against the driver’s side window quite literally made you scream, and Sungchan jerked up and hit his head once again, this time on the roof of the car. You tugged your shirt back down to cover you, ducking to lay flat on the seat as Sungchan looked at you with panic in his eyes.

Another knock came at the window, this time accompanied by a man’s voice, “Campus security! Roll the window down or I’m going to ask you to turn the car off and step out!”

“Just a second!” Sungchan yelled back, a noticeable crack in his voice. He had a difficult time maneuvering his lanky body over the console fully into the driver’s seat again.

“Now!” The man called out again. “Three! Two!”

Sungchan didn’t have time to put on his shirt before ‘one,’ and he rushed to roll the window down. A flashlight was immediately shone into the car, and you didn’t doubt your own visibility to the security officer. You were remaining laying down for your own mental wellbeing at this point. You didn’t think that you could deal with looking this man in the eye right now.

You didn’t know if it was wisdom or embarrassment that kept your date from saying anything, but he thankfully didn’t speak until spoken to, not offering up any incriminating information. After five entire seconds of silence, the officer let out an audible sigh.

“No overnight parking in this garage,” he said, his tone making it very clear that he knew that was not what was going on. “I’ll be back in five minutes and if you’re still here, you’re getting a ticket.”

“Yes, sir,” Sungchan replied.

“I’m sure that the captain of our hockey team wouldn’t want to get put on probation at the beginning of the season.”

“N-No, sir.” His voice cracked again.

The security officer grunted, but said nothing more. You heard Sungchan roll the window back up, then the sound of another car driving away. Slowly, Sungchan turned around to look at you over the console with wide, horrified eyes.

“He knew who I was…” He whispered. “That was the most terrifying 45 seconds of my life.”

“You’re famous, Sungchan,” you teased, sitting up in the backseat now that the coast was clear.

“Yeah, and fame has got so many perks so far.”

“Almost got into your first scandal already.” You clicked your tongue disapprovingly. “Caught with a girl in your backseat. What will the fans say?”

“Considering my fans are all frat bros, probably something along the lines of wolf whistles and incoherent, congratulatory lewd jeering.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, able to picture that perfectly considering you’d already gotten a taste at the first home game you’d gone to. “Sounds about right.”

“Anyway, I should take you home before that guy comes back.”

“Good idea.” You slipped your jacket back on.

“Are you going to come up here or am I your chauffeur?”

“I suppose I’ll sit up there with you,” you sighed, opening the backseat to get out and into the front normally since there was no security man around.

Back in the passenger seat, you handed Sungchan’s shirt back to him, “Here, have some decency. You’re the captain of the hockey team, you know.”

“I’m sorry, who was going to spontaneously combust if we didn’t get naked in the next 0.2 seconds?” He scoffed, pulling his top back on.

“I don’t recall.”

“Sure.”

“And who’s still hard in their jeans right now?”

“Don’t remind me, I have to drive like this,” he groaned, taking the car out of park with a shake of his head.

As Sungchan drove with one hand, the other reached over to take yours, lacing his fingers together with yours.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6

Just a few days later, and you were at the rink again, eagerly watching the hockey game in front of you. Chenle was beside you, continuing his constant sports commentary on every play that happened. You still mostly tuned it out, but you were pretty sure you at least understood most of the basic rules that Taeyong had explained to you before. You kept your eyes on Sungchan, cheering him on along with the other various Nu Chi brothers around you and other fans in the stands. It wasn’t as full of a house as it had been for the first home game, but you were perfectly content to have a slightly quieter environment.

Sungchan happened to skate by your section as everyone was resetting their positions, giving you a wave through the clear barrier. You gave him a slightly bashful but nevertheless bright grin as you waved back.

“So are you two like... dating now?” Hendery asked from your other side, leaned forward with both of his elbows on his knees as he watched the game. He looked back at you over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin, though, one that made you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know. We’ve been on a date. I mean, there was the Halloween party, but I got a migraine so I don’t think that really counts, so— I don’t have to explain myself to you!” You scowled at him, shoving him away by his shoulder.

He laughed as he let himself get jostled around in his seat from the push, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just curious. Unlike your bestie over there, I think you two are adorable.”

“What?” You looked over at Chenle, who Hendery had pointed at.

Chenle had apparently been listening enough to be able to jump in to defend himself. “It’s not what it sounds like. I think you two are great, promise.”

You turned back to your other friend. “Then what the hell are you talking about, Hendery?”

“He just doesn’t want to lose,” the Nu Chi member explained. “I pegged Sungchan’s huge crush on you on day 1 of Dr. Son’s class. Once the Phanta Phour stuff started, I knew that boy had no chance. Chenle just didn’t think you’d ever... hold on, how’d he put it... be into uh, ‘Neanderthal frat-bro-in-law types.’”

“I was maybe a bit tipsy...” Chenle added in.

“So you made a bet on if Sungchan and I would get together? In four whole years?” You looked from left to right between them.

“Loser has to buy winner a 12-pack,” Hendery confirmed with that same grin. “When Phantasmagorical Phriday ended this year, I really thought I’d lost. But then you turned up at the game last week and I figured Sungchan just might score himself a buzzer beater.”

“You two need to get better hobbies,” you declared with a snort.

“This so counts as sudden-death OT, but whatever,” Chenle scoffed under his breath.

You smacked him across the chest. “And don’t call my dating life ‘sudden death’ either.”

“Hey.” He said softly, grabbing your arm, and you turned your head to meet his gaze. “I really was worried about you going to the Halloween party with your head. I swear.”

“I know, LeLe,” you nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “You did some great wingmanning once we got there.”

The brief flash of sincerity you got from your best friend was over as quick as it had come, as you heard the crash of helmets on the ice, and both your focuses were drawn back to the game. Two players had collided into each other and the clear barrier right in front of your faces. You grimaced sympathetically as you tried to identify the player from your team. 23— Jeno, ah, he’d be alright. And you were right, he took off almost immediately as the other guy was left behind still dazed.

At the end of the game, with the buzz of another win in your veins and the anticipation of seeing Sungchan thrumming along your skin, you bounced on your heels as you waited in the lobby. You weren't paying attention to the ecstatic, dramatic recollections that Chenle and the Nu Chi brothers were giving of specific plays around you, your gaze entirely focused on the locker room exit.

The very first player to leave was Sungchan, his eyes already scanning the crowd. Without a second thought, you darted over to him, ignoring the couple of whoops and whistles you two got from your friends.

Sungchan beamed down at you as he went to pull you into a hug, and you were immediately enveloped in the smell of the freshly washed clothes that you’d caught last time. This time, though, there was the distinct, crisp smell of ice rink ice under it as well, reminding you of when you’d go ice skating with friends.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him as he let you go, but didn’t step back very far. “You played really good again. I’m pretty sure. A bit more sure than I was last time.”

He was still grinning, looking down at the floor then back up at you before he responded, “Thank you. And I don’t really expect you to become a hockey pro or anything if all that doesn’t interest you. As long as you don’t expect me to remember what death of the author is.”

“This was only my second game, have some faith in me!” You cried out indignantly. “And no, I don’t expect you to become a full-blown literary critic either.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized through a couple of poorly suppressed giggles. “I do believe in you. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to learn boring sports stuff for me.”

“I do want to be able to follow the basics of a game without Chenle or Taeyong annotating it for me, at least.”

“Oh, yeah, you can definitely do that. Might need to come to a few more games, though...”

You nodded giddily. “Just let me know when the home games are and I’m there.”

“Yo!” A voice had called from the gaggle of guys heading towards the exit. You didn’t even realize that the rest of the team had left the locker room in the time that you’d been talking to Sungchan.

While you couldn’t tell who had gotten your attention, it was Donghyuck that asked, “Are you two coming or are you just going to keep making moony eyes at each other all night?”

“Yeah, Sungchan, you’re our ride!” Yangyang yelled out from somewhere.

“DD!” Jeno cheered.

“I’ll drive you two,” Mark offered with a shake of his head.

“Shotgun!” The two of them immediately dibs-ed in unison.

“Sorry, bitches, I’m his little,” Donghyuck declared. “That means eternal dibs on shotgun in Mark’s car.”

The frat president scoffed, “You only give a shit about that when it directly benefits you.”

“You guys go ahead,” Sungchan cut into their bickering. “We’re right behind you.”

After they had all filed out, he looked back down at you, a nervous smile worming across his face. “Sorry about that...”

“It’s okay,” you said. “So... you ready to go?”

The two of you had already discussed going to the after-game celebrations with the team before this. Sungchan texted you last night to check in and make sure you’d be okay with going from the loud game to a noisy bar/pool hall with a bunch of frat guys after. You’d assured him that you’d be okay as long as you sat away from any music speakers at the bar, and he’d in turn made you promise to tell him if you needed to leave early.

However, he now halted you as you were slowly turning towards the exit. “Wait, I want to try this again.”

With a sneaking suspicion of what he was about to do, you assured him, “Sungchan, you don’t have to—”

“Let me do this. Please.” He gave you those same eyes that had convinced you to go to a frat party in the first place, and you were squaring your shoulders back to face him, giving him a firm nod.

“Okay. Go for it.”

He asked casually, “So, did you drive yourself?”

You had to hold back a laugh, covering your mouth to straighten your face before replying coyly, “Oh, me? I walked. My apartment is close.”

“So, the team all goes out to this bar after home games. It’s a pretty sleazy dive bar, and I know it’s a Thursday night, but I’d really like for you to come with me. I’ll buy you a... soda.”

“I would love to come, Sungchan,” you giggled, adjusting your purse strap.

“Awesome,” he grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

As you walked up to the passenger side of his car with him, you suddenly realized something. “Wait, did you have your car last time, too?”

“Maybe?” He rubbed the back of his neck, reaching for the door handle to open it for you.

“Then why did you walk me home?”

“To spend more time with you?”

You stole a quick kiss before ducking into the passenger seat.

Squished into one side of a booth with Sungchan’s arm around you, you chatted happily with Chenle, Ten, and Sicheng, who were sitting opposite from you. The team and cheer section were spread out between a couple booths and tables near each other, a few of them up playing pool too. You sipped on your soda between discussions about tonight’s game, upcoming games, classes, or whatever else struck you all. Currently, you were locked in a conversation with Ten about the most recent assigned reading in a class that you two shared together this semester.

“I thought that scene had a lot of great allusions back to the earlier one with her mother and the pie baking,” you gushed.

“Really?” Ten tilted his head curiously. “I was seeing it more as a continuation of the cannibalism-sex-love metaphor, since they were eating figs, you know.”

You nodded knowingly. “That’s true. Everything’s about sex—”

“Except sex.” You two finished quoting your professor in unison.

“And then with figs, there’s the Bible interpretation, of course,” you continued.

“Always the Bible.”

“We can never escape what John Milton did for Christian fanfiction, truly.”

“But I do like the pie scene connection the more that I think about it, actually.” Ten knocked back the rest of his cocktail. “And, tying her mother into the cannibalism metaphor could be a fascinating angle, too.”

Your eyes widened as you were practically vibrating your seat with excitement now. “Yeah, her earliest memory being of food, parental love, and harm...”

“Anyway, I need a refill.” Your friend shook his glass of ice with a smile. “Be back. Good chat as always, Y/N.”

Chenle and Sicheng scooted out of the booth to let Ten out, the former heading off towards the restrooms while the co-captain followed his roommate to the bar, leaving just you and Sungchan. You continued musing over the new connections you’d just made in the text as you turned your gaze back over to Sungchan beside you. He was already looking at you, a fond half-smile on his face.

“Hi.” He said quietly.

“Hi,” you replied, just as quiet.

Sungchan took a swig of his drink, then eyed yours. “You haven’t drunk any water since we get here.”

He’d been sure to not only order your promised soda of choice, but also water, and as you now looked over at your two cups, you could tell that the water had not been touched at all while the soda was practically empty.

“Oh uh, I guess I haven’t.”

“Drink some.” He pushed it towards you insistently. “Can’t have you getting kidney stones on my watch.”

“Okay, okay.” You acquiesced easily, switching your straw over to that glass and chugging a quarter of it in one go. “Better?”

“Much.” He nodded in satisfaction. “So what were you and Ten saying about pies and sex or whatever? Sex isn’t about sex?”

“Oh, it’s just something one of our professors says a lot. ‘Everything is about sex except sex.’ For lit analysis. In literature, pretty much everything is about sex. Or can be. You can turn like, anything in a piece of text into an innuendo or euphemism if you wanted to. Except for sex. Like, if a sex scene is included in a piece of literature, it’s not actually about the sex that’s being depicted. The sex is meant to represent something else. Like politics, or social structures, or whatever other themes are present in the work. Unless you’re just reading porn. But even then, there’s artistic merit to erotica, and plenty to be learned about the social structures at the time it was written, too.”

Sungchan hadn’t blinked the entire time you’d been rambling on, and upon you finally stopping, blinked in rapid succession as he seemed to come to from a daze. “Wow. Uh, interesting. Filing that away with death of the author.”

“Sungchan...” You leaned in to whisper, placing a hand on the inside of his thigh, just above his knee. His leg jumped, knocking his knee into the tabletop. Your hand had narrowly avoided being smashed too, saved only by its position curled around his leg instead of directly on top. You didn’t move it up or down now though, simply tapping your index finger against the loose material of his sweatpants as you giggled. “What are you thinking about?”

He cleared his throat a couple of times. “How you still have three-quarters of that glass of water left to drink.”

You laughed, slumping to relax into his side and pulling your hand back up to a more casual position on top of his leg. With your other hand, you grabbed your water. “Alright, fine.”

Not too long after your water had been drained, Sungchan was driving you home. Some of your other friends had taken off as well, and you didn't put up too much of a protest when he offered. As your familiar building came into view, you suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, visitor’s parking is over there. Sorry, forgot to mention before.” You pointed to a few parking spots painted with yellow lines instead of white, further away from the apartment entrances than the resident parking. “They’re a bit picky. Chenle got towed after like, five minutes one time.”

“Got it. Thanks.” Sungchan smoothly turned the wheel to pull into one of the open visitor’s spots.

Your reason for showing it to him was two-fold. One, to let him know you hoped he’d be coming over more often, so he’d need that information for future reference. And two, for perhaps less innocent ulterior motives tonight. Truly, your apartment complex only towed people after dark. Overnight visitors. Chenle’s five-minute tow had been a fluke.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said with no prompting, and you had to hold in a sigh of relief.

Instead, you gave him a genuine smile. “Thanks, Sungchan.”

“I don’t think I thanked you for coming tonight. To the game.” He slowly meandered up the sidewalk with you, hand holding yours.

“Thanks for inviting me again. I had a lot of fun.” You squeezed his hand.

Your front door loomed in the not-so-distant distance.

“Uh, are you busy this weekend?” He rushed to ask. “I have Saturday morning practice, at 7:30, but it’s over at 9:00, and after that I’m free.”

So that’s why he had texted you at seven in the morning to congratulate you on winning Phantasmagorical Phriday.

“No, I’m not busy. I’d love to do something, just pick from the list I sent you. Surprise me, hm?”

“Will do.”

You were finally on your front welcome mat, and watched his face fall as he seemed to be drawing a blank about how else to prolong your night. But you had an idea.

You didn’t let an alarm or anything else possibly have the chance to interrupt you, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his mouth down to yours. He stumbled forward at you suddenly yanking him off-balance, catching himself with one hand on your front door and the other on your doorframe. Then, he dropped a hand to the small of your back, drawing you in even closer as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

Disconnected just enough to murmur against his lips, you asked, “Do you want to come in?”

“Please?” He replied with a nearly sheepish chuckle.

“So polite,” you quipped.

You gave him one more peck before turning around to unlock your door and drag him in by the arm.

➠ sequel | series masterlist | blog masterlist

[goldessia]

RUINED REPUTATION — k. bkg x assistant reader

sum. katsuki bakugo is the #1 professional hero. because of this, he built an agency, and wound up hiring an assistant to help him with publicity and to do majority of his paperwork for him... something he didn’t expect was for that assistant to be so damn attractive.

warnings. injury, intoxication, makeouts, smut!mdni (in future chapters!)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (wip)

a/n. haii! thanks for tuning in for the second chapter :) hope you like this so far! not proofread — let me know if there’s any mistakes!

tag list: @lovra974 , @gold24fish, @bkgirl, @bigsimpo343 , @missyaess

“i.. i didn’t know where else to go.”

…

here he was, dynamight himself, standing in-front of my front door with blood pooling his shirt.

i sputter. what do i even say in this situation? my boss was at my front door, looking intoxicated and like he was near to death.

“sir?” i say in nearly a whisper, “what.. what are you doing here?”

he groaned, and i couldn’t tell if it was from pain or not. “stop.. stop calling me that.” he huffs, clutching the doorframe harder, the wood sizzling.

“sorry—“ i catch myself, “um, dynamight.”

“don’t call me that shit either.” he stares me in the eye as he says, “just.. just call me katsuki. ‘don’t care.”

i meekly nod. we’re on a first name basis now?

not wanting my doorframe to burn off, i take his hand off my doorframe and sling his arm around my shoulders. when he leans his weight onto me, i nearly collapse but manage to keep myself composed.

to think we were just talking about him merely a few hours ago, and now he’s here, as if we summoned him like some sort of demon.

.. well, demon isn’t too far off.

i shut the door behind me, katsuki’s feet stumbling as i try to lead him towards the bathroom where i kept my medical aid.

i guess my year trying to be a nurse is paying off before i switched majors, as i still have the supplies and knowledge i gained from it.

“what the hell happened?” i ask, voice low as to not wake my un-suspecting roommate.

“ts’ guy at a bar, nggh!” he hisses as we drop a step, his hand unintentionally pushing farther into his wound. i mutter an apology.

he’s breathing heavily, like he’s gasping for air. i can feel his biceps clench with every walk we take, his sharp exhale at every step he as to walk on his left-injured side.

clearing my throat, i prompt, “guy at a bar?”

“had a.. a fuckin mouth onim’.” he says heavily, “put that pussy in his place.”

if dynamight is this bad.. i wonder how the guy he was fighting was looking like right now.

“as your assistant.. fuck you for causing another scene.” i say, kicking open the bathroom door, “as your temporary.. friend, good for you.”

i cringe at the word friend. friend seems weird — off.

“good for me, my ass.” he hisses as i place him against the counter, pushing his torso to tell him to sit.

he does.

the reality of the situations continues to dawn on me; my boss is in my house, in my proximity that i live in everyday. i shower in this very bathroom. it felt.. weird.

i clear my throat, trying to ignore the butterflies of anxiousness in my stomach.

“katsuki,” i test, the name unfamiliar on my tongue, “take off your shirt.” from my peripheral vision, i can see him smirk. i send a look his way, face flushing in embarrassment.

“not like.. like that.” i stutter, “‘just take off your damn shirt.”

he stares at me, blinks, then tuts his tongue and says—“yes, ma’am.”—weak, shaken hands gripping the end of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one clean move.

it both irritates me and confuses me how simply he had done it.

he drops it in the floor, too weak to care where he put it—conveniently on my brand new white bathmat.

i try to ignore how it irritates me.

“i’ll buy you.. a new one.” he breathes, falling back against the marble wall, touching a hand to the wound on his stomach and hissing a breath through his teeth.

i rummage through the drawer of supplies, purposefully avoiding looking his way out of respect — and for my own sanity.

luckily, sutures was the unit we last worked on before i switched majors, meaning the information was still fairly fresh in my mind.

taking a step closer to the hero, i smell a waft of alcohol seep off of his skin. whiskey, no doubt.

i clear my throat. “i didn’t peg you for a whiskey guy.” i say, hoping to clear some of the overwhelming awkwardness.

he grimaces when i touch an alcohol pad around the wound, cleaning the dried blood surrounding the cut.

“i’m any typa’ guy on the right occasion.” he gives a toothy grin as he says this, abs flexing from my touch.

i blink. finally meeting his eyes, i realize just how close our bodies were, my hands on his torso, standing between his legs as he sits on the counter.

i knew he was supposed to be fit considering his work involved constantly pushing his body to the brink, but man.

he was toned, abs chiseled, biceps molded and flexing with every touch to his wound. his body resembled that of a god, and even if his body was bruised and broken it still looked perfect.

his eyes are piercing, ruby-bright red paired with a shiny, toothy grin placed between his lips.

“whatcha starin’ at, hm?” he slurs. i can feel the breathe from his lips.

my eyes flick away. i murmur a, “..nothing”, clearing my throat and picking up the needle to suture the wound. "so.. what happened for you to get this wound?"

"you're really beautiful, y'know that?" katsuki breathes, eyes scanning over my face.

"what?" i flush, momentarily freezing.

he chuckles, the scent of alcohol seeping over my face as he breathes out, "everyday, when you show up in those outfits ya got.. drives me insane.."

i am unsure what to do. staring into katsuki's eyes, i can see he's totally out of it; he doesn't mean any of this, it's just the alcohol talking!

.. then again, drunk words are sober thoughts.

i scoff, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as i rip my gaze away. "you're drunk, katsuki," slowly, i am getting used to the name, "you're just talking nonesense."

"i'd never lie t' a pretty girl like you." he says, leaning closer, dangerously close. "anyone ever tell ya you got the most beautiful eyes?"

he reaches a hand toward me, tipping my chin up to look at him, rough and calloused hands scraping against the skin across my jaw.

suddenly, the room is too hot, his touch is too hot and i can feel myself slowly going insane. i find myself wanting more, more, his hands all over--

no! what the hell am i saying, he's drunk, and unlike himself. once he sobers up, he'll realize how stupid his words were.

but oh, his touch was addicting.

"katsuki.." i whisper, feeling his hand slowly move across my collarbone. he leans toward me, his lips resting over my ear, his breath on my skin flowing down my neck. so warm, so soothing.

"y'know, everyday when you show up in them' jeans ya wear.." he inhales, the sound loud in my ear, "makes me so fucking turned on."

i take a deep breath, trying to compose myself, trying to resist; he wouldn't want this, not if he were sober.

i swallow, "katsuki." i say with more certainty.

"mm, say that again." he rasps, kissing just below my ear with such gentleness i am surprised. his lips are hot, wet, his tongue dragging softly over my skin. i feel my body heat up, having to lean against the counter because i was afraid my legs would give out.

resist. resist, all you have to do is push away.

"you.. you wouldn't want this if you were sober." i huff, my face a bright, hot pink of fluster.

a chuckle comes from his chest, "this is all i want when i'm sober. all i can think 'bout, girl."

he pulls away from my neck, and i sigh in relief before opening my eyes to see him right in-front of me. his hand grabs my chin, slanting my head to the side, waiting painfully close as if to wait for me to make the first move.

and i know it's bad. the cliche of bosses sleeping with their assistants always irked me, and considering i was an assistant for dynamight i never considered he would ever sleep with me.

but now... if what he is saying is true, my predictions were nothing but the complete opposite.

and all i can think is: well, fuck, as i crash my lips against his. his mouth is hot, fiery, just as i assumed it to be. his tongue instantly pushes against mine, teeth grazing each other as our lips meet in a hasty battle.

tongues dancing against each other, i am instantly overwhelmed. kissing has never been this sweet, this passionate with my previous partners. a raw, thick naturalness comes between katsuki and i, as if being this close to one another was simply fate.

"this is.. bad--!" i mutter between the breathes we are forced to take, his hand instead finding my hips and pulling me against the counter. i am forced to stand on my tippy-toes as his other hand finds my hair, grasping it as if to hold him to reality.

i understand that much. i feel like if it weren't for his grasp on my skin, i would simply be in a dream instead of this being a reality.

and if this is a dream, i don't think i want to ever wake up.

i bring a hand up to his torso, my hand accidentally grazing over his wound. he groans into my lips, hand clutching my hair even tighter, yet he doesnt stop his assault to dominate my mouth.

i gasp. he's wounded! what am i thinking?!

gathering all the restraint in my body, i push away from him, my back slamming into the wall behind me. i finally take a breath, heavy pants leaving my mouth as i stare at him.

a groan of frustration leaves his lips, his back falling against the wall. it seemed the dopamine had allowed the affect of the wound to become nothing more than a little thorn in his side, but now that it had run out the pain started coming back.

"please.." katsuki whispers, "'feels better when yer kissing me.."

then, there's a knock on the door.

"y/n? is everything alright in there?" mina's voice comes from outside the door.

i look between katsuki and the door, seeing his love-drunk eyes and his current state; anyone with eyes could see he was aroused, not to mention the prominent boner tenting his pants.

"uh—“ i say, "yeah I’m—i'm okay." i say back, clearing my throat, "jus' go back to bed, mina."

"you sure..? you're talking kinda weird, i'm just gonna come in—“

"no!' i panic, before realizing my tone was still suspicious.

"that' the acid freak from school?" katsuki's brows furrow, "what's that brat doin' here?"

"who's that?!" mina calls from outside the door, "wait.. thats—!"

"OKAY!" i yell in frustration, "i'm opening the door!"

i slowly crack open the door, quickly closing it behind me and leaving katsuki in the bathroom.

mina’s eyes are wide. “what. the fuck. is katsuki bakugo doing in our apartment at three in the morning?!”

i sigh, rubbing a hand over my face, “i don’t know. he just.. he just came to the front door, injured.”

“so.. bring him to the hospital!” mina says in a duh tone.

“how do you think it’d look if his assistant was with him at three in the morning?” i say in a whisper-yell, “look, it’s just a simple cut. i can suture it up, and he’ll be fine by the morning.”

she shifts on her feet, uneasy. “okay. but it still feels weird.”

i run a hand over my face, “yeah, i know. it is weird.”

she eyes me, her head slanting ever so slightly. “are you alright? you look all… flustered..” then, her eyes widen as if in a realization, “wait—!”

before she can speak, i cut her off. “okayimleavingnowbye!” i sputter, rushing toward the bathroom and closing it behind me.

i inhale a deep breath, face flushing at the idea of being caught making out with my boss.

“how about you uh.. do me a favour and stitch me up now, huh, princess?” katsuki smiles as he says this.

i turn to him. “don’t call me that.”

“uh-huh.”

[slytherinshua]

SWORN TO EACH OTHER

genre. fluff. suggestive. takes place after s2 finale but there are minimal spoilers (a little referencing to what uk & yeong do after the finale tho) ++ uk & yeong cameo <3. warnings. making out (like a lot). and yul mysteriously loses one of his robes. a lot of marriage talk and how yul and reader are not married (yet). not proofread. pairing. yul x fem!reader. wc. 1.5k. request. no. a/n. i swear i didn't mean to write another yul fic and esp not another fic with a makeout scene WHOOPS! but the hanbok in aos always got me like so focused like.......... also yes i did research the exact set of hanbok yul was wearing in the finale episode cause i am dedicated to my details!!

Your lover, Seo Yul, never seemed to stop surprising you. Whether it was a new spell, a random piece of knowledge, or something he remembered about you that even you had forgotten about yourself; his ability to care and give far surpassed any other man. Yul was always willing to take a risk— to break the rules just slightly when it came to you. It was the effect you had on him, making his heart ache whenever you were away and his brain thoughtless whenever you were involved. You drove him crazy and he loved every second of it.

Maybe that was how he didn’t protest at all when a simple peck on the lips that was supposed to be discreet turned into a slightly longer kiss. He didn’t pull away when you threaded your hands in his hair to bring him closer to you, nor did he budge when you slipped your tongue past his lips, deepening the kiss to something neither of you had ever dared to try before. You weren’t even engaged yet (though you both knew that you would get married as soon as the opportunity arose). 

You were situated in an empty room in Jeongjingak, both aware that you Uk and Yeong were supposed to arrive at any time, not knowing when their boat might arrive back in Songrim. The room was a bit chilly as the weather was getting cooler, but Yul’s lips burned through any chill that could touch your body. He had you pressed up against a bookshelf, the same spell books that he had studied in his youth used as a rest against your back as he impatiently kissed you, exhausting his breath and any sensible thoughts left in his head. The only thing on his mind was you and, more precisely, your lips. 

How soft they were, how they moulded so perfectly against his. How did you do it? What expensive balm or ointment did you apply to get him so thoroughly addicted to the taste? If there was a way for him to be able to kiss you like this whenever, he would do it in an instant. 

He supposed that the most obvious answer would be to marry you first. And he had half a mind to propose to you right now and find a ring maker the same afternoon without sending word back to Seoho Fortress. He needn’t bother with his father’s approval when he already knew that nothing would sway his mind when it came to you. You were the only woman he would ever consider marrying, and you knew it too by the way he was kissing you. Yul would never give any other woman a chance to get this close to him, not even if she was the prettiest lady in all of Daeho.

The entire time that you had been lost in the kiss— familiarising yourself with another one of life’s pleasures that you had the enjoyment of experiencing for the first time with the first and last man you would give your heart to— you had been feeling the fabric of Yul’s hanbok. It was a light seafoam green with a soft lavender collar on the outer garment. With your wandering hands, and the style of the set (forgoing any ties for the collar or waist), the fabric easily started to slide off of his shoulders. 

Yul could feel what you were doing and the fact that he was about to lose a layer of clothing. You were so sure that he was going to finally tell you to stop when he pulled away from your lips at long last. But, to your surprise, he didn’t. He made eye contact, his eyes shiny with a hint of mischief hidden in them.

“Do you need help, my love?” He asked softly. You were shocked that he seemed so composed, and not even a little bit out of breath, unlike you. You gathered that it had something to do with his breathing technique. 

You nodded, a bit dazed, but still eager to be any closer to Yul as you could. Admittedly, you had some idea of what he was hiding under the elegant sets of hanbok. You hadn’t exactly been slick when hugging him. But you had never actually seen his chest, and just the thought of it had your face heating up and butterflies swarming in your stomach. 

The outer garment slipped off of Yul in seconds, and he tossed it aside on one of the chairs before grasping your waist to pull you closer again. He simply needed your lips on his again as quickly as possible. He had never felt this impatient in his life.

With your lips back on his and his skin just that little bit closer to your fingertips, you were both more than content. All thoughts flew out the window, much like before, until the sudden sound of footsteps made you jerk away from your lover. Yul didn’t register the reason for your unexpected action until he finally saw Uk’s familiar head of short black hair in the doorway. 

Right. Jeongjingak was a public space, and now that Uk and Yeong were back from their months of hunting down Jinyowon relics, they were overdue for a reunion. Yul had been excited to see his friend originally, but now he felt a twinge of disappointment, realising that Uk was the only thing keeping him from tasting your lips again for the next few hours.

“You’re back!” Yul heard you say as you gave a sweet smile to Uk, and his wife, Yeong, who was right behind him. 

“Yes, it was quite the adventure, wasn’t it?” Uk grinned, turning to his wife for her consensus. She smiled at first, but as she turned back to you and Yul, her gaze twisted to one of confusion and then astonishment. 

“Are you two lovers?” She asked quickly, causing your stomach to drop and Yul to turn his head, stunned by her suggestion. No one in Daeho knew you as anyone more than Yul’s close friend, and most of his rumoured lovers had been women of… more prestigious lineage. 

Uk narrowed his eyes at his best friend, taking in his rumpled hair, flushed face, and finally, his missing outer robe. His head shot back to his wife’s, a knowing look shared between the two before Uk let a sly smile grace his face.

“Yul, you never cease to surprise me. Here? In Jeongjingak? I didn’t know it was such a popular spot.” His smile grew as Yul’s face reddened, practically drowning in embarrassment from being caught in such a scandalous act. That too, with someone he wasn’t even engaged to yet. No one had any suspicion of you two before, and now he was sure that the news would spread rapidly to every corner of the country. And eventually Seoho Fortress too.

“I always thought their energy matched.” Yeong spoke up again, “Yul’s was so calm and yet powerful. No wonder Y/n’s daring personality was just enough to kindle its full potential. They will be a great match.” She gazed at you proudly, giving you a silent nod of approval at your anxious look.

In the time that the few words had been exchanged amongst the older couple, Yul had managed to slip his garment back on, hoping he was subtle enough with it. He was entirely flustered still. Everything from the intensity of the kiss to being caught so suddenly was enough to make his brain short circuit. His image as the cool-headed eldest son of the Seo family was crumbling beneath him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it now that Uk had caught him. 

“Yes… We are… engaged.” Yul stuttered, choosing the last word suddenly as a final attempt to make the situation look even slightly better. Your eyes widened in shock when you heard it, even wondering suddenly if you had forgotten when Yul had ever asked you to be his officially. He had never uttered a word of it to you— the last that you knew was that he would have to send a very carefully worded letter to his father and wait anxiously for approval.

Uk nodded approvingly, “I always wondered when you would. You are the last to do it, you know.” He teased, but was quickly shut down with a slap from his wife.

“Yul is doing far better than you! You proposed to nearly 20 other girls before getting married. And you are younger than him!” Yeong didn’t hold back, and you smiled at the sight. They had been through so much, you were glad that they were finally allowed to be happy together; experiencing a fulfilling marriage after years of hardships. 

You looked forward to the day that you would be able to seen with Yul like that. The day people would always expect to see you two side by side, when they would ask you about the other and how you were doing together, because you would forever be united from that moment, sworn to each other until death dared to tear you apart. You had never longed for something as much in your life, nor had you ever felt so deeply in love as you did with the man who stood next to you. Though Yul hadn’t yet asked you, you were already his, and there was nothing that could possibly change that fact.

↳ k-drama taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @tempobaekh,, @candewlsy,,

@cosmicwintr,, @blossominghunnie,, @parkjennykim,, @seunghancore,, @emmylksblog,,

@bananabubble

[sukirichi]

hiiii i have been absolutely loving DTD and i get so excited for all your updates 😭🫶🏼 just to clarify, was it chapter 11 when rin realized he was in love with the princess? was there an exact moment he realized?

also i must be toxic bc why do I love them together 😭 seeing how he described their first kiss literally changed me like wow he fr loved her all along …. i was wondering if their first time sleeping together was the same type of heart racing and life changing moment for rin in the way their first kiss was?

hiii aw thank you anon, i’m so happy to hear that! hmm i’d say he started getting around to the thought that he was in love around ch11, but he only ever realized it completely on ch13! i think the exact moment he knew he was in love was during the whole preparation of the beach house because . . . when they were there, focused only on building a life for themselves, he felt like a normal husband and wife yknow? they were affectionate with one another, weren’t arguing, and they were both involved in doing something that was for their future. that’s when rin had the realization that, “oh. this is the life i want, and its a life i want to spend with you.”

18+ ask ahead (no explicit scenes)

no i get you bcos i love them too!! oooh about their first intimate time together, okay 👀 i’d say it was unplanned, and none of them really thought about it. rin was traditional when it came to us (the whole courtship thing) and so he expected our first time with him would be during our honeymoon, but a simple makeout on the yuzuru estate’s study gets a little too heated. and with the knowledge that your parents aren’t home, you’re suddenly dragging him up into your room and insisting he take his damn clothes off. boyfriend! suna would be hesitant at first, asking you multiple times if you were sure + he was okay with waiting, and wants to reassure you both can just take your time. you’re impatient, however, so a kiss leads to another until you’re both stumbling in bed, and your first time with him was so good - he’d been so gentle, attentive, maybe even a little nervous because he’s eager to please you. it’s his first time being with someone with so much care and open communication on what the other wants. he never thought sex could feel so intimate and could be enjoyable even when he goes slow, until he meets you.

and by the end of multiple sessions, poor rintaro is so exhausted he passes out in your bed, and you lie to your parents for the first time that rin has already headed home, and is definitely not within your bed

[narashikari]

Some thoughts after today's episode. Spoilers of course

Am I the only one who feels like Hanto suspecting Shouma was Gavv kinda came outta nowhere? We were shown his inner monologue ever since the first meeting but nowhere in that did it ever show Hanto had an inkling of who Gavv was.

Wow that scene was even more gay than all the previews made them out to be. Shouma being all "I don't want the Granutes to take away someone else from me" about Hanto? OH BOOK JESUS THE HEATED DRAMA. Like fr if this wasn't a kid's show that's the type of scenario that would be followed by a makeout and fuck session

Well, there's no mistaking it, Hanto's a Kamen Rider. He has the self-worth of one (which is low to zero)

Hanto clearly distrusts Suga, even if he has to rely on him now because of his modification. I wonder if he suspects he has a connection to the Granutes given his access to the organ and his general fascination and knowledge of Granutes (plus his mentor Shioya's warning about him). I mean now we know that his mental monologues are hiding something...

Potato chip swords covered in chocolate for extra damage. What is this show even.

WHAT IS WITH THE BOING SOUND EFFECT FOR DOUMARU 😭😂🤣

Aww, they're on a first name basis now! That's so cute lmao

Tickling?? TICKLING??? RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE GOCHIZOUS???? SIR THERE ARE CHILDREN IN THE ROOM STOP FLIRTING LIKE TEENAGERS

Shouma thinks Hanto won't trust him once he finds out he's not human.. poor Shouma 😭

Also that scene with Shouma... while I think most of us can agree it's some sort of repressed memory involving Hanto's mom disappearing/dying. However, I don't necessarily think it means Shouma's repressed memory is him being the one responsible. It's just one possibility.

We've had main riders kill against their will in a berserker state before (Sento), and it is rather logical that Shouma would repress such a memory if he did it. And maybe him having gone berserk and going after humans when he wasn't supposed to could explain why Shouma had to have his Gavv modified. It could also partly explain his and his mother's confinement as well.

However, I'm rather skeptical of them having the main rider kill anyone as a child. Kamen Rider has gone very dark in recent years for sure- I mean, just this year Gotchard had the main rider kill the cute mascot creature he calls his best friend- but I don't know if they'd cross that line too.

On the other hand, I could also see one of his relatives being responsible and Shouma somehow witnessed it as a small child, and repressed the memory because of trauma. His dislike of his family and the business came from the later mistreatment he and his mother endured and finding out what they do to humans when he was much older.

Honestly, I kinda suspect Nyelv was behind it, for several reasons:

Nyelv has been observing both Gavv and Valen and has not reported it to Lango, and he doesn't really have a reason to keep it from him especially given what happened to the twins- but we also know Nyelv has a tendency to disobey his brother (eg not using his disguise in "classified areas"

He has a kind of "let's see how this 'experiment' turns out" interest in the riders, and specifically Hanto.

It's not new for villains to manipulate events and kill riders' loved ones at multiple points to lead them into being a Kamen Rider: see Banjou Ryuuga, whose his parents and his fiancee were killed at different points of his life specifically so Evolt can manipulate him to his favor. He still has the other half of Shioya's Press, which he can definitely use as bait against Hanto. I don't know, however, why he'd go after Hanto specifically, unless there was something about Hanto we don't know about...

[just-a-wholesome-writer]

Hold My Hand But Do Not Touch Me

YB x Asexual Reader cuz I have thoughts.

He was looking at you again. Like that. Searching, prodding, the scenes playing in his head almost visible to you. 

You wished he didn't. But you knew there was no stopping him- we was persistent. From the day you met him at the park, to the flower shop, the diner…until he made it all the way into your heart. 

But that forced you to confront the same old problem you had in every partnership: that it was truly only your heart. And not your pants. Or your shirt. Or your mouth. 

God, you hated his mouth. 

Tender kisses never stayed tender with him, they always diverged into intense one-sided makeout sessions that left your head spinning. Every bit of him was so overwhelming. 

And yet you loved it. Him. The intensity of his gaze when he looked at you. Like a promise, a silent understanding that you were the most precious thing in his universe. It was those moments that you cherished.

Your hand in his, not trapped but held gently like he would break you should he add force. Touch without demand- you didn't need to perform, you only needed to be. And that was enough. 

Or at least that's what you hoped. 

But while he never forced you to, you could see the desperation in him growing. It was a foul, hungry thing, looking to devour you and leaving no bones. 

It scared you. And quite frankly…it disgusted you, too. Betrayal deep in your gut whenever you cuddled and you could feel his lap stiffen up, knowing it was your fault but that you couldn't fix it. 

You wanted to. To give him all that he yearns for- that was love. Love was desire, love was passion, love was hungry and dirty and nothing that you ever felt.

Because your love was sweet. Your love was a homemade meal, a back massage, a kiss on the cheek and only the cheek and most importantly your love was love. Not infatuation or misunderstood lust. 

It was a rarity so when you tell him you love him that is the truth. But you can't help but feel like you were speaking in a language he couldn't understand. 

So the next time you watched a movie- Saw, he loved horror movies and was gravely disappointed by your lack of knowledge on the supposed classic- your hand didn't stay on his. 

It strayed up his arm, squeezing awkwardly at his shoulder in an attempt of…something. 

He looked at you in confusion, but didn't interject, simply enjoying the fact that you were touching him. It made your heart ache, knowing this sweetness would be soon interrupted. 

Like a bandaid, you told yourself. One night. One time. Just so he knows the depth of your feelings.

So you straddled his lap, next. And again, he didn't stop you. Hands on either side of you, not daring to make contact with your skin as if it would spook you off. You couldn't say that it wouldn't. 

But you progressed bravely, lips briefly meeting only to pull back before it could grow in intensity, then trailing down his jaw to his neck and then his clothed chest. You couldn't bring yourself to undress him. 

He was beautiful, and you'd found yourself staring at him while he was changing on more than one occasion. But it was never sexual. 

And now that it was, undressing him felt…wrong. Dehumanizing. Thankfully you knew it wasn't a requirement for what you were about to do.

You just had to unbuckle his pants, which was the next step. Though as your hands moved to pull down his zipper, his shot down to hold them, and he finally spoke up. 

“Darling…” he looked at you breathlessly, his cheeks a sweet kind of red. He looked so shocked, like he couldn't believe what you were doing.

“Don't you want this?” you spoke calmly, hating this stop in your momentum.

“I-I- Yes, but…” he wasn't lying, the way his zipper pushed out all on its own was proof of it, but still he seemed hesitant. 

"Why now?” he finally said, and suddenly your false confidence began to slip from your shaking hands. 

“Because I love you,” you answered truthfully, “and I want you to feel loved. And I…”

“...I know that my love may not be enough for that. S-so I want to try it your way.”

He looked a mixture between touched and horrified, eyes once again taking in your body, but not with hunger this time.

Taking your hands from the hem of his pants, he kissed them sweetly, helping the tears that had accumulated at the corners of your eyes to fall. 

“I'm so sorry…” he wrapped his arms around you, tightly but in a way that didn't feel trapping. A gentle embrace that still clearly told you that this is where you belong. 

“I'm sorry If I made you feel like you have to do anything.” 

“You, baby,” he whispered as his hands traced circles over your back, not caring that you were soiling his favorite hoodie with your tears “have made me feel more loved than I ever thought I could. I don't need sex, or anything else, all I need is you- in whatever way you'll let me.”

“But…would…wouldn't you miss it?” you croaked as your crying finally came to a stop.

“There's nothing I miss when I'm with you, love. You make me whole.”

And something inside of you told you that he was telling the truth, too. 

[obsessedwithtoomanythings]

The Terrifying Ordeal of Falling in Love with Leon Kennedy

CHAPTER 4

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader (female reader)

Series Warnings: Minor injuries, Leon teases reader a lot, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Drinking, Drinking followed by driving, DO NOT DO THAT THIS IS FICTION, Anxiety, Leon S. Kennedy has PTSD, Leon has an anxiety attack, Anxiety Attacks, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nightmares, Leon S. Kennedy has Nightmares, Cuddling & Snuggling, Probably incorrect medical talk, Strangulation in one tiny little scene, Reader's brother was a cop who was KIA, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Grief/Mourning, Christmas Fluff, Mistletoe, Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Arguing, Love Confessions, Looking for Alaska is mentioned, Inconvenient Love Confessions, Penis In Vagina Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Leon loves eating Pussy change my mind, Shower Makeout, romantic smut, Desperate Leon S. Kennedy, They are both desperate for each other tbh, They say I love you as they come, Scar Kissing, Enthusiastic Consent, Always pee after sex, UTI PREVENTION, POV First Person, No use of Y/N

Words: 3.4K

Masterlist

April 2004

Take a bottle, shake it up

Break the bubble, break it up

Pour some sugar on me

Oh, in the name of love

-Pour Some Sugar On Me, Def Leppard

So that’s why he told me to wear pants.

“Oh no. No way. Absolutely not,” I stutter, hands shaking as I tuck them under my armpits anxiously. “I’m not getting on that thing.”

“Come on, it’s perfectly safe! I even have a helmet for you.” He’s laughing and smiling more than I have ever seen, holding up a sleek black helmet with one hand, having lifted the visor of his own already, exposing a large grin accompanied by pink cheeks.

“Leon, do you know how many motorcycle accidents there are in a year? Like 82,000!” I ramble, voice pitching up into an almost comically high tone. “And do you know how many of them are fatal? 7%, Leon!”

“Well then, we’ll be the other 93%.” He is laughing, a bright smile spread across his face, and for a brief second, the thought of ‘he’s never looked this handsome’ flits through my mind. “Come on, I promise I won’t let us crash.”

“Leon, I can’t… What if I don’t-” I stumble over words, voice practically vibrating with nerves.

“I trusted you,” he starts, swinging his leg off the bike to stand in front of me, unused helmet still clasped between his fingers, which are clad in fingerless gloves, almost perfectly blending in with the black leather jacket he donned for the evening. “I need you to trust me too.” With slow movements and a serious expression, he brings the helmet up, lifting the visor before pressing it down onto my head. The squeeze is tight, not uncomfortably so, but enough that I notice it around my forehead and ears. Leon lowers his eyes to be level with mine, baby blues picking me apart just like in the infirmary. “I won’t let anything happen to you, sweetheart.” ‘Now that’s a nickname I could get used to.’ My brain supplies before I feel my stomach explode into a cacophony of butterflies. Swinging back onto the seat effortlessly, I’m brutally hit with the knowledge that he is probably this graceful all the time, being STRATCOM’s golden boy.

Hand held out for me, silently asking ‘Do you trust me to keep you safe?’. I sigh, putting my hand on his. That damned smile. Pushing my visor down with his unoccupied hand, he chuckles at my eyes widening.

“Swing your leg over behind me, and then wrap your arms around my waist,” he explains, and, while not nearly as graceful as his movements, I manage to get myself behind him, and the self-consciousness rises when I rest my hands on his waist, unsure and nervous. I feel more than hear his light chuckle as the warmth of his fingers wraps around mine, tugging my hands forward until I’m practically hugging him from behind, my chest pressed tightly against his back. “You got this sweetheart, when I lean, you lean, yeah?” He’s shouting now, trying to be audible through both of our helmets. I nod against his back, helmet accidentally bumping against his, followed by a yelped ‘sorry’ from me.

The bike whirs to life, rumbling beneath me, and I can barely breathe for a moment, fear causing me to cling even tighter to his middle. He knows I won’t be able to hear him, so instead of words, his hand comes down to mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. A silent ‘I’ve got you’. Then he takes off.

My hands are cramping, probably causing horrid-looking creases in his pristine jacket, crescent-shaped indents in the fine leather. Eyes squeezed shut, bathing my sight in a pitch black darkness, barely able to take a breath without feeling like puking; the only thing I feel is the chill of the wind as it whips past us and down the gaps in my own jacket and up the bottom of the helmet, and the pain in my fingers from clutching on Leon almost too tightly. Thankfully, leaning with him when he turns is fairly easy, just following his movements as he makes them.

Warmth encapsulates one of my hands, and I wonder what it could be for a brief moment before realizing Leon has placed one of his hands on top of mine. He gives it one, two, three reassuring squeezes, not moving it away, but almost more to get my attention. I almost ignore the gesture, but ultimately decide against it, raising my head from where I was resting it against his back as I open my eyes. His hand moves from mine, only for a second, just long enough to point toward the left, and my gaze follows.

Holy shit.

The lights from the capital shine bright against the darkness of the sky and across the water, painting the city in a whole new way in my vision. The Washington Memorial stands proudly in the center, drawing my eyes to it, and the gasp that leaves my throat is unstoppable. Leon’s chest rumbles against mine, presumably in a light chuckle, before the view vanishes. The bright yellows of the lights in the tunnel are a sight that I’ve become so used to, but this? This is so different. I can feel myself beginning to smile, and my grip loosens slightly, just enough so that my fingers have a break from their terrified grip. The agent’s hand holding mine tightens, more so holding my hand and lifting it from his abdomen to be straight up, feeling the wind flying through my fingers and I giggle at the chill that suddenly doesn’t feel so terrifying anymore. His hand drops and I feel the bike rev underneath us before we pick up speed, not enough to cause me to drop my hands, but enough to feel it. I can’t help but feel like the tunnel pulls away from around us, fresh cool air brushing against my fingers as DC is within view again. Dropping my hand back down to tenderly rest against his chest, palm pressing against his steadily beating heart, I swear I feel him take a quick intake of breath at the touch as I tug myself into his warmth again.

He’s incredible.

My knees shake as my legs are now forced to support my weight once again as Leon helps me off of the bike, holding my hand as I giggle like a drunk girl who has had one too many.

“You good?” He asks with his own smile, laughing at my adrenaline-induced high.

“That was amazing. You do that every day?” I gasp, my hands finding his biceps as he steps off the motorcycle himself and removes his helmet before reaching up to help me with mine.

“Whenever I need to go somewhere, yeah.” I can feel my hair sticking out at every angle, and I reach up with shaking hands to try and tame the atrocity that must be my hair. “Here,” he offers, fingers running through the strands to calm them down, and once he’s satisfied with how it looks, he gives me a smile that causes my heart to jump within my chest.

“Are you an adrenaline junkie?” I quiz, curiosity piqued.

“Nope. You might be though, given how much you’re shaking.” The comment isn’t lost on me, and I roll my eyes, still trying to steady my knees. Leon’s hands grip mine to set them on his biceps again, attempting to assist me in regaining the functions of my legs. My thoughts run again, remembering the feeling of unwavering freedom as the wind blew past us.

“You’re amazing,” I mumble, catching his eyes, and for the first time, I see his cheeks dust pink in a soft blush.

“Speak for yourself, sweetheart.”

The bar is loud, tables littered around the dark oak bar, the crowd chattering amongst themselves. Thankfully no one is shouting, that is, until a woman in a red leather jacket spots us. Well, Leon.

“Leon! Over here!” She gestures wildly, and Leon rolls his eyes at her antics.

“She’s probably already had a few,” he mumbles to me, hand grabbing mine to tug me along behind him, my heart skipping inside my chest again. You cannot fall for him. He is the first ‘friend’ I’ve had since college. Do. Not. Fall. For. Him.

“Leon, you actually made it, holy shit!” A Hispanic man yelps, arm coming up to clap Leon on the shoulder as we approach, then his eyes find mine. “And you brought a lady along.” The surprise is evident.

“Carlos, this is my friend.” Introductions are made, and I find myself almost struggling to keep up, given the high energy of Carlos and the woman in the red jacket, who I have learned is named Claire. Next to Claire is a bulky man with close-cut brown hair and a light stubble named Chris. Claire’s older brother, apparently. Jill, Chris’ girlfriend and coworker stands nearby, short chestnut bob cut framing her angular face. She definitely looks like a cop. Then there’s Carlos, the man from before. Tan skin, and curly black hair that hangs down just below his jaw, which is covered in it’s own dark stubble. They are all muscular and strong, and I quickly learn they are all in some form of law enforcement or government work, except Claire, who is an investigative journalist for the Washington Post. Talk about feeling intimidated. Leon leans closer, taking note of my wide eyes, watching as my shoulders sink in inferiority.

“You want a drink?” He invites, hand resting on the small of my back, heat seeping through the thin tee shirt now that my jacket has been removed, placed securely in the compartment of his bike parked outside. I nod stiffly, following his warmth through the slowly thickening crowd around us. Arms resting against the lacquered wood, cooling my own heated skin, bodies warming the air that I bring into my nose with heavy breaths. Leon’s arm comes up, grabbing the attention of the burly man behind the bar, and he nods, an unspoken ‘be right with you’. My eyes are unfocused, darting between the bottles lining the wall and the people who get just a tad louder than the rest of the room. Fingers rise up in front of me, snapping suddenly, pulling my attention to the blonde hair and blue eyes of the man beside me.

“What?” I ask, sounding as breathless as I feel.

“I asked if you were alright.” Leon has to lean in close enough that I can feel his breath against my temple, spearmint entering my senses. I nod, hand coming up to brush loose hair strands from my face. “I know they can be a bit intimidating, but I promise they are all really nice. If you can handle my attitude, you’ll be okay with them,” he reassures with that shy blush again. “They are all much nicer than me.” I laugh at that, a nervous sound that rips from my throat unbidden.

“I don’t know how that’s possible. You are the nicest person I have ever met.” The sarcasm practically drips from my words, finding comfort in the agent’s proximity. He snorts a laugh, clearly feeling better now that he knows I’m not completely uncomfortable. The bartender steps over, a white towel slung over his shoulder.

“What can I get you two?” Leon orders a whiskey on the rocks, then looks at me expectantly.

“Just a beer.”

“Wanna do a shot?” He implores, eyes showing a mix of excitement and curiosity.

“A shot? Don’t you have to drive a motorcycle in a bit?” My hand slaps across his arm in a teasing gesture, and he fames injury, an overexaggerated ‘oof’ leaving his lips.

“I can have one now and be fine to drive within an hour or so, I promise.” My gaze must be showing doubt because he tacks on his own eye roll. “I promised you’d be safe. And I always keep my promises.” The bartender sets the drinks down on the counter, glass tapping against the wood before I speak.

“Cinnamon whiskey.”

“Woman after my own heart. Can we get two shots of the Jack Fire?”

“Not Fireball?” I tease, taking a swig of the cold beer, the lip of the bottle brushing against my mouth to clear that heavy feeling that had settled in my throat.

“The only people who drink Fireball are drunk college students,” Leon laughs, a full-bodied sound. My heart clenches. Don’t. I can’t fall in love with you, Leon. Amber liquid shines against the dim bar lighting, chilled shot glass resting between my fingers as he raises his own glass. An audible clink followed by the sweet bite of cinnamon on my tongue, liquid fire sliding down my throat. Liquid confidence, right? It takes a few minutes before the haziness settles in my gut, finally taking over after a few minutes of being back at the table, Leon’s scent prevalent in my nose, intoxicating me in an entirely different way than the whiskey.

It takes an hour. Claire had insisted on at least 2 more sets of shots, the first tequila, followed shortly by vodka, although Leon and I turned down the second set, downing a shot of water, everyone else at the table being none the wiser as we snickered together like teenagers getting away with having alcohol for the first time.

It takes an hour. Claire’s jacket is thrown across the table, exposed shoulders coated with a thin layer of sweat as we dance on the small but stuffy dance floor, Jill on the other side of us, giggling just as much as we are. So she’s not as scary as I assumed. Carlos is between Claire and myself, an arm thrown casually over her shoulders despite the sweat, much to Chris’ dismay, which I can see clearly from here. Leon’s eyes are trained on Chris as they chat, matching whiskey glasses resting on the table in front of their muscular frames. Carlos has taken to dancing next to Jill now as well, and given her drunken state, I’m not sure she quite notices that he’s dancing a little closer than what her boyfriend may like.

My assumption is quickly proven true as Chris comes up behind her, all broad shoulders and red cheeks, hands possessively landing on her waist and tugging her against his body, beginning a jealousy-induced grind to the fast-paced beat. Carlos sets his eyes on me and I turn to Leon to find his gaze locked on me. I mouth a quiet ‘little help here?’ and he drops his head, almost as if he’s frustrated before downing the rest of his drink. He’s clearly not frustrated, smirk still resting on his handsome features as he makes his way over, sliding between drunken couples lewdly grinding against each other. By the time Carlos has regained his focus on me, Leon is already there, hands on my waist, the point of his nose brushing against my forehead for a split second, as we begin to move. Given that we are half as tipsy as the people around us, it’s harder to find a rhythm, hips swaying without his previous practiced ease as my hands land on his shoulders.

“You don’t dance?” I basically have to shout just for him to be able to make out the words before he shakes his head vigorously.

“I suck at dancing. Never had anyone who was fun to dance with either.” His lips are brushing against my ear, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to contain the full-body shiver that overtakes my spine. Can’t stop the goosebumps that rise across every inch of exposed skin.

“But you’ll dance with me?” The surprise in my voice is evident. Way to sound confident there.

“If only to save you from Carlos’ horrid bump-and-grind, yeah. I actually enjoy having you around, can’t have you scaring cause of that,” he commented, chin gesturing to Claire and Carlos, who are locked in some kind of awkward embrace that looks like they are just bumping hips every few seconds. My hand comes away from his shoulder to cover my mouth, containing the embarrassingly loud laugh that almost broke free. Turning back to my unexpected dance partner, still expecting to find his eyes on Carlos and Claire, imagine my surprise when I find those blue orbs locked on my face. Turning bright red under his scrutiny, I duck my head, breaking eye contact with a light giggle, the alcohol still coursing through my veins. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’ I aggressively remind myself.

“They look like two birds in some weird mating dance,” I whisper yell into Leon’s ear and am gifted with the breathtaking sound of his laugh.

“I think I saw that video. The one with the…”

“The hooded grebe!” He looks at me with a look that screams ‘how the fuck do you know that?’. “I like reading.” Not that that really explains much, but it’s enough for Leon apparently, shoulders shrugging underneath my hands before he looks at his watch.

“It’s almost 2. Do you want me to take you home?” Holy shit it got late.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” I agree, his hand finding mine again as he tugs me toward Chris and Jill.

“We’re gonna head out!” Leon yells over the deep thump of the music. Chris nods as Jill’s eyes find me, slightly behind Leon’s much larger frame.

“Bring her around more, Kennedy! She’s fun!” She yelps, almost too loud, catching Claire’s attention. Claire rushes over to me, pulling me into a sweaty, crushing hug. I squeeze her back, unoccupied hand resting on her back with a smile and a giggle.

“Oh, gimme your number quick!” Claire exclaims yanking away from the hug, her hand digging in her jean pocket for her phone. I take my own out, exchanging numbers with her while Leon looks on with a small smile I can barely make out from the corner of my vision. Pulling me into one last hug, Claire finally backs up again, nearly tripping over Carlos as he sends me a small wave. I wave back as Leon begins tugging us toward the exit.

The cool air washes over me and I release a groan at the heavenly sensation, which forces a smile from Leon.

“You just orgasm, sweetheart?” My mouth drops open in a shocked smile, trying to hold in a laugh at the vulgar comment. I smack him on the arm, although I doubt it feels like anything more than a tickle to him.

“You’re gross,” I reply, still containing my building grin.

“You’re trying not to laugh though.” He’s not wrong. Handing me my jacket, I hesitate to put it on, enjoying the cooling air on my warm flesh. Leon senses that hesitation. “Trust me, you’ll wanna put that on. The air might feel nice now, but it won’t feel like that when we are cruising down the highway at 70 MPH,” he explains, and I blush at his ability to practically read my mind before sliding the fabric over my arms and zipping it up. Looking up, I see Leon slide his arms into his own jacket, the leather practically molding to his stature, and I have to contain a groan at the sight as he zips it. I completely lose focus for a moment, only brought out of it as his fingers knock against my forehead teasingly. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Sorry, but my thoughts cost a dollar,” I sass, taking the helmet as he hands it to me and pulling it onto my head.

“Well, remind me to start saving up.” Another godforsaken wink. Fuck. Don’t. Leon, I’m begging you. Don’t make me fall in love with you. I can’t. He sits on the bike, offering me his hand again to help me across before he stops me. “Hold on.” His fingers land on the zipper that rests right below my breasts, tugging it over the cleavage til it rests below my chin. He casts his eyes up toward me, and I can’t tell if the pink on his cheeks is from the chill in the air, the heat from the bar, or embarrassment. He recovers quickly enough, pushing the visor down over my face before I clamber onto the bike behind him, arms wrapping around him again, much more comfortably this time around. The bike rumbles to life, and he laughs before yelling to me over the hum of the engine.

“Hold on tight, adrenaline junkie!”

Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22 @akiramoon8088

[cleave-and-plough]

IT'S NO USE

jesus christ, what an opener. this really is a second season, huh? new locations, new characters, new order - the world is changed. beneath the reference hall, a black rose waits, soaked in poison, feeding on shadows and the suppressed vices and sins of the heart. secrets kept in an airless room until they sour. "nothing bad happens at ohtori," it's set. an evident lie given all that's happened and all that is yet to be revealed...

anthy has a secret herself - a previously unmentioned older brother, whom she visits on saturday nights, slipping off into the rain alone. how classically utena to need to see him immediately - with her heart on her sleeve, utena is the antithesis of the secrets permeating this episode. it's not the best first impression - interrupting a makeout session with his fiancee - but utena and akio seem to reach good terms, though he pretends to have no knowledge of anthy's role as the rose bride. as the acting chairman and a devout stargazer, he cuts a striking, enchanting figure and poses himself as a scholar of the esoteric - "the stars are unknown to all but me." meanwhile, unspoken tensions mount between his fiancee, kanae, and anthy, who gives her future sister-in-law a surprisingly cold shoulder.

alongside akio, two new faces enter the scene: mikage souji, the genius of the high school who, like juri, helps prop up the school's reputation and prestige, and mamiya, the would-be rose bride/groom who nurtures the black rose in the dark basement. the pair seem an off rhyme to utena and anthy, especially in their hair colors and inversions of gender. just as utena insists on being a prince, souji insists that mamiya should be the rose bride, though mamiya suggests rose groom. this ambition would come at a dear cost to our heroes: to install mamiya, they need to defeat utena in a duel and kill anthy. the stakes have become considerably higher.

to achieve their goals, the pair must recruit duelists, and one of their candidates is miki. souji invites him to join his seminar, the circle of the black rose, but miki declines, saying he feels unworthy. the disjunction in the scene is evident - as the pair sit to discuss, an enormous stone pillar stands between them, carved with black and pink roses. souji asks that miki continue to think on it but doesn't press further. as miki leaves, he encounters utena and anthy and tells them of the grim history of nemuro memorial hall - at some point in the past, 100 boys were buried alive there. this ghastly setting serves as souji and mamiya's lair, full of horrific signs and symbols: empty pairs of shoes, a taxidermied black butterfly, dozens of pointing hands, and most morbid of all, morgue drawers emblazoned with the sign of the black rose, which is eventually revealed as a corrupted, rotted form of the pink rose.

corruption figures prominently in this episode's duel, and many layers complicate the new tone of utena's opponent. the professors who visit souji mention that his seminar supposedly hosts notable politicians, expanding the scope of the antagonists beyond the student council and into the world beyond: souji, who dismissed touga as a source of distraction from the school's mission of study, seems to be concerned with and possessed of a grander power outside of the school walls. thus, it seems charged that when kanae arrives at the hall, she's there for an interview. for students and graduates, an interview is a threshold: a test leading them into a new career, opportunity, or world. kanae's interview proceeds more like a confession, held in a descending elevator. before a small window, she describes her life, painting a warm picture of her feelings for akio and their future together. "deeper," a voice says. as the butterfly on the wall reverts to a chrysalis, kanae admits her deep-seated disdain for anthy. the more she tries to be polite and friendly, the more anthy pushes her away, and the more she must suppress her anger. it could all be so perfect, save for this one thing. and as much as she tries, she can't be rid of this thorn inside. "it's no use."

the elevator descends. souji welcomes kanae to the place her suppressed torment has brought her - the tomb of the boys of the black rose. former duelists now deceased, they leave behind their tarnished rings and their will to seize power. this is kanae's only option, souji says. she must revolutionize the world that she cannot endure. it's a horrific sight, and kanae tries to leave, but the door cannot be closed once open. mamiya appears, and pierces kanae's heart with the black rose, bringing her fully under its spell. now, to defeat utena.

as cruel and heartbreaking as the student council duels were, there was a distinct element of passion to them, even if a perverse one. saionji, miki, juri, and nanami fought to reclaim something precious to them: anthy, their nostalgia, their security in a loveless world, their brother's love. each had twisted in some way to become destructive, but the root was, deep down, an apparent sense of love for something. by contrast, it seems the duelists of the black rose are led by a sense of opposition, a sense of hatred. kanae fights not for her love of akio, but for her hatred of anthy and of herself for being unable to navigate that tension. while the student council duels featured twisted forms of love, this duel twists even farther into abhorrence.

fortunately, utena is capable as ever and makes short work of kanae, who screams as her ring shatters and the dead duelist's body is ejected into a crematorium. despite this ghoulish imagery, she seems to recover easily but has amnesia of what led to the duel. utena understandably wants answers but seems content enough to wait for now - having become accustomed to this strange lifestyle, she can safely assume kanae won't be the last agent of the black roses to challenge her. of course, she also misses another secret just under her nose: anthy departs to visit her brother, but the tone of their meeting is very particularly troubling. akio lounges on the couch as anthy removes her glasses. he turns off the lights, revealing a sky's worth of stars overhead. "did you miss me?" he asks. "yes, big brother."

while still disturbing, the openness of nanami's feelings towards touga kept them in the light of day and less potent. this encounter, out of sight and under cover of darkness, feels chilling.

stray thoughts:

the theme of concealed secrecy echoes throughout this episode: wakaba claims to be bored, since nothing ever happens at the school, the professors acknowledge that their debts to souji mean they can't question his business, the seminar is in essence a secret, cult-like society, and utena is kept in the dark about akio's knowledge of the duels. on top of all this, there were apparently 100 (o n e h u n d r e d) deaths at ohtori that now are only remembered as some kind of urban legend.

souji mentions that end of the world is aware of his efforts: given the motto of revolutionizing the world, it's reasonable that end of the world would encourage all comers and aspirants.

much like touga, souji seems content to wait for now and gather data as he refines his plan; unlike touga, he seems to have no desire to build an idolized public image and reputation outside of the seminar.

akio gives off the vibes of a young gendo ikari, encroaching his way into his fiancees family and taking her name while surreptitiously seeking to gain access to her father's resources.

disquieting as it is to think about, i wonder if the reason anthy rejects kanae is because she sees her as an interloper between herself and akio, not unlike nanami and the kitten. eugh. even more disconcerting, i wonder if this is some twisted form of rebellion for anthy, rejecting her duties as rose bride by being unfaithful to her betrothed. i really hope that they aren't actually related, but i fear the truth.

[zosociologist]

"Dating Peter Tork Would Be Like..." [Scrapped]

[Teacher!Peter x Librarian!Black!Female!Reader Headcannon]

A/N: This was bound to happen eventually...just glad I was able to get this out of my system; WwaBRiM per usual and likes, comments, & reblogs are strongly encouraged(=

Era: Mid-70s (around the time Peter became a teacher)

Warnings: Mentions of fooling around, and light makeout stuff.

Yeah, you knew who Peter Tork was....as did every young woman that came of age in the 60s and had a working television in the house.

Re-run episodes of The Monkees is what helped you get through your last year of college, and although you hate to admit it, you'll be forever grateful(:

Your love for sharing knowledge led you to get a Bachelor's in Education, but your spite of those around you saying that men don't like women that are "overachievers" got you your Master's in Library Science.

You have quite a few interests: you paint, sing, and play the guitar now and then, and read and write a lot of poetry and stories. 

So, you took those skills and became a Librarian at a nice high school in the hills, and the job is very enjoyable, just as you would’ve expected it to be.

You expected there to be hundreds of things checked in and out per day and thousands per week, resulting in hours of restocking shelves and setting displays.

And you were expecting to have engaging conversations with students as they tell you about their recent reads, while you return the favor by giving them even more book recommendations to further expand their minds.

What you DID NOT expect when the new school year started, was for an oddly familiar man to approach your counter inquiring about an instructor’s copy of a textbook that he’d ordered for his science course. 

And you’re still not sure if it was your slight gasp or starstruck demeanor over the random circumstances, but something made him chuckle at the situation while you spoke in disbelief, “Nooo, you can’t be”, “The only problem is, I am”. 

Far off from his former band days, Peter grew his hair out much longer and sported a beard that you thought fit him very well. He also dropped his alias and went by his actual surname, Mr. Thorkelson. A subtle change that made a huge difference.

At first, you weren’t so sure that Peter could be that friendly a person, even bashful at times, but you learned early on that it was all genuine. 

That was just the kind of person he was. On the job, Peter could talk to anyone and make friends with everyone. 

But after a while, you noticed he went out of his way to make conversation with you…even though the library is nowhere en route to his classroom.

You two soon became good friends, bonding over various things from literature to your shared love for the folk music scene. 

Whenever you had free time in your schedules, you’d be at each other’s respective workstations scribbling ideas on chalkboards or making pyramids out of lost library cards and bookmarks (that you’d return to the students that lost them immediately after). 

Somedays you and Peter could even be found in the teacher’s lounge, sharing reviews of movies you’d watched in theaters that past weekend. 

Your coworkers started calling you “two peas in a pod” and neither of you minded it…as a matter of fact, you were both kinda hoping the phrase spoke for itself. 

There would be days when you’d set a big apple on his desk before he got to his classroom in the morning, and he’d return the gratitude by waiting until you were in the back of the library somewhere, ID-ing some publishers, before placing a folded paper crane on a short stack of books on your counter. 

Of course, there was something there! But nobody said anything for fear of ruining the great friendship you both had cultivated for months.

But in the thrill of the moment, and contrary to Mr. Thorkelson’s belief, you took the liberty of making the first move…and at the Christmas faculty party of all places!

The event was off school grounds at a venue in the city. The night was young, and it was freeing to see your coworkers let loose outside of the professional box that working as educators placed them in. 

Add in the fact there was an open bar and everyone was basically on cloud nine.

There were Secret Santa gifts and party games, and one of them was, of course, "Truth or Dare".

Salaries were exposed, shots were taken, relationships and teacher pregnancies were revealed…

But your new Library Assistant, with a suggestive amount of wine in their system, took the liberty of shooting Peter a truth question: "I saw you put a crane on (y/n)'s desk a week or so ago. Do you two have something going on?"

Your eyes shot up from the unopened Secret Santa gift you received just in time to witness Peter finish his old-fashioned, "With all the love and respect in the world, no. We do not."

Your co-workers gave lively reactions, and the game quickly moved ahead, but now the tension between you two became suddenly unavoidable.

Peter couldn't bring himself to look at you, let alone in your direction. He thought he messed up everything, by not saying something different. He felt like it set his relationship with you back by a long shot. How was he supposed to recover from that if he ever did find the balls to confess that he thought the world of you?

You, on the other hand, didn't think much of it….mostly. I mean, sure, you did like him….A LOT. But for the sake of professionalism, you figured that if it wasn't meant to be, then it wasn't meant to be.

The evening progressed and so did the party, but you figured you'd make your discreet leave and wave goodbye to a few close coworkers early. 

You saved Peter's goodbye for last and gave him a warm embrace like usual along with a warm message, "Don't worry, okay? We're good! I'll see you back at The Hills after the break. Merry Christmas, Peter."

And off you went…….to the venue's unsupervised walk-in coat closet to retrieve yours. It took you a bit of sliding around coats on hangers to track it down but you finally were able to get a hold of it.

When you opened the closet door to exit, Peter was on the other side holding your Secret Santa gift you left behind.

You kinda just stood there? Mouth open and in shock, but the good kind. You even backed up a little bit, hoping that he would walk in. 

And he did. Shutting the closet door behind him, Peter stepped forward, closing the gap as if he was just a short space away from you.

"You forgot this on the table and I didn't want you to leave without it." He smiled, handing the gift back to you as you handed your coat over for him to hold. 

Unraveling the silver and gold wrapping paper, you couldn't help but rest your forehead against the gift and laugh: a hardcover copy of "Origami: The Art of Paper Folding" by Robert Harbin.

You were tickled because you KNEW it was Peter, and he couldn't help but smile at your infectious laugh.

"What? What's so funny?", "No, it's just this is so adorable! Did you plan this? Did you pull strings to be my Secret Santa?", "I didn't, I promise that was coincidental. I just figured since I was making so many of these and leaving them with you, I'd give you something so you can make your own.", "But I like when you make them for me!"

Your eyes were filled with such sincerity, and you were HOPING…that it would be enough for him to TAKE A HINT…..

You didn't wait. You kissed Peter, but he immediately followed suit, cupping your face as he leaned into it. The book slipped out of your hand as Peter grabbed your waist, backing you two into the wall as the line of hung coats surrounded you both.

The kissing intensified, and Peter dropped your coat to the floor as he unbuttoned his cotton henley shirt, never taking his lips off yours. You lost all sense of time. The closet got smaller and warmer by the minute, and frankly, you were feeling more aroused than you ever had in your life. And he sensed that, but he also respected you much more than just minimizing what you two share to a quick fuck in a stuffy coat closet at the faculty Christmas party. 

So in the midst of you reaching to undo his belt buckle, he stopped you, fixed you both back up, retrieved his corduroy jacket, and kissed your forehead.

Gathering your things, you both left the party together, unnoticed, and hand in hand. 

You two finished the evening by watching artists perform at a venue you randomly stumbled upon. 

❣Dating Life❣

You and Peter becoming official made everything that you were already platonically doing regularly, feel a lot more special.

You still bother each other on school grounds, but now you enjoy one another off of school grounds as well! (In more ways than one)

Movie theaters, plays, concerts, farmers markets, and bookstores on the weekends. And you have sleepovers at either of your apartments.

You always love his place. It always feels cozy and nostalgic because of some things he has around from his days as a television star. 

He'll lay his head in your lap in his living room conversation pit and share stories from the set, and you enjoy every moment of it. He plays his guitar or piano and you'll listen or sing along.

But you're convinced he loves your place more. He adores just how much "the essence of your apartment matches your personality" or whatever that means. 

You'll admit, you have a lot of scholastic things lying around that gives away your identity as an educator, but your apartment holds much more than that! 

He loves your collection of autobiographies, novels, and poetry books of Black authors, and finds joy in having you read passages written by esteemed artists of the Harlem Renaissance to him as he listens intently.

You'll cook together and sit on your couch watching sitcoms, music, and game shows.

And he was SO determined in helping you out whenever you have a wash day, so you walked him through how you detangle your hair and he's been a specialist ever since😌

He will make up any and every excuse possible to hold you and just be in your space. 

He loves when you just lay together in silence, preferably with the window open so you can hear the sounds of the outside world and everything happening around you both while you're in your little sacred space. 

That's happened quite a few times on Sunday nights, which rolled over into Monday mornings…which resulted in carpools to work where you'd have to act like you two didn't just arrive together from the same place.

You were almost late quite a few times on those types of mornings, it's like Peter wouldn't let you shower and get dressed in peace without messing up your outfit due to his..............antics…..

Oh, he wasn't a saint. You've heard rumors of the parties he'd host at his old Hollywood home, but you didn't think he was THIS mischievous…

When it came to sex, you were far from innocent. But Peter brought out this adventurous side of you as far as stepping out of your comfort zone goes.

You went three rounds in the back of a van at a music festival high off Mary-Jane once because you kept giving him praise and it drove him insane.

Sure, the bedroom, shower, kitchen, and balcony were nice…..but the library back room, teacher's lounge, janitor's closet, his classroom, and school parking lot in his backseat were mind-numbing. There was also your childhood bedroom when you went back to visit once…It was an otherworldly experience. 

And he's such a giver! His definition of helping you de-stress is going down on you while you vent about what happened during the day and how it made you feel (and how he's making you feel). 

He LIVES for seeing you come undone and lose yourself in pleasure, it's a challenge to him almost.

You're careful with how blissed-out you look after he makes you finish because HE WILL immediately go again.

And that's basically Peter's whole thing, he lives to please and enjoys helping in any possible way he can

Like that one time you and your library assistant were supposed to go over to the primary school to read books to the little kids and sing songs while you played your guitar , but the assistant got sick so Peter gladly snatched up his guitar as well and went along as your Stories and Songs accomplice

[End of Writing]

I started writing this in May but I just had so much going on during the summer that I would have to keep pausing my writing and just add on when inspo hit. This is basically the entire headcannon I guess, but I just didn't know how to close this one out and I didn't wanna just abruptly stop, ya know? BUT my classes are starting back soon....and with that comes the random and unexpected spurts of writing inspiration so I'm hoping for the best😅

[dragongutsixofficial]

This is about to be barely coherent but I think you need to hear about it.

I just recalled a movie I used to watch and a particular scene in which 2 revolutionaries are spending a rainy night in a hut. I can't find a clip to confirm, but as I recall it, Jean, who is the captain of the whole revolutionary dealio, pauses mid-makeout to talk about revolution stuff while her partner in the scene just sort of nods along and continues to kiss her. (Don't question the logistics: it's a comedy from the 50s)

Again, I'm sure I'm not sounding very coherent, BUT THE POINT IS pausing mid-makeout to talk about revolutionary stuff while her partner nods along and continues to kiss her is an incredibly Edelgard thing and I thought you need to hear about it.

I want you to know this inspired me so much I am now writing a fic. I wanted to finish it before answering this ask but this'll probably take a while so here's a preview:

Byleth wanted to get this right.

After their initial engagement, their partner and them had not been able to properly ease into the newly romantic character of their relationship; the threat of Those Who Slither Through The Dark, ever-present and all consuming, had been at the top of their minds. If they really were to be the light that shone upon Fodlan, they first needed to get rid of the pesky shadows underneath it; only then could peace truly reign, only then could the continent be truly united under the Emperor’s leadership, only then could they truly be together in the world they had created.

And they had done just that. Finally, after a thousand years, the head of the snake had been cut off. Agartha was well on its way to being reintroduced to the rest of the Fodlanese population now that the iron rule of Thales had finally ended, which had not come without its lot of issues. It certainly wasn’t easy for everyone to realize that people had lived underneath their very feet for centuries, nor was it to share their land, a land which fate they were still uncertain of: but after months of negotiating and peacekeeping, the Black Eagle Strikeforce had managed to install a semblance of peace, laying the foundations for what would hopefully happen to be a bright new future for Fodlan.

Now, however, Byleth wished to focus on their and Edelgard’s future.

They had decided to learn how to flirt.

Their first instinct had been to go to Garreg Mach’s library. They still remembered their first time there like it was yesterday: back then, they had been absolutely blown away but the sheer massiveness of the shelves filled to the brim with the knowledge they clearly lacked about the world around them. It also happened to be the first time they had felt intellectual emulation coursing through their veins- and before they could completely understand that sensation, they had found themself with their nose buried in books for the whole morning, feeding on all that new information. After they had officially been nominated as a professor, they had gone back, trying to find ways to convey their thoughts and expertise to their students in an organized, more academic manner- and whenever they visited, the contents of the books would most likely always hold an answer for them.

These romance books were no exception.

[sherrymagic]

little proud moment because one year ago turning a blue nightmare like the BB makeout scene into THIS would have been absolutely impossible for me

i'm sure a lot of people did it better before but damn i was shocked at myself when i checked the file one last time before archiving it and noticed the difference. guess i had never fully realized how much work all of us gifmakers put into gif coloring before i could sense the drastic difference in my own work.

and thinking of how i couldn't have achieved this result this fast without the many tutorials i've read and incorporated into my own coloring process i feel so grateful for the gifmakers of tumblr, i've honestly never talked to one who wasn't willing to kindly share their knowledge. whether it's with tutorials or simple advices thrown here and there this community is really so helpful and i love it soooo much!

[chryzuree]

🎟✨Gush Pass✨🎟 gimme whatever ChrysiJacks plots/AU’s that have been giving you brainrot :)

well, LAST NIGHT, besides the haunted mansion au (jst the plot of the movie tbh, with adjustments made), i was mostly thinking abt the modern au chrysijacks confession scene, followed very shortly by the jacks ruins the whole confession thing by bringing up castor… the euphoria of chrysi finally being able to confess she likes jacks, and he likes her back, and they’re kissing!!!….. followed by the disappointment and outrage that jacks brought up the guy chrysi’s been turning down for two years straight now AND THEN JACKS DECIDED TO STOP PURSUING THIS RELATIONSHIP WITH HER. HELLO??? ASSHOLE??????? NIGHT RUINER???? chrysi LITERALLY jst brought him to a makeout point turned murder scene and jacks jst. ruined the vibe. and the relationship.

THEN, it’s like. he avoids her for a week at school (fair. she was pissed off at him badly enough for him to figure it’s smarter to jst avoid getting his head ripped off), which makes castor happy!.. until he finds out his best friend made out with his crush (get over it, dude). and then HOMECOMING HAPPENS, CHRYSI’S CAR BREAKS DOWN AFTER SHE TRIES TO LEAVE THE PARTY EARLY, AND WHEN SHE’S LOOKING TO JACKS FOR HIM TO SAVE HER FROM THIS… he jst leaves. he looks her in the eye, sees castor next to her, hears her plea that jacks take her home instead, and he leaves. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t apologize or anything. jst leaves. ughhhh.

then the next morning, he hears abt there being a terrible wreck. killed someone. put the other person in a coma. and then he never faces chrysi again.

jacks fuck up hour!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hate him, love the drama. he DESERVES to reunite w chrysi ten years later via azure being one of the photographers on jacks’s modeling gig + jacks was clicking through the photos & went too far to see chrysi in one of azure’s photos. you KNOW he’s screaming, crying, throwing up. FUCK. if he’d jst held her hand in 7th grade, he could’ve had her by now!!! if he’d not ruined their kiss, he could’ve been with her by now!!!!! instead he has to deal w the knowledge that his photographer is with the girl of his dreams instead of HIM and he wants to die!!!!

anyway. supernatural events are afoot and things get weird but YEAH. misery to jacks for 1000 years!!!!!!!!!!!

[wanderlustqueen-writes]

Hi Alice, how are things?

I've got into this little Ask Game now, and was wondering about these two for the Fanfic writer questions:

🥺 - I love this question. How do you create the feels?

😬 - this one made me laugh!

Anyway, hope you're good. I'm procrastinating :)

Hi Terra! I'm also procrastinating a lil bit, but overall I'm fine, thanks for asking ☺️ hope you're good too!

Sorry for taking so long to reply. Here it goes:

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

I LOVE LOVE LOVE begginings, so the first shifts in the characters relationships are always appealing to me, and it's something I've been trying to explore in my fics. The first time a character notices they wanna be around that "annoying" person 🥺, the first butterflies in the stomach 🥺🥺, the FIRST KISS 🥺🥺🥺(I'm a sucker for first kisses as I'm sure I've made @this-is-krikkit very aware lmao sorry abt that). This doesn't only apply to romantic relationships, I'm all for friendship begginings as well!

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

Well... there's a little Twilight fic that I wrote in 2009 (I was 13 at the time) that I *definetly* don't want anyone to see. It was unplotted, unabashed and UNHINGED. Not a single person or vampire was in-character, and things escalated way to quickly. The first chapter features a very uncalled for burst of rage and a sloppy makeout scene written by someone with no practical or theoretical knowledge on the matter lmao! The website where I posted the fic no longer exists, but unfortunately someone posted the first chapter without my permission on another platform, so the story is still alive there. I thought I'd be fun to read it before answering this and I almost died of cringe 🥲

Thanks for the ask ☺️💖