#the fact that this is on a post abt alcoholism

[bibleofficial]

ppl don’t use ‘tipple’ or ‘tippler’ enough anymore like now it’s just ‘chronic drinking’ or ‘alcoholic’ 🙄

[kimtranssexler]

Google how long can I drink alcohol daily without getting liver damage

[upsidedowngrass]

reading your and jaspers posts about bryce with silent admiration because im too scared to contribute but i really love bryce so much hes my girlfriend and my husband and i like hearing u guys talk about him because youre Right. especially as someone who struggled from grief and trauma and being abused i think bryce's case interests me more than any of the other characters (even though liam is my favorite, and it says a lot because i find all of them interesting) because there is so much to him. i doubt he has processed a single thing about what happened. i think stellas death was recent too honestly, within the last few years at least, and he copes by... not coping. burying himself in work and drinking in the hopes to forget about it. not even to mention the fact that in episode 7 it showed him driving home drunk personally i feel he was past the point of caring to the point of engaging in risky/dangerous behaviors (this speaks for itself, i dont think i need to say why). i think that the plane impacted him so much that within those 7 months after leaving he got his shit together. i cant speak for if hes totally sober or not but at the very least he doesn't drink as much as he used to and i doubt he's putting himself in danger anymore. to be honest i think bryce is one of the characters who has changed the most because of the plane, which makes him being rejoined all the more interesting to me. im probably just making shit up but i like to read into it a little more than "bryce and liam were getting along but now theyre separated and liam has to fix it oh no". sorry this ask is kind of word vomit im not in the headspace to tidy it up but i hope you get what i mean

i think if one had continued for longer than it did it would have been interesting to explore bryce finally accepting and coming to terms with his past (him not seeing his childhood home in the wr anymore kind of representing this). i love bryce and he deserves to heal

TY!!!!!!! im glad my thoughts warrant admiration to you :D!!!!!!!!!!! (i will say tho that every time uve ever posted YOURE thoughts i am like ohhhhh.... ur SO RIGHT. i think u have some of the BEST interpretations of the one characters ive seen!!!!!)

(talked SOOO so much .so there is a readmore :) )

brcye really IS such an interesting character???? ik ive said it before but i AM biased towards protagonists so i usually focus on liam but like ...... bryce really IS probably one of the more. indepth ? characters in one in terms of like. background and how he Acts. i think ALL of teh characters are written really incredibly but i think, given how much of his bg is clarified (esp in contrast with how little is shown of the other characters lives pre-one) his motives, personality, emotions all end up being SUPER super elaborate and i REALLY love how he was written ??

(that said i think the reason he IS elaborated on sm is bc like. one doesnt elaborate on character backgrounds like MOST of the time. even charlotte is mostly left up to interpretation, bc one is more about the HOW people respond rather than WHAT made them respond that way. but charlotte and bryce are both outliers, and bryce ESPECIALLY so. because both obviously have Things they havent worked through properly, but bryce is directly just. Living in it. its the fact that he WONT acknowledge the actual Things that hapepned enough to heal that warrants the elaboration. while the other characters stop acknowledging ANYTHING about their lives , save for charlotte, who gradually works out her issues themselves, because THATS whats effecting her, bryce is CONSTANTLY just. he Needs to go back, but his problems ARE about what happened, and the fact that his life outside of the plane was what MATTERED to him, but that even then, he just Wouldnt acknowledge that life when he Needed to. idk if that makes sense but ohhh i think about the decision to elaborate on some characters and to not on others bc it feels Important)

hes so. he mirrors all of the contestants in some ways, but he mirrors amelia a LOT in that both of them respond to trauma by Setting It Aside. like That Trauma Cant Affect Me If I Dont Look At It. like. ur right bryce has NOT processed ANY of his trauma. which like it makes SENSE bc. it prob feels so much easier to him to not think about it by drinking instead, because its a Lot to think about. its a Lot to come to terms with. but bc he WONT acknowledge it but its still AFFECTING him he just gets More and More miserable (the detail about him driving home drunk and not even caring is so. :( )

what IS one of the most. compelling? aspects of his character to me is the way he responded to Everything after getting eliminated. bc it just feels So Real. because he IS healing, not completely, and not in the best way, but he clearly like. started putting SO much work into improving his life??? (the detail of him finally getting an end table for his bed instead of just... using a cardboard box ALWAYS gets to me. and that + the fact that the photo of stella is put up makes it seem like. THATS what was in that box. he LITERALLY started Unpacking thigns. its like poetry to me.) because it IS hard, and i think hes still putting things to the side, shoving the trauma from the plane to the side now instead of all his other grief and trauma. and the removal of the cans from his room yknow?? that hes getting up for work on time now?? its like. yeah i agree idk if hes necessarily SOBER yet but he really does seem like hes working really hard

its not perfect, but its BETTER and it feels. correct?? (and tbh? trying to brush off the plane as a dream isnt even teh worst thing he couldve done with that, i think, bc reasonably what WAS he supposed to do w that experience?? i dont think there WAS a good answer) bc the plane was a whole new kind of trauma. and i think surface level, one would THINK hed get WORSE after further trauma but like. i think he DID in some ways but in the ways that actually affected how he acknowledged and responded to his pre-existing trauma DID get better bc, as he puts it, hed Thrown his life away before, and didnt want to do it again. bc this time, he very well couldve died. and while he was on the plane, being home, on earth was SO much better than the plane, and it recontextualized Everything. hell, maybe after that, the earth finally felt Less daunting, like somewhere he Wanted to be, because for once, he WANTED to be back, and rationalizing That and the fact that he got Lucky, that something Worse couldve just full on Killed Him Forever really DID mean he didnt WANT the worse to come, at least not as much as before. but that meant he HAD to start actually Working on improving things, and i think he may not have Intended to acknowledge Worse things, but simply because the things he had to do to improve his life, like drinking less, making his house more Livable, they all Forced him to think about things More. hes still certainly not thinking about them as much as he Should, hes still not Processing things, but hes Heading in the right direction . he really was SO changed by ONE

and then liam showing up forces him, once again, to think about something he tried to push to the side. aaaaaaaandd then he rejoins and its so. it feels thematically fitting and IS so so SO interessting. because for once in his life hes REALLY facing his trauma head on. but then is brought straight back into it. and i need to think about that aspect more bc those thoughts are a bit less Focused than my other thoughts but given how complex his writing is after he gets OUT, its. SO interesting to think about how being BACK affects him

esp bc like. him starting ep 18 Pissed Off- which historically his responses to trauma are to either just Be Shocked, as depicted a LOT in ep 14, or to get Very Vocally pissed, as shown through the first half of s1, esp ep 6, and ep 11, and ep 13, and ep 18. ive seen it written as 'he doesnt have anywhere to direct the sheer amnt of STRESS and fear so he just. ends up yelling at people bc what else CAN he do' and i think thats?? probably fairly accurate. i dont think hes as Constantly Irritable and Irrationally Angry as fanon presents him , bc it tends to be. excessive. but he DOES get reasonably angry in response to stress !!! i always think abt how his body language in the 'credits' scene of ep 6 look like hes yelling at airy. and im. lays on the ground. i dont even know if thats ever as much 'just anger' as it is Fear and it FUCKS ME UP

but the way i see it, that ties to ep 18 a LOT. because he was really Getting better. hell, what he thought was the WORST that could happen HAPPENED (dying) but he. came out OKAY? its like he was being forced to think about and work through his trauma and he survived and was ok. but being sent back is like. 'oh god i did that all for nothing.' but i think it also sort of?? serves as the Last Push for him to really, REALLY acknowledge the plane (which is why it makes sense so thematically for him to be the rejoiner. he WAS the only contestant whod Chosen to ignore it all. but that has nothing to do with the plane, he cant choose if the plane ignores Him.) past talking about its affects, how its affected people. because after everything hed worked toward, hes Back. hes back, and everyone else is STILL HERE. liam had said they were all still There but seeing them there is a whole other thing. hed SEEN the effects of making it out after 7 months. but he never saw what it was like to still BE there after all that time. and bryce CARES about them (fanon sometimes treats him as if he is a bit. coldhearted? but i think people misattribute him being unhappy with liam as him not caring. i think the problem is that he maybe cares too much, and was affected a LOT, but didnt and doesnt know how to handle that. so he WANTS to ignore it, because it was all he could do, and haaving to backtrack on his haphazard healing from the plane is. highly daunting and uncommfortable and terrifying. thats not being cold though, thats VERY different) and now he HAS to acknowledge Everything, has to be a part of it Again. and i think its a combination of 'liam was here for 7 months after we all thought itd only be a few weeks. Anything could happen. who knows how long ill be here for?' and 'liam didnt have anything when he came back. will I have anything when i come back?? will i have worked so, so hard to heal and fix my life for Nothing?' and 'i dont WANT to be here again.' and 'oh my god all of them Really Really Are Here. Theyve been here the whole time.' and i think all that culminates in an appropriate amount of horror, and that prompts him to do what hes STARTED doing, which was All He Can. and hes pissed off cus hes terrified, so he spurs everyone into pulling out the plug. and then. it doesnt work. it doesnt work and thats the LAST of what he had, and i think iirc hes the LAST one to close his eyes afterwards. because hed BEEN off the plane, hes the one of them who had any hope to give them anymore. and it didnt work

(i also think a lot about how it mustve felt seeing the contestants all so. resigned. because bryce was like that before all this, but ever since one began he was stubborn, and didnt WANT to give up. and i think finding out that these people youd seen try so, so hard just to Handle Any Of This be SO resigned would be. so fucked up. he knew amelia when she was so determined to leave, and while charlotte seems a bit saddened by her resignation, bryce was there BEFORE that happened. he wasnt there like liam or charlotte was to see it gradually develop, and to develop that despair alongside them. all hes seen is that amelia was so determined. and that he may not have known her THAT well before, he knows shes different. he knows she Gave Up and like. GOD. and also i think abt how he mustve Felt seeing the plug for the first time because ehs the only one of them who hadnt seen it before (given its likely all the other characters had, since they casually refer to it). and given the short time frame between him getting there, and the contestants trying to pull the plug? it almost seems that that was like. the last straw. and ive never posted it but i once drew stuff abt it bc. the damage to it is noticable. and i think hes already aware liam was fucked up, but this is like. a tangible, permanent record of that on the plane. and he cares about liam, and has been grappling with all the things liams told him, but thats. thats something he can See. And i think it all of it culminates in him deciding that what hes been avoiding is doing Soemthing about all this, because before he couldnt, and then it was. an awful idea to, and then he didnt have many choices BUT to help. but now theres hardly anything to do, but he has to try. he doesnt want to give up. and it makes me soooooooooooooooooo. head in hands.)

anyway that was a LONG tangent the point is. YEAH. i think rejoining would be. very very significant for his character i dont think youre making shit up its DEFINENTLY a topic w a lot of things to discuss about it

but god. yeah it wouldve been SO nice to see him come to terms with everything hed been through before one. i think the show purposefully included what it did and ended when it did because it makes more sense thematically for it to go unresolved, because the point was that NOTHING was able to be resolved nicely because unfortunately, many things are Out Of Their Control. things COULDVE resolved almost perfect but enough things went wrong at just the right (or more fitting, wrong) time for all of that to not work. i think him no longer seeing the suburbs may have signalled more that maybe, just maybe, he could Do something to help the other contestants even if HE was Dead, that now he finally HAS a goal, if that makes sense (though i think even in the timeline of the series it still wouldve taken way longer for him to process everything Fully, they WERE only in the waiting room for probably about a day) but the idea of finally seeing the waiting room as it is bc hed finally worked through everything .... man.............. man

ik ive already said it though but i DO think it is sooooo so possible for him to heal post canon. im a firm believer that no matter what, at LEAST bryce and ameliaa get home (liam and charlotte have more room for error but i DO generally interpret the ending as them both getting home too, theres just less room for things to go wrong w amelia and bryce). and i think after everything? hed be able to heal. it would SUCK but i think hes, shockingly, in a better place Logistically for things to improve, because he has a support system, he has what hed already worked on in those 7 months, he has so much to aim for. it would be rough and take long but i think ultimately? hed be able to heal :) and its what he deserves

[nomairuins]

i want to watch the things on my watchkist but i also never do its rly tragic

[arolesbianism]

If I ever do get properly into dst character modding I like have to make an oni character mod at some point, but the issue is Id want it to be an Olivia mod so bad but also Nails is as far as I'm aware the only legal character name wise and as such it feels like it has to be them, y'know for the bit. But also I have already written too much Olivia dst dialogue and I need an excuse to use it damnit

[mulletfriend]

doing a metric fuckton of drugs would fix me.

[lovecla]

TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

chapter three:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: drinking.

➴ word count: 4.2k

💌 from me to you: another chapter? clara, don’t you have better things to do with your life? yes guys i do but i spent my entire shift today thinking about publishing this chapter and just when i thought i shouldn’t because i don’t want you guys to get tired of me, tumblr sends me a notification that i’ve reached 250 reblogs today. so yes im taking this as a sign from the universe and im posting this today. also, angst? not here! we want madison and quinn to love each other and we want it NOW! (p.s sorry abt the word count. i got carried away)

౨ৎ

2024, MARCH

CLUBBING IN Vancouver felt like a fever dream, especially with Jack Hughes.

It was already one a.m. and you and Jack were incredibly drunk, dancing around with Luke and laughing. All of you minus Quinn, who had ordered just one beer and was sitting at your table like he was fifty years old.

Fortunately, not many people had recognised you or the brothers, which was good. But if you were to be honest, getting recognised was the least of your problems. Getting extremely shit-faced was your ultimate goal that night.

“These songs are all so fucking lame,” you yelled over some country music, making Jack— who was apparently the biggest country music supporter ever— give you the finger. Luke laughed, sipping on his non-alcoholic drink. Getting Luke inside the club with a fake ID was already enough of a mess so there was no need for any more scandals.

You and Jack on the other hand were drinking for both of them.

“Go complain to them, then!” He yelled, probably kidding, but drunk you wasn’t exactly the sanest person ever.

So you walked until you were side by side with the DJ, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention. “Hey! Play some fucking good music!”

“What?” She shouted, looking at you with her headphones still on. There were so many people dancing around you both that you had no choice but to glue your body to hers.

“Play something like Rihanna,” you yelled, grabbing her microphone and shouting. “Are y’all tired of this lame ass music too?”

People shouted, apparently agreeing with you.

You looked at her, raising your eyebrow and silently asking for her to change it. She shrugged, not really caring about the fact that you had just called her playlist “lame”, and changed into some other song.

Rihanna’s voice and the customers screams filled the place, making you scream too. You were really out of your mind because not drunk you would never want this much attention.

You walked until you were on top of someone’s table, climbing on it with the help of a random guy, dancing and singing along to Rihanna’s song, Only Girl.

You could faintly see Jack, Quinn and Luke at your table, Jack shouting your name while Luke used his phone to record it. Quinn looked like he was having the worst time of his life, but you were probably just seeing things.

“I want you to love me,” you sang, grabbing someone’s spoon to use as your mic. “Like I’m a hot ride,”

Some girls were singing along with you, and you smiled at them. The club was ringing with the heavy bass of the song, casting vibrant hues of pink and purple through the air.

Even if you were drunk, all of your moves were smooth and effortless, like you’d been born for this. You were having fun and for the first time not thinking of the consequences of your actions— which was probably a bad move.

You looked down, noticing that Luke stood in front of you, offering you his hand so you could get off the table, making sure you didn’t hurt yourself in the process.

“Hey,” he greeted, while you hugged his neck.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Lukey,” you shouted over the music. “You’re so grown up now!”

“You’re so gone.” he laughed, putting his hands on your waist. “We need to go.”

He was absolutely right, you were very much gone. And you were a little tired, but it’d been so long since the last time you went out to dance that you didn’t really care about sleeping or going back to your hotel.

“Dance with me, Lukey,” you smirked. “We can go home after this song.”

He only nodded, moving his body with yours awkwardly, making you laugh really hard. You still loved them a lot, and they’d forever be in your heart, no matter how much time passed.

Someone grabbed your arm midway through going down to the floor, pulling you up. You frowned, looking up and watching Mr. No Fun scowling at you and Luke.

“I told you to come get her and you’re now dancing with her? Let’s go,” he hissed, pulling you with him, so close you could feel the warmth of his body against yours.

“I would love to know what the hell happened to you, because why are you an ass all the time?” You yelled, the need of making him as upset as you was bigger than your common sense. “Or maybe it’s just with me.”

“Be quiet, Madison,” he growled before handing Luke his card and asking him to pay the bill and fetch Jack on his way back, while he dragged you out of the club. “We’re leaving.”

“I can see that,” you scoffed, waving to some of the girls who were dancing with you earlier. “Of course it’d be you to ruin my night.”

“Ruin your night?” He stopped, turning around and staring at you. “You’re drunk, dancing in the middle of people you don’t even know, when you’re well known and when you know anyone could do anything to you.”

“You said know thrice,” you giggled, stopping yourself when you saw that his angry face was still there. “And I was dancing with Luke.”

“Yeah, after you danced on top of a fucking table with I don’t even know how many men around.” He snorted, resuming his walk and dragging you with him again.

“Why are you so angry?” You rolled your eyes. “Is it because you still see me as your little sister? Is that what’s happening here?”

He stares at you, gray-ish eyes making you shiver. Locking his jaw, he only shook his head and didn’t say anything else, making you angrier.

But before you could properly lash out on him, Luke and Jack were standing by Quinn’s side, ready to say their goodbyes.

“I would’ve stayed for way longer but you know, duty calls,” Jack smiled, words coming out of his mouth slurred and slow, hugging you weirdly because he was really drunk too.

“Come see us in Jersey. We miss you.” Luke said, hugging you sideways.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “I’ll give you my jersey.”

You nodded, kissing them both on the cheek. “Be safe. You guys keep doing your great work. I’ll miss you.”

“Bye, bro,” they hugged Quinn and you were confused for two seconds before remembering that Quinn lived in Vancouver. “See you soon.”

Quinn hugged them back, asking Luke to drive safely and text when they got to their hotel. As you watched them go, you resumed walking too, removing your heels and reaching for your phone to call an Uber.

“Where are you going?” Quinn shouted behind you, and you didn’t look back when you answered “hotel!”. “You’re barefoot, it’s almost three a.m. and you’re alone in a city you don’t even know.”

“First of all, I was born here. And second of all, I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you replied, trying to see one phone at a time. “Why do I have two phones?” You mumbled.

“Madison, come on,” his steps were getting closer. “Let me drive you to your hotel.”

“I thought you were a hockey player, not a chauffeur,” you snorted, pretty sure that you spelled the French word wrongly. “Go home, Quinn.”

You felt a hand on your wrist, holding you. You stopped, staring at it before looking up and looking at Quinn’s angry face. “Madison. You’re drunk, and Vancouver isn’t as safe as they made it out to be.”

“Why are you so worried now, H-Hughes?” You raised your brow. “You were just fine ignoring me for the entire night. I don’t understand what changed.”

He sighed, running his hands through his beautiful, perfect hair. “I’m sorry, okay? I know I’ve been an asshole this entire night but— it’s complicated. Just let me take you home, alright?”

You stared at him for a long time, watching as his frame sometimes doubled in quantity and two Quinn’s stood in front of you. Two Quinn Hughes would be a very pleasant sight, indeed.

“Why is it complicated?” You finally said.

“Madison, we’re not having this conversation tonight with you three sheets to the wind. Come on.” He said before pulling you again.

“I’m not leaving with you, and stop using hard words!” You shouted, removing yourself from his grip. “Good night.”

Turning around, you started walking again, one step at a time because apparently you had four left feet.

Only to feel your body being pulled and suddenly your feet were off the ground and you were in Quinn’s arms, with him carrying you bridal style, making you yelp.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Last time I saw you, you weren’t so dirty-mouthed.” he mumbled, his stubble scratching your temple.

“Last time you saw me I was fifteen. I am twenty-two now and very much allowed to say things like fuck.” You squirmed in his arms, tiring yourself even more. Quinn’s arms felt like they were made of iron. “I also fuck now.”

Oh you were so going to regret this.

He frowned. “I don’t want to know about that, Madison.”

“‘Course you don’t,” you mumbled, giving up and resting your head on his shoulder.

“We’re going to talk later.” He said, suddenly stopping and putting you down in front of a fancy black car. Probably his.

“About what? Me having sex?” You chuckled.

“No, God. Not that,” he dropped his key, bending over to pick it up. He opened the door for you and ordered: “Get in.”

“You’re actually pretty annoying.” You mumbled, but did what he said anyway. You were starting to feel sleepy and bickering with Quinn seemed uninteresting now.

Even though it was funny to watch him scowl.

His car’s seat was cold but he turned the heat on as soon as he started the car. He got out of the parking spot and started driving around Vancouver’s almost deserted streets.

You sighed, resting your head against the window and getting comfortable. Even though you were still upset with Quinn and even though you were pretty sure he also was upset with you, there was just something comforting about being around him. You loved it a lot, and hadn’t realized you’d missed it this much.

“Which hotel are you in?” He asked after a while, and you didn’t even open your eyes to answer.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Fancy and big, looks like a shoe b-box, but I don’t know the name of i-it.”

“How do you not know the name of the hotel you’re staying at?” You could hear the amusement in his voice, making you smile sleepily. “How were you even going to call an Uber, then?”

“You ask too many questions, Quinn,” you answered, before lulling yourself into a deep sleep.

You didn’t get to sleep for a long time, because soon you had Quinn opening the door and almost making you fall out of the car. “Oh, sorry. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

You were amazed by the fact that he’d manage to find out in which hotel you were staying in even without you saying anything, and you found yourself smiling, remembering how you admired him as a kid, when he’d always have the answers to your questions.

“What are you smiling about?” He asked you, placing his hands on your lower back.

“Nothing.” You answered but you weren’t exactly sure if the word had come out right.

Either way you heard his quiet laugh, before taking your heels and purse— that you didn’t even remember you had— out of his car and locking it. He guided you through the small path, stopping in front of the big door and unlocking it.

Funny, this hotel looks a lot different than the one you’d checked in but maybe they’d finally upgraded your room.

“How did you get them to give me a better room?” You asked, looking around.

The room looked a lot like a house to be honest, it even had an open kitchen and a living room.

“What do you mean?” He asked, turning around and looking at you, apparently confused.

“When I checked-in earlier they— they,” you hiccupped, wanting nothing more than a bed. “They gave me a very shitty bedroom and I had to take a cold s-shower because the heater was broken.”

“We’re not at your hotel,” he rolled his eyes. “We’re at my house. I don’t know where your hotel is and I don’t have time to drive around until you remember its name so you’ll sleep here tonight.”

If you weren’t so drunk and ready to sleep for the next century, you might’ve put on a fight. But all you managed to do was walk around the living room and say “Okay, sleep well.” Before laying down on his big, fluffy couch.

“What— Jesus,” he echoed, grabbing your hand. “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I have a spare room.”

He walked you to another spacious room, gently helping you sit on the bed.

“Can you wait here for a second? I’ll go and grab something for you to wear. You’re probably uncomfortable with that… thing,” he said, pointing to your dress and leaving the room, not waiting for your answer.

Not that you would’ve given him one anyway, you were too distracted trying not to sleep. It was a hard job.

He didn’t take long, coming back with a plaid shirt and some blue shorts that looked ginormous. “This probably won’t fit you but it’s fine, it’s just for tonight.”

He placed them on the bed, helping you get up and stand on your feet. He turned you around, unzipping your dress and helping you get out of it. Then, he made you face him again, only that he wasn’t really looking at you. His head was down, his eyes on the floor, and you caught yourself smiling with how cute and respectful Quinn’s always been.

You changed into his clothes taking ten minutes more than you usually would, especially with how you are so used to changing fast during runways, but your limbs were heavy and you were on your final straw.

“This doesn’t fit,” you mumbled, watching as you tried to tie the shorts’ lace around your waist and failing miserably, just for it to fall at your feet, leaving you with just his shirt and your panties. “Quinn. It doesn’t fit.”

“I can see that, Madison,” he chuckled, finally looking you in the eye again. “Go to bed. Tomorrow we will find something else.”

You shrugged, getting on the tip of your toes and giving him a light kiss on the cheek. “Night, Quinny.”

You didn’t watch his reaction, heading to bed immediately and passing out before you even got to hear his answer.

౨ৎ

maddiecarter_updates

liked by cherylwilliams, lucaspotter, melanieg_12 and 12,013 others

maddiecarter_updates Looong night for our girl Mads! She was seen by fans in Vancouver at a night club with Jack, Quinn and Luke Hughes, and some locals said they saw her leaving the club with Quinn Hughes (@_quinnhughes)! We hoped she enjoyed herself! 😊

View all 129 comments

user1 who r these fine men lmfao

maddiecarter_updates user1 They’re NHL players, Quinn plays for the Vancouver Canucks and both Luke and Jack play for the NJ Devils. 🙂

user2 lowkey wish she’d grab my ass too :/

user3 Aren’t they the guys she grew up with? I might be wrong though..

maddiecarter_updates user3 Madison never confirmed nor denied these rumours. The nature of her relationship with the Hughes is still unknown and we must respect that :)

user4 SHE’s SO FINEEEEEE

user5 HUGGY BEAR LOOKING SO DAMN FINE THATS MY CAPTAIN

user6 watch puck bunnies start dragging her in 3. 2. 1….

౨ৎ

WAKING UP the next morning felt like running an entire marathon barefoot and naked, after eating a whole bunch of junk food and drinking two gallons of milk.

In other words, it’d been hard.

It felt like you were emerging from a foggy, oppressive haze. Your eyelids were heavy, struggling to open, and when you finally managed to open them, the light from the window felt painfully bright, stabbing your temple.

Your mouth feels like sandpaper and the lingering taste of alcohol sits on your tongue. Every sound, even the gentle rustle of sheets, seems amplified, reverberating in your throbbing head. A dull, relentless ache pulses behind your eyes, making it hard to focus on anything.

“Holy fuck,” you mumbled, trying to wet your lips with your tongue. “What the hell…”

Your body feels heavy, sluggish, and as you slowly sit up the whole room starts spinning slightly. A wave of nausea hits you, a queasy reminder of the night before. Your stomach churns, and there's an unsettling sensation in your gut, as if everything is on the edge of tipping over. You rub your face, feeling the sweat and the grogginess, struggling to remember what happened, but the memories come in disjointed flashes.

“Oh my God.”

You were mortified with your own actions. Dancing on top of a table? Grabbing the DJ’s ass? Talking with Quinn about your sex life?

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth with your hand, trying not to throw up.

You got up, looking around, trying to recognise the room you were in. It didn’t have much decoration in it, just a plain wallpaper and a big bed with two nightstands. There was a door to the left which you opened, finding a small bathroom with a shower, a sink and a toilet.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you actually gasped. Your hair was all over the place, your makeup smudged and Quinn’s shirt had fallen off and your boobs were almost out.

“I need a shower,” you mumbled, getting out of your panties and Quinn’s shirt, turning the shower on. Your head was still pounding and it only got worse when you remembered that you were away from Bella and that you’d have to move to Vancouver in less than two weeks.

Even if you wanted to say no to La Vie en Rose’s deal so bad, you didn’t want to do that with Nicholas. He was a great person, and a great friend too, and you knew he had the purest of intentions. And it would only be for six months.

You scrubbed your body with the liquid soap, feeling the hot water worsening your headache but you weren’t the type of person who enjoyed cold showers.

Ten minutes later, the quickest shower of your life, you stood naked in the middle of the bathroom, looking for a towel inside the cabinets. After you found one, you wrapped your body around it and dried yourself while walking back to the bedroom.

You found a new change of clothes on the bed and a new pair of boxers, chuckling with how Quinn must have looked when he placed these things on your bed.

Oh, right. Quinn. You were at his house.

Thinking of what you’d even say to him, you put on the clothes he left for you, not wearing the shorts again. The shirt covered the boxers anyway.

You left the bedroom, walking around the house until you finally found the kitchen, reading the clock before you stared at Quinn. 7:34a.m.

“How did I wake up this early?” You asked, sitting on a stool and watching as he turned around and smiled at you.

His smile was still the same, just a little bit different. He looked tired, but his eyes still held that softness you adored so much.

“Morning to you,” he says, handing you a cup of coffee. “Your body’s probably still used to your usual routine. It’s normal.”

“That’s bullshit,” you groaned. “I feel like I’m about to die.”

“Don’t say that,” he chuckled. “You’ll be fine.”

You raised your brow at him, watched as he leaned against the counter and stared right back at you. Usually, you’d feel self conscious and nervous, but Quinn looked at you with tenderness, with delicacy. He made you feel safe without even doing anything, even if you were still supposedly mad at each other.

Which reminded you of something.

“Are you still mad at me?”

He scoffed. “I wasn’t mad at you, Madison.”

“You keep calling me that,” you pointed out. “I don’t remember everything that happened last night, but I do remember how upset you were with me, and how you didn’t even look at me for too long. Only when you were frowning.”

“Madison—”

“I get that you’re mad at me because I never talked to you again, or visited you in the US or when I didn’t congratulate you when you got drafted but—” you sighed, running your hands through your hair, frustrated. “You have no right to be upset.”

You watched as he looked at you, incredulous. “I have no right to be upset?” He cocked his head, wavy hair falling freely to the side. “Wanna tell me why?”

“Well, for starters, the phone works both ways,” you pointed out. “And also, you never came back for me either. So we’re even.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed but you could see that he wasn’t thinking that what you were saying was actually funny. “Madison, tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m not!” You raised your arms, regretting immediately because your body still hurt. “Why would I joke about that?”

“Because I went to your house.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to tell you he was the one who was joking. Only that he stayed quiet, waiting for you to realize he was being serious.

“What the hell, Quinn? What do you mean?”

“After I called you several times and you didn’t pick up, I went to your parents’ house in Toronto, back in 2018,” he gestured with his hands, eyes never leaving yours. “I told your mom I was in town and I needed to see you, but she told me you were in Los Angeles, training to be a model, whatever that means.”

“I only moved to LA when I turned eighteen,” you frowned, confused. “And I never got any of your calls, not once. So I never called you because I thought— I don’t know, I thought you had gotten tired of me.”

“Why would you even think that?” He asked, voice filled with distress. “Madison, you were my best friend.”

“You were surrounded by gorgeous, beautiful girls who were your age and in the pictures you looked like you were having fun with them, so—”

“I would trade them all for you, Maddie. And you know that.”

You didn’t know which part of his statement hurt you the most. Him calling you by the nickname he gave you for the first time in years or the fact that you knew he was telling the truth.

“I know,” you whispered, choosing to look at the cup in front of you. “Maybe that’s exactly why I didn’t call or text you. You deserved better than some stupid fifteen year old who thought love could change the world.” You laughed, humorlessly.

“Don’t talk about yourself that way,” he complained. “You weren’t stupid. And I’m sorry for all this mess.”

You looked up, frowning. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. My mom lied to you about me moving and she probably blocked your number on my phone.”

“Either way, I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. I just… seeing you after all these years and listening to you talking about Los Angeles like it was heaven on Earth when you hadn’t visited me or my family in a long time made me go crazy, ” he chuckles.

“Well, now we’re both sorry,” you mumbled, drinking the rest of the lukewarm coffee in one go. “What do we do now?”

“We can try keeping in touch with each other even when you’re back in LA,” he suggests, moving his body around the kitchen. “If that’s what you want, of course.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not going back to LA. At least not any time soon.”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

“Got a job with a Canadian brand and I have to stay here for the next six months.”

“Stay here as in live here?” He asked, lips curling up. You nodded. “Oh.”

“Yup.”

“You don’t seem too excited.”

“I don’t really love the idea of living in the same city as my mom,” you mumbled, drawing invisible patterns with your fingers on the marble surface. “But I’ve been looking forward to working with them for a long time now.”

You heard Quinn’s steps, and next thing you know he was beside you, resting his elbows on the counter and looking at you with fond, blue eyes. “Don’t let people ruin what’s great for you, Maddie. No one should be more important than your dreams.”

You looked at him, smiling shyly. You didn’t really know how to act around him now that you were both in peace. And you still didn’t know what to do with your heart whenever it beat faster inside of you because of Quinn.

“Thanks, Quinn,” you sighed, getting off the stool. “I’ll go back to my hotel now. I’ll sleep before I decide what I need to do with my life.”

“A good nap is a good nap,” he nods. Then, scratching the back of his neck, he softly adds: “You can nap here if you want. I’ll head to the gym with my team but you’re free to stay.”

You can feel the blush adorning your face and you let out a fake cough, trying to get it back to normal.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

He chuckles and stares at you for a while, looking like he was in the middle of a battle with his thoughts. At the end, you’d have to thank whoever won inside of his head, because he walked until he was standing not even an inch away from you and kissed you on your forehead, soft lips making you shiver.

“No need to hurry. I like having you around.”

Oh, boy. This was going to be difficult.

taglist: @ru-kru @alwaysclassyeagle @hischierswhore 🤎

[chilschuck]

omg… thinking abt chil reconnecting w his ex wife and becoming platonic besties. imagine they talk about it finding love again (chil’s ex has a new gf)… chil realises he’s caught feelings for reader… his ex teasing him about it…

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ OMG ANON THIS HAD ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET, WAHHHH. SUCH A CUTE IDEA!!!! it’s currently 2 am but i had to get this out for you since you’ve been waiting a while!!! it was so much fun!! <33

— ALL BECAUSE OF YOU.

꒰ info: ꒱ chilchuck x gn!reader

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none, sfw!! some cussing ofc lol

꒰ wc: ꒱ 586

✦ tumblr deleted this before i could post it twice so let’s pray it posts this time, LOL. short but sweet, i hope you enjoy!!! <333

“So… Who are they?”

That simple question was enough to make him choke on his drink. Was he that easy to read? Catching his breath, the half-foot immediately sputtered.

“What are you talking about?” Yet, the knowing look on her face said it all. Even if they had been separated for this long, she could still figure out just what he was hiding. So much for trying to keep some things personal…

“You have this expression, this content smile I haven’t seen in years, Chilchuck. Someone’s making you happy.” Her tone was not condescending in the slightest, rather content with this new revelation. Her words caused his cheeks to flush, more than the ale in his cup could.

And she was right. He was coming to terms with his feelings; and even the thought of you was enough to make him whole again. The fact it was so obvious was rather embarrassing, and he could feel the tips of his ears burn.

“Yeah, yeah… I guess you figured it out before I got a chance to tell you.”

They were nothing like they used to be, having settled on staying close through friendship. Although this maybe would’ve been hard to do in the past, Chilchuck felt more peaceful than he thinks he has in years. There was something about you that lit fire to his senses in ways he had long forgotten, and he found himself seeking you out more than he’d like to admit.

“I’ve told you plenty about my new girlfriend, now it’s your turn to spill. What are they like? It’s a sight to see you this happy.”

It was something only someone who really knew him could see; the change in his demeanor, the light in his eyes, the smile that threatened to spill from the corners of his lips. And it was all because of you.

“You’re going to laugh when I tell you how I met them,” he began, licking the ale from his lips in thought. “Laios’ party. I really ended up eating my own words about inner party romance, huh?” The last sentence came out in a grumble, one that caused her to laugh.

“Wow, they made you go against your own rules? Must be a keeper.”

And you were. Warm, but not enough to burn. Bright, but not blindingly so. Sweet, but not sickening. Chilchuck found himself feeling like a teenager again when it came to you. He bit his tongue.

“So you’re going to confess to them, right?” She teased, prodding his shoulder. “Look at you, blushing like a schoolboy. Must be serious.”

He opened his mouth to retort, before closing it again. The words died before he could speak, the full gravity of his feelings for you hitting him like a freight train. Burying his head in his arms, he groaned. “Shit…”

Chilchuck was doomed. Yet even as his head spiraled from a mixture of the alcohol and his new found love, it always went back to you. You, and your smiles, and your laugh, and your touch. There weren’t enough curse words he could possibly growl out in this moment to make himself feel better.

His ex wife laughed again, patting him on the back and stirring him from his thoughts. “Jeez, you really are a schoolboy. Maybe you should give them a love letter while you’re at it. Might be smart, actually.”

That’s how the rest of their time together went; two close friends musing about the ability to find love again. All because of you.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <3

[dovveri]

save your love

synopsis: y/n is susie in allie x & mitski's susie save your love song - if u dont know it go listen :P (but also u dont have to lol synopsis is y/n calls bsf sana drunk and sad and angry abt her bf and you don't know that sana is in love with you)

warnings: cursing, sexual harassment, alcohol, slight cheating, gonn repeat sexual harassment bcs its there and its potentially triggering so err on the side of caution and dont read if ur worried - take care🙏

w/c: 3.7k

a/n: still not over the fact that sana used susie save your love in that one ig post like wdym ur a mitski - qpoc ICON - listener and u post a song abt how u wish ur bsf would leave her dumb bf and be w u instead - a quintessential wlw experience like HELLO???? i also think i projected a liiiiiiil bit accidentally maybe im so sorry but writing this shit works better than therapy ngl

࿐ ࿔*: ☽･ﾟ

"y/n where the fuck are you."

you're cursing as you almost drop your drink, phone between your ear and shoulder.

"i dunnoooo one of marshall's friends' places i think. he was supposed to be my ride home but i can't find himmmmmm."

sana's already got her keys in her hand, heading out towards her car, cursing under her breath, "can you share your location with me sweetie? or is there anyone else there that you know?"

you look around at the various stragglers in the living room either smoking, high out of their minds, or completely passed out. loud music, bass thumping hurting your head as you feel the vibrations shoot up your body. "mmmmm noooo but-"

"hey! marshall's girl right?" a deep voice comes over the phone and sana squints to try and make out what's going on, unlocking her car and turning her engine on.

"y/n? hey y/n you still there?"

"mm yeah sana sorry one sec- you guys know where marshall is?"

"think i saw him headed home with someone in the passenger seat, thought that was you cutie."

"someone else? huh?"

"you doing okay? you look a little pale let's get you upstairs in the bathroom yeah?"

"w-wait no-" sana can make out multiple voices talking to you and a little scuffle as you drop your phone, voices fading.

"fuck!" she's about to call your boyfriend marshall and demand for your address when she sees you were able to start sharing your location with her. she sets it into her navigation app and starts speeding to the destination.

࿐ ࿔*: ☽･ﾟ

"umm guys where are we going? i don't think marshall's up here..."

"oh don't worry babygirl. marshall's our best friend he's okay with whatever we wanna do."

"mm okay but like- what are we doing? if we're singing you guys have to know i suck at karaoke so don't laugh."

the three guys holding you up laugh, "nah nah baby we're just gonna get you cleaned up a little before marshall comes to pick you up okay?"

"oh okay~ mmm wait where's my phone? i was just talking to my best friend-" you start to fumble for your pockets while the guys lead you into a dim room.

they shut the door and close in on you, you’re still cluelessly looking for your phone when one guy starts kissing you, shoving his tongue into your mouth.

"w-wait! what are you doing?!"

he's pushing you onto a bed and climbing on top of you kissing your neck while the others slip your top off and unbutton your jeans. "shhh we're just cleaning you up like we said. want you to be nice and ready for marshall right?"

"no what-"

the door slams open and sana's there, breathing heavily from clambering over the steps.

"get the fuck away from her."

the guys exchange annoyed looks when the one who was at your jeans stands up and walks towards sana, "you the best friend? you're welcome to join us if you'd like." he's pulling on her hand and dragging her towards you.

she doesn't give him another second, yanking him back and bringing a knee up into his crotch, letting him fall to the side groaning as she rushes towards you.

you realise belatedly she's got her phone out and the flashlight on as you squint, trying to make out her face.

"get the fuck off her right fucking now. i've got all you shits on camera and the cops on speed dial."

the two guys glance at each other, looking like they want to pull a fight but then they're cursing and moving away, picking up their friend off the floor and stumbling out the door.

her flashlight turns off, and you feel her tugging your clothes back into place before lifting you bridal-style and carrying you out, down the stairs, and into the passenger seat of her car.

you watch hazily as she paces around outside for a few minutes on the phone with someone, stopping to snap a picture of the house and then hanging up and getting into the car, slamming the door close.

you flinch at the sound, shrinking into your seat, pulling the jacket she's draped over you closer.

she starts the engine and pulls out wordlessly.

you don't dare speak yet, letting the soft hum of the engine and the late night radio music fill the silence as you listen to her heavy breaths slow down.

finally she sighs and glances over at you, "what would you have done if i didn't show up y/n?" her voice is gentle, it always was with you.

you can't look at her, tears welling up in your eyes as you stare out the window, shrugging in response.

she's frowning, "did they manage to do anything to you? are you okay? do we need to get you to a hospital?"

you're shaking your head, the movement making you dizzy, feeling gross in your own skin as you pick at your nails. "can you take me to marshall's? i don't wanna talk about this right now." you're voice is croaky when you speak, on the verge of tears.

sana grips the wheel hard at your request, instead, pulling over on the side of the empty road and putting the car in park.

you sigh exasperatedly, "sana please i just said i don't want to talk about this right now."

"that's fine but if you think i'm taking you to that asshole's house then you've got to be fucking kidding me y/n."

you turn your head to look at her then, her eyes are dark with barely concealed rage, fists clenched so tight her knuckles were turning white. you falter under her gaze, "he's not an asshole."

she scoffs then, "are you fucking serious? what kinda boyfriend takes you to his rapist friends' house then leaves with another girl without so much as a text. it should be enough proof he’s a dick that he's even friends with those assholes." she spits.

and you can't help it, you start sobbing uncontrollably.

"oh shit y/n i didn't- i'm sorry-" she's shuffling around trying to get around the console, and you sob even louder at her outstretched hand, careful and wanting to comfort you but making sure you were okay being touched first.

you're diving into her arms and then she's all there. pulling you into her lap and adjusting the position of her seat so you can squeeze in between the wheel and her torso. soft hands running through your hair shooshing and whispering gently into you ear. arm wrapped tightly around your waist while your face is buried in her chest, heaving and letting out your disgust.

she never stops running her fingers through your hair, letting your sobs wrack your body, hearts beating in tandem as she just holds you.

eventually, your sobs reside to sniffles and you feel a little silly, rubbing your eyes onto the material of her betty boop pyjama shirt.

she's still combing fingers through you hair, rubbing your back lightly, and laying soft kisses along the side of your face, resting her forehead against the top of your head and breathing you in softly.

"i-i'm-" your voice cracks as you try to speak up weakly but she hushes you quickly.

"we don't have to talk if you don't want to. we can stay here for as long as you want. i'm not going anywhere."

you feel your eyes well up again, but you swallow it down, speaking up after clearing your throat, "i'm sorry-" your voice cracks again, almost breaking, "i'm sorry you had to see me like that."

you feel her lifting her head off yours and looking at you in disbelief, mouth open and about to protest but you put a finger to her lips, still not able to look at her.

"no let me finish. you were right. i had no idea what i'd have done if you didn't come. i'm sorry that you did have to come. i'm just so sorry for fucking up sana. if i'd- if i hadn't got so drunk maybe, or if i'd followed marshall home-"

she licks the finger on her lips and you yelp, looking at her out of reaction and cringing, wiping the finger on her shoulder in faux disgust.

she chuckles, "can i talk yet?"

you nod shyly, "as long as you don't lick me again." avoiding her eyes.

she's smiling and a hand is on your cheek, brushing the skin there gently and you can't help but lean into the touch.

"y/n... you don't have to apologise for anything. i'm sorry if i made you feel like you did. but i don't care about all of that. i'm just grateful i was there, if anything, i'm angry at myself for not being there sooner." you look at her as she takes a shaky breath in, eyes wet, "but you have to know none of that was your fault. there's no what if. it was no one's fault but the guys who decided to take advantage of you while you were drunk."

you're crying again, head in your hands, "n-no but- like i know that but i just- like i trusted them. i trusted them because they were meant to be marshall's friends and i trusted marshall."

she's rubbing her hands at your lower back, "that doesn't make it your fault for trusting them. they broke that trust the moment they started thinking of you in a way they shouldn't have. you can't blame yourself for something like that y/n."

"i just feel so gross sana. i can't stop thinking about how their hands felt on me, and i want to scrub off every bit of them."

she's clutching your waist, anger building up again, "i'll fucking kill them."

you let out a choked laugh, "yeah? you and your 163 centimetres? against three buff gym rats?" you poke the skin at her arms, "with these muscles i assume?" (it was SO funny and adorable in the ready to be tw-log finale ep when jeongyeon was poking at sana saying how she has zero arm muscles)

she's pulling away from you with a pout and a whine on her lips before her gaze darkens and she says somberly, "i have a car."

you laugh seriously then, a big hearty laugh as your head falls to her shoulder, and she's whining and trying to pull you up. you're so grateful for her.

eventually you come up, wiping at your eyes and catching your breath, "well i'm glad i have someone who'd commit manslaughter for me."

she's pouting adorably and you get a sudden rush of want, and you blush, scrambling away, wondering why the fuck you just thought about how easy it'd be to kiss the pout off your best friend's lips.

sana's confused and pulling you back into her, "what's wrong? where’re you going?"

you come up with the quickest excuse you can think of, "gonna puke."

she yelps and quickly opens the car door, almost falling out in her rush to avoid being covered in sick. you're out the door in seconds, heaving in the fresh air and shivering slightly at the cold, hoping it'll at least cool down the heat in your cheeks.

then you're giggling, and then laughing again, turning back to face her look of disgust. her face morphs as she watches you though, and soon enough she's doubled over laughing as well.

to anyone driving past, you'd both look insane, laughing at absolutely nothing. but to you, you've never felt more free, more relieved. you're safe, and okay, and you're favourite person in the whole world is here with you. you collapse onto the hood of her car, and she follows suit, giggling and breathy.

the two of you lay here, looking up into the night sky, counting the stars. you shiver slightly and move closer towards her until your bodies are touching. she's turning slightly, wrapping an arm around your waist loosely, and watching you watch the stars.

you turn to face her, breaths mingling, coming out in wispy white clouds of heat in the chilly night air. you find your eyes dropping to her mouth again, and you can't hide the blush that adorns your face this time. if you'd just leaned in a little more, you'd be able to answer the burning question in your head of what exactly sana tasted like.

the slight quiver in her lower lip entrances you, the soft breaths she's taking as her warmth fans over your face, smelling of jasmine and the toothpaste she’s used just before bed. you're inching closer and closer, her eyes are on your lips as well.

you lose it though, when a tongue peeks out and licks across her bottom lip, and you're pressing your lips against hers softly, eyes closed, and humming at the warmth she provides.

she's kissing you back gently, lips slotting against yours in the perfect way, and then she's gone, pulling away leaving you chasing after her, but she places a hand on your chest, pushing you back lightly.

"you're drunk. and taken. this is wrong."

you whine, trying to pull her back to you but she's firm, sitting up and walking away.

you're blinking and what the fuck just happened? dazed as you stand up as well, moving back into the passenger seat dumbly, peeking at her expression trying to get a sense of what was going on inside her mind.

she starts the engine and pulls out from the kerb, staring straight ahead, giving you nothing.

you can't help but think you've fucked everything up again.

࿐ ࿔*: ☽･ﾟ

the storm brewing inside your head doesn't stop when she pulls into your driveway and parks.

you muster up the courage to apologise but she beats you to it, "i'm sorry y/n. i shouldn't have done that. can we just forget it about it please? i don't want to ruin anything between us. you're the most important person in the world to me and i can't lose you over these stupid feelings and i'm so sorry if i made you feel uncomfortable at all i-"

your inebriated mind is playing catch up, rolling her words in your head over and over again trying to figure out why that sounded like she was saying she had feelings for you? that couldn't be right. sana was the it girl. she was the girl that everyone wanted. she was the girl that sat through your nerdy rants about space and eels. the girl that bought you ice cream when your first boyfriend broke up with you in grade 3 because he didn't like the way you cut your hair. the girl that cried when she found out you weren't going to the same high school because you were moving away, but then managed to get her parents to enroll her anyway and spent the next 6 years taking the 2 hour commute to school just to be with you.

and holy shit. sana was in love with you.

"sana..." you interrupted her rambling, "i... i kinda have a massive headache right now and i'm more than a little drunk but… this isn't going to change our friendship at all."

her eyes are wide and shining, looking at you in fear, you grab her hands and squeeze them over the console, "i promise i'm not leaving you but i don't want to give you an answer yet when i'm in this state. but if it helps, i'm pretty sure i'm the one that kissed you first." you grin, and she lets out a shaky breath.

you let go of her hands and shyly rub the back of your neck, "i kinda need to get inside and get clean but i'll call you tomorrow if that's okay?"

she's nodding, wiping at her eyes hastily.

you open the door and step out, closing it softly behind you. but you lean back down and gesture for her to roll down the window which she does.

"and sana... thank you for tonight. seriously. i don't know how i can ever show you how grateful i am for you being there."

she purses her lip and is firm again, "stop it. i'm glad i was there. and thankyou for letting me be there for you."

you smile gently as you wave and head towards your door, she waits for you to get inside and the door to shut before she pulls out and drives home, heart thumping, thoughts messy.

࿐ ࿔*: ☽･ﾟ

you wake up in the morning with a pounding headache, stumbling to your kitchen to pop a few painkillers and squinting as you adjust to the morning sunlight spilling through your windows.

thank god you remembered everything that happened last night, you set your lips in a line as you got ready. you had a strict plan for today, and nothing was going to ruin it.

you quickly get dressed, thumbing out a small letter and grab your keys, driving over to marshall's house was step one.

once you arrive, you slam your car door loudly, taking satisfaction in the fact it probably woke him in his self-induced hangover he was no doubt soothing. you stalk up his front door, rapping on the wood loudly and tapping your foot impatiently as you wait for him to open the door.

it's not him though, and you scoff at the sight of a half naked girl, probably barely legal, pushing her aside despite her weak protests, and letting yourself into the space.

you storm up to his room, flinging open the door, grabbing the vase next to the bed, and dumping the water all over his sleeping head.

he wakes up with a start, "WHAT THE FUC-"

you slap him across the face, bringing his attention to you, "we're done." two simple words and you're back out the door, going down the steps, and back into your car.

you're halfway down the street when you spot him in the rearview mirror clambering after you in his underwear, soaking and pathetic.

you can't believe you had stayed with that man for as long as you had.

the relief you feel after your first action of the day is freeing. you're chasing after the feeling you had last night when you were doubled over laughing like madmen with sana on the side of the road. adrenaline pumping as you pull up to your local florist, purchasing a big bouquet of pink hydrangeas and then grabbing 2 coffees and a few bakery goods, shoving everything back into your car and speeding away again.

you arrive at sana's front door in record time, knowing her, she was definitely awake already and probably anxiously waiting for you to call. you grin as you grab the flowers, the letter you wrote before you left the house, and the breakfast you've gotten for the both of you, placing it down on her front door mat and arranging everything nicely so it looked picture-worthy.

then you ring her doorbell and duck, running over to her side fence that you knew she always left unlocked, entering her house through the back door, and sneaking back towards the front.

sana's bent down over the flowers and you can see the slight crease between her eyebrows from her confusion as she reads the letter you've left in the middle of the hydrangeas.

i'm sure you don't need me to tell you what pink hydrangeas represent because you're a huge flower nerd and i love that about you but i'm going to write it out anyway to show you i did the research.

in japan, hydrangeas are used to show you're sorry. and i'm sorry for not realising sooner, for letting you suffer for so long on your own. they also represent heartfelt emotions and gratitude. i'm eternally grateful for you sana. you're the most important person in the whole world to me too. i'd also commit manslaughter for you.

in europe, hydrangeas mean vanity and arrogance. i'm sorry i was so self-involved with my stupid boyfriends. to tell you the truth, i always thought you were too good for me, and that you'd realise that one day and leave, so i clung to anyone i could find, waiting in fear of that day. that was selfish of me, and i see that now, because you could never leave someone you love. because i realised i feel the same way about you, and i could never, never leave you.

pink hydrangeas are the most romantic of the bunch. (they’re also your favourite colour) i'm obviously trying to tell you that i love you too in a more than platonic way. and this time i'm not drunk or hyperemotional, i'm certain.

you silently creep up behind her while she's reading your note, and then grab her waist lifting her up into the air as she squeals, turning her in your arms and planting your lips on hers.

she's caught by surprise, lips unmoving against yours, until she realises it's you and wraps her legs around your waist, arms around your neck, and kisses you back.

you can finally taste her. and there's no way to describe it. you don't know why it took you so long to realise your feelings for her, but you'd never felt the way you feel about her for anyone else. you'd chalked that up to being best friends and that that's the way all best friends feel about each other, but best friends don't sigh into kisses. best friends don't feel like their hearts would explode with each soft press of skin against each other. best friends don't love each other the way you loved sana.

you break away when you feel wetness glide along your cheek, and salt touch the tip of your tongue. "sana?! oh my god i'm so sorry, i shouldn't- i should've asked first- oh shit i'm so-"

she's chuckling brokenly and you can't tell if she's laughing or crying or both but she pulls you back in, melding your lips together again speaking against your mouth, "i'm sorry. i'm just so happy right now."

you smile against her, kissing her again, you think you'll never be able to get enough of this feeling. "i'm sorry it took so long for me to catch up."

you feel her laugh against you, "i'm just glad you've still got some love saved for me."

"always." kiss. "it's all for you from now. i love you."

"i love you too idiot."

[rrxnjun]

blondes are done with fun ✲ h. renjun

pairing. journalism student! renjun x journalism student! fem! reader starring. huang renjun, lee donghyuck, yoo jimin, huh yunjin genre. college au, acquaintances to lovers. angst, fluff, smut warnings. alcohol consuption, swearing, renjun is a dick at the beginning, sexual content (fingering, unprotected sex) word count. 31k (31.320) a/n. awsten knight please stop making music so i can stop writing fics about your songs thanku. also this is my first smut please be gentle with it also if you're my friend please don't read the smut parts orif you do dont tell me abt it or i will literally kms

playlist. cherry red - waterparks ; fake happy - paramore ; heaven angel - the driver era ; blonde - waterparks ; disaster - conan gray ; raspberry - grouplove ; black butterflies and déjá vu - the maine ; fuck about it - waterpakrs, blackbear ; robbers - the 1975

a rumor has it that the popular couple in town broke up after years of being together. having to share your favorite seat in class with the male part of said relationship, you try to find out how to make your heartbroken project partner warm up to you— or— huang renjun goes blonde when he's sad.

✲ PART 1 OF THE SIMPLIFY ROMANCE SERIES ✲

“A rumor has it Huang Renjun and Huh Yunjin broke up,” is the first sentence that lands into your ears when your feet cross the imaginary border of the school premises one early morning, a cup of coffee in your hand as your best friend Jimin breaks the news to you, walking by your side into the university building.

Snapping your head around to look at her in shock and surprise at the news, eyes wide in question, you’re already invested in the love life of your classmates more than you probably should be, but due to multiple reasons that could explain it; one of them being the ordinary human curiosity– mainly created in your brain thanks to the fact that these two had dated for as long as you can remember– another reason being the gossip-oriented side of your personality– the part of it you like to explain through the fact that you’re a Journalism major and the love for gossip is just another part of your (hopefully) future occupation– and the last reason, the one that is probably the most harmless of them all (or maybe the most, depending on how you look at it) is the mere fact that while Huang Renjun had been a taken man for as long as you remember, he is also insanely attractive, and you’re just a simple woman. The idea of him being finally attainable is irking something in your brain, and even though you would feel embarrassed to admit this out loud, you can’t help but wonder what happened between those two after such a long time that made the legendary couple– iconic, even– break up. 

“What happened?” you ask, walking alongside the girl as you round the corner of the hall, in a rush to get to your morning class. The two of you slept in by accident, watching too many episodes of Keeping up with the Kardashians last night to notice the clock striking well past midnight, and now the journey to school was more difficult than it already is, with your dorms situated 30 minutes away and the class starting at 8 o’clock sharp. The time is now 7:58AM and while you’re already in the building and yours and Jimin’s classes are different, they are both on the fifth floor– and with the frequency of your visits to the gym, the way up there is hard not only because of the time pinch, but also because of the shortness of your breath when you rush to walk up there in less than five minutes before you have to take the walk of shame to your desk, watched by the professor with passive aggressive eyes.

“Nobody knows,” Jimin heaves out, taking two steps at once now, “I just heard from Yizhuo that Yunjin deleted all of their Instagram posts together and she supposedly stopped wearing that necklace he got her for their anniversary. Oh and also, Renjun didn’t drop her off at school on Friday, so something must be up.”

Humming in agreement, you rush up the stairs, the halls already emptied out because all of the students are hidden in their respective classroom. You manage to keep your voice down in case anyone’s listening in on your insensitive gossip, now that your voices aren’t drowned out by any other noise. “That’s weird. They’ve been together for so long, I’m starting to lose faith in real love if they really broke up.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Jimin squints as the two of you finally reach the fifth floor, the girl checking the time on her wristwatch huffing out at the sight of already being late, “something bad must have happened, if they really broke up, because the two of them didn’t seem like they’ve had any problems, you know.”

“Definitely,” you nod, pacing along the hall as you finally reach the door to your classroom, waving your roommate off with a tight-lipped smile, still trying to catch your breath. “I’ll see you after class?”

The girl doesn’t even turn around as she agrees with you, long legs striding down the hall into the last classroom on the left, waving at you with her right hand. “See ya!”

Silently opening the door to the classroom, you notice the professor already standing at the very front of the class, turning around to look at your figure once the almost unhearable noise of the door cuts through the silence in the room. Offering her a shameful smile, you hurriedly scan the space, feeling the eyes of everyone glued to your sweaty and out of breath body, as you try to find a place to sit. Your usual seat is right at the corner of the room, at the very back– it has the window in close accessibility, so you don’t have to worry about being too hot or too cold, depending on the weather, because you regulate the freshness of the air in the classroom. The window also provides a good distraction to you once the class gets too boring to listen to, so you’d say with 100% sureness that the desk you chose to sit at the very first day of your Journalism class was the best option. 

However, when you look at the usually empty desk for two– one of the chairs, the one closer to the corridor being your handy armrest as well as a place to put your coat and bag on as you sit on the other one, the one closer to the window– you notice a man sitting at your usual place, eyes glued to the whiteboard. Feverishly scanning the classroom once again, realizing in terror that there is no other empty space for you to sit at, you sigh in annoyance as you near your usual desk, cursing the intruder in your brain for breaking the unwritten seating plan. 

Taking the bag off your shoulder, you softly land it to the ground, afraid of making any noise that would interrupt your professor’s lecture again. After sitting at the chair and trying to listen to the words coming out of your professor’s mouth, trying to see what she’s talking about, you find yourself drifting off into the mess of your thoughts, choosing to daydream about the amazing lunch you’re about to have once your classes are over for the day, your eyes knowingly moving away from the whiteboard to their place out of the window. It’s a little harder to gaze out of it in the different position– you tell yourself you’ll come earlier next week so the intruder doesn’t take away your spot again and you can go back to your usual plan of watching people walking through the campus and making up fake stories about them in your brain– when your periphery vision takes notice of the side profile of your seatmate, the curve of his nose and the slight pout of his upper lip sparking interest in you as your brain finally connects the dots.

Only slightly moving your head to the side, so your seatmate doesn’t notice you staring, you observe Huang Renjun sitting at your desk. The image in front of you (or beside you, to be precise) surprises you to an extent nothing has ever surprised you before (no, not even the birthday parties Jimin has thrown you have made this effect on you– but that’s probably because she can’t keep a secret and always spoiled the surprise), and once again, there are multiple reasons for your surprise. To list a few, you’d start with the fact that Huang Renjun almost always sat at the same desk with his girlfriend Yunjin– the desk was at the very opposite corner of the room, leaving you to occasionally observe the couple as he landed a hand onto her thigh or let her put her leg into his lap, away from the eyes of the professor– but due to the news that were broken to you just a few minutes prior, maybe this is the only reason that shouldn’t surprise you with the sight of Renjun sitting by your side. Continuing the list, you’d state the fact that the boy looks lifeless– his eyes lost their usual spark and there are dark circles adorning his lower eyelids, the sick look making you feel almost sorry for your classmate. And to finish the list, you’d state the fact that takes you by surprise the most– the one that shocks you to your core, for it’s the reason why you didn’t recognise the boy when you first sat down in the first place. His hair is now bleach blond, and while the look definitely suits him, it’s something different, something new– because for as long as you can remember, not many things changed in Renjun’s appearance over the years, and you’re not so sure if you can consider this as the side effect of his breakup, or if he really just wanted change.

Blinking at the male, as if to make sure that you’re not dreaming, you take notice of the dead strands falling into his eyes, contrasting well with the darkness of his eyes. Once again noting that you’re just a simple woman and Huang Renjun is simply put, a very attractive man, you can’t help but gaze at him with a newly found interest, everything you’ve learned about the male this morning irking you with undeniable curiosity.

The sad and embarrassing reality of it all is, though, that you’re not the only one who gets that weird feeling of someone staring at you in public sometimes, only for that feeling to be true as you turn around and see someone with their eyes burning through your skull; Huang Renjun gets them as well, it seems, as he turns his head to you with his eyebrows furrowed, as if to silently ask you why the hell you’re creepily staring at his side profile in the middle of your Journalism class. The two of you were never close, despite sharing multiple classes over the course of multiple semesters, and so being caught only made you feel more embarrassed as you sharply turn your head towards the front of the classroom– so much for being subtle and nonchalant about it, erasing all the possibility of playing it off in the process– feeling heat creeping up your neck. 

This is not how you imagined your morning to go.

Trying hard to pay attention to the class instead, in order to both learn something and also forget about the events happening only a few seconds prior, there’s no use as your brain now decided to replay the moment over and over again, making sure you never forget about it and randomly think of it in the middle of the night 5 years from now, still not moving on from the shame. In the process of trying so hard to focus, you actually do quite the opposite– as if your brain decided to turn off from the essence of humiliation instead to protect you– and before you notice it, the class is over and everyone is scattering out of the classroom with their things and bags hung over their shoulders. At least it’s finally over, you think, when a voice lands into your ear, shaking you out of it.

“We’re doing the project together,” he says, and as you turn around to face the owner of the saccharine voice to inquire him on what the actual fuck he’s even talking about, before you get the chance, the man is already out of the room, leaving you standing in full dumbfoundance.

Maybe you should’ve paid more attention to the class, after all.

Next week, even though you arrive to class earlier than the last, it seems like your designated seat in the corner of the classroom is now your and Renjun’s designated seat in the corner of the classroom, and if you’re being totally honest, this is exactly the thing you did not expect to come up on your Junior year bingo card. Talking over the whole interaction with Jimin right when you got to dorms– alongside with the takeout you ordered in the restaurant that’s at the corner of the street– the both of you stared into your plates with a newly found sense of absolute, utter confusion. 

You also had to shamefully text one of the only classmates from your Journalism class whose number you have– Osaki Shotaro, who you had a thing with in Freshman year because you thought he was an exchange student and would go back to Japan after summer, surprising you with his smiley face in the class in your Sophomore year (and this year, once again) as you had to be reminded of making out with him at a party every time your eyes landed on the poor boy– about the assignment. The truth is, you could just ask Renjun when you got into class, but you also wanted to spare yourself the embarrassment of that action. Through your fling from Freshman year, you learned that you have to work in pairs on a magazine of some sort– and while the assignment still wasn’t clear to you, after Shotaro ended the text message with ‘i’m sorry tho, i already have a partner ://’, you didn’t have enough dignity in you to pry him for any more information.

Clearing your throat as you step inside the classroom with an encouraging slap to your bottom coming from your roommate walking along to her usual class at the end of the hall, you walk over to your seat and put your bag onto the ground, silently sitting on the chair next to the corridor– the thing that makes you the most furious about this whole thing– as you prepare for the next lecture. From what you’ve gathered, the assignment was 70% of your final grade, and you really didn’t feel like failing your most favorite subject, especially if it’s something you could see yourself doing in the future. Working on something like this with someone you’ve hardly ever spoken to was a scary feeling, though. 

The class starts as soon as the noise of footsteps fills your ears, your professor standing at the very front of the classroom announcing her arrival with a heartfelt smile on her face. Sometimes you wonder if it’s her cheery demeanor that makes you like the class so much, but then again, you’ve always been interested in the topic– her character is just a bonus.

“Hello class,” she greets, full of energy despite it only being 8 in the morning, “I decided that instead of following with the lectures today, I will leave you some space to plan out your final project for the class. It has the weight of 70% of your grade, so it’s kind of important, so make sure you plan it well and come up with something original and interesting. The contents are 25-35 pages and you have until the end of the semester to complete it, so I hope you all put in some effort!”

Nods and hums of understatement are shared along the class, the pairs turning to each other in soft murmurs as some even take out a journal to note down all the things they come up with. You think it’s not a bad idea to at least brainstorm a little, but with how awkward you feel at the moment with your project partner sitting right next to you, you don’t think you can start. And the thing is, Jimin told you you could just pick a different partner– but as you look across the filled classroom, you really don’t think working with anyone else is possible, since you don’t have many friends in this class and everyone seems to be paired up already. Huang Renjun is your only choice, and although it doesn’t fill you with relief, you wonder why he chose you, when in reality, he’s the popular one– he has many different choices to pick from. Maybe he was just too lazy to ask anyone else. Who knows.

Clearing your throat again, you avert your gaze from the front of the classroom and try to sneak a look on your seatmate. The platinum blonde hair neatly styled on his head doesn’t fail to make you shocked again, but you figure you must start to get used to it now, because you can’t keep living with the constant urge to stare at the boy just because he dyed his hair. Waiting for him to look at you or give you any sign of the fact that he’s willing to work on the project, you continue your little staring contest with his side profile– it seems like he’s in the mood to ignore you today, so you gotta bring out the big guns and actually talk to him instead.

“So… how do you want to work on this?” you mumble out, nervously bumping your knee up and down. Human interaction isn’t your favorite thing in the world, mainly because you don’t like things you’re not good at– this includes sports, but mainly volleyball, drawing, knitting and mixing drinks as well– but you’d say with full confidence that making friends and talking to new people is truly the worst thing you could ever imagine. 

You notice that your seatmate finally recognised your efforts to spark up a conversation– he rewards you with a shrug of his shoulders as he not only does not look at you, but also decides to lay on the desk instead, closing his eyes as if this was the perfect time for him to catch up on his lost sleep. “Dunno,” he says, “we have plenty of time, let’s not do this right now.”

Blinking a few times at the male, you are once again struck by lightning that is his weird attitude to things. If this was how he behaved with Yunjin, you can’t blame the girl for breaking up with him– everything about the smug look on his face and the fact that he chose to take your favorite seat in the classroom makes your blood boil with annoyance. 

“W-what?” you stutter out, still not quite believing your ears. 

The man doesn’t reply to you– it’s too much effort, it seems– only making you angrier. Why did he even choose you as his partner if he didn’t want to work on the project in the first place? You’re no stranger to procrastination and leaving work for last minute, and you’re also not really a fan of the feeling of stress creeping up your back whenever you give in to the inevitable action of procrastinating; so if it comes to a project that is quite literally 70% of your grade, you would rather not do everything the week before.

Seeing that you’re getting ignored again, you put on your brave face as you fold your hands on your chest, determined to do something about the issue at hand. “Can’t you just put in some effort, man? I’d rather not do this last minute. I know that you probably don’t give a shit, but I do care about my grades, y’know,” you get out, seeing as the man next to you finally straightens his back and looks at you sharply– as if he has any right to point you with the killing look in this dark eyes– before he squints in mock agony.

“Do you really have to be such a fucking perfectionist?” he snaps at you, taking you by surprise. 

This is not how you imagined Huang Renjun to be. Looking at him over the course of the years, more often than not, you always saw the boy with a welcoming smile on his face. Whenever he was around Yunjin, he was all sweet words and gentle touches, erupting laughter whenever he was around his friends. When you were a freshman, somewhere in the back of your brain, you even envied the circle of friends he had around him, daydreaming about fitting in with them when you were lonely at lunch break. That was before you met Jimin at volleyball practice– the extracurricular you lasted in only for a week with the intention of making some friends (at least it worked) – and moved in with her in your second semester when both of your roommates decided to drop out. The girl provided you with undeniable love and care, and while you no longer desired to fit into a circle like Huang Renjun’s, talking to him now makes you feel like a child with crushed dreams.

“I’m sorry?” is all you get out as you stare at him with shock. If you were in a better mood, you would’ve searched through your brain to find a snarky remark to bite back at the boy. It’s too early in the morning and you weren’t prepared for his attitude, though, so you only opt to stare at him as he sighs in what you presume is annoyance– or defeat– as he scatters through his backpack and takes you a notebook, opening it to the first page and clicking his pen he found somewhere in the depths of his bag so he can write with it.

Too taken aback from his sudden change of mind, you wait for him to initiate any other action. You really don’t feel like getting screamed at again, so you chose to play it safe as you watch the man scribble the words Final project at the very top of the paper, underlining it two times and circling it five, the weird ritual making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“25 pages. We split half and half, so you can come up with whatever you want. We can do the design together and I really couldn’t give less shit about who works on the cover, so if you really want to do it, you can. Good?” he says, not once looking at you as he writes the words down on the paper. 

“Amazing,” you bite back with irony, shuffling your chair closer to the table so you can take a look at his notes, “the magazine has to have a coherent theme, though, doesn’t it? If we work on the pages by ourselves and just do whatever, as you said, it’s gonna be shit.”

You chose to accommodate yourself to the pattern of his speech– a habit you always do with new people, but in this situation, what feels the most safe. Seeing the man sigh again, twirling the ballpoint pen in between his fingers, he shrugs at your point and offers you a half-assed solution.

“We can figure that out later.”

Biting back a chuckle at his comment, it’s now your turn to sigh. Why was he being so difficult? Is it really that hard to make an effort on something important, especially when he was the one who said he wanted to work with you in the first place? Shaking your head in disbelief at his actions, you lean back in your chair and take out your own notebook, set on the decision of brainstorming as much as you can, hopefully coming out with some solid ideas you could incorporate in the magazine.

You have no idea what direction Renjun would go with. You don’t know anything about his interests or hobbies, and you surely don’t know what would inspire him or what he would want to write about. And with his new change of persona, you find him even more unreadable than he’s been in the past– and you can’t say you like the way he treats you right now. It seems like his sudden metamorphosis managed to change his brain synapses as well, because this is not the idea of Huang Renjun that you knew until now.

Chewing on the end of your pencil, you take a glimpse of your seatmate. He is messily scribbling something down onto his paper, seemingly realizing that the sooner you start working on this, the better, and with how full his paper seems to be, you wonder if this project won’t be that hard to complete after all.

“We’re doing the cover together,” you mumble out, seeing as the boy tears his eyes off his paper, glaring at you instead.

Almost expecting him to snap at you again, awaiting his suggestion that you will be the one doing all the work, you’re left with an answer that satisfies you with yet another surprise. “If you really insist…”

“Are you really sure you want to do this right now?” Jimin asks you as you put on your shoes at the door, slinging your backpack containing not only your laptop and notebooks, but also snacks just in case you get hungry. Looking at her through the hair falling into your face that you efficiently get out of the way with a poof of breath coming out of your mouth, you chuckle at her distress. The girl’s been watching you get ready for the last 15 minutes, with her robe on and bowl of guacamole in her right palm, eating up on the tortilla chips every once in a while as she squints at you with disbelief.

“Yeah, why not?” you shrug. “If he’s initiating this, I don’t see a problem. Besides, I think that if I don’t take every chance I get, I’ll end up working on the project alone, and I really don’t like that idea.”

Humming in agreement for the first time since you told your roommate that Renjun texted you if you wanted to work on the project today, Jimin motions to the phone sitting at the entryway table next to the front door. “Well, just make sure to text me if anything goes wrong and I’ll come pick you up,” she suggests, making you giggle at her noticeable worry. 

“Okay, mum,” you shake your head in disbelief, finally slugging the backpack over your shoulder and walking out of the door of your apartment. 

The truth is, you can’t really blame Jimin for her over-protective behavior. Ever since you retold her everything that happened that one time in Journalism class, she’s been wary of Huang Renjun. You would agree with all of her arguments of how much of a dick he is when acting like that, but you also don’t really think you have to put more energy into hating him at this moment, since it won’t really help you with your assignment and you don’t have any other choice. You are stuck with a grumpy project partner and that’s how the rest of your semester will go– you just have to learn how to live with his annoying remarks and snarky comments at whatever you say. Who knows, he may be in his ‘hating all women’ era, considering the breakup and all…

You can’t say you weren’t surprised when he added you on Instagram and messaged you about the project this afternoon, though. Considering that you were always the one initiating the talks about the final assignment over the course of the last few weeks, you weren’t expecting him to finally be the one reaching out. You would be stupid to not take him up on the offer, since you don’t know if it will happen ever again– who knows, he might have accidentally smashed his head into something and get a sudden revelation that is only a one time type of situation– and that’s exactly why you responded to him almost immediately (to which you admittedly, got a bit of an ick from yourself) and agreed to meet him at 6 in his apartment.

You were pleasantly surprised to learn that his place was only a 15 minute walk away from yours when he texted you the address, and after a few more minutes of scrolling through his Instagram that was private– and therefore hidden away from your eyes until now– you set yourself on the difficult journey.

Upon arriving at the apartment building, ringing the door bell and texting him to let you in just in case, so he knows it’s you, you start to feel a bit nervous, though. The truth is, you don’t really know what you’re getting yourself into as you walk into the elevator and press the button that takes you to the fourth floor– as he texted you the moment the door to the complex opened– and you think it’s safe to imagine you could be running out of that apartment at any given moment. Maybe Jimin was right and you should’ve taken at least some self-defense tools with you. You never know these days.

Once the elevator door opens and you step outside of the small space, you get prepared to take out your phone again to text him and ask which door leads to his apartment– the right or left– when you’re surprised with the sight of Huang Renjun already waiting for you in the doorway, loose sweatpants, messy hair and all, expecting your arrival.

Clearing your throat, you tightly smile at the male. “Hello.”

“Hi,” is all he responds as he moves away from the door and disappears into the apartment, seemingly thinking you're going to follow him and get inside, no questions asked. You expected at least an invitation to his premises, even a wave of his hand would be nice, you think, but you guess you can’t really have expectations that high when it comes to men– especially if the man in question is the insufferable Huang Renjun.

Taking your shoes off at the entrance– because even though your host doesn’t have good manners, you still do– the figure of Huang Renjun suddenly appears in the doorway of one of the rooms, watching you put the sneakers into a corner that seems to be designated for footwear. Looking up at him with expecting eyes, he finally breaks the awkward silence as he takes a step inside one of the rooms, calling you to go after him.

“We can work here, I guess,” he mumbles, leading you into what you presume is a living room connected to a kitchen– the place is not that big, but you are a broke university student too, so you don’t have it in you to judge. The place is surprisingly clean and adorned with multiple plants all around the corners of the room and windowsills, the only thing out of place being some dishes at the kitchen counter, waiting to be either used or put away, since they look washed. There’s a sofa in the shape of an L in the middle of it all, a TV sitting right opposite of it on a small TV stand, and when you notice an opened laptop on the coffee table, you presume that this is your work station for the day. You half expected him to invite you to his bedroom, but you guess that you can’t really complain– this feels much less awkward anyway. 

Nodding at his words, you move to the sofa and rest your backpack against the foot of it. Taking out your laptop as well, you sit crossed-legged at the soft cushions as you watch Renjun walk over to the kitchen side of the room, opening up a cupboard and taking out two glasses, bringing them to the crowded coffee table alongside with a bottle of soda. You think this is his way of welcoming you in as your guest, but you don’t have it in yourself to thank him– he’s the one being silent all the time anyway. You won’t put effort unless he does.

The boy silently takes a seat opposite of you, but chooses the carpeted floor instead of the sofa– a sight that almost makes you chuckle in amusement when he struggles to fold his legs in the small space– sighing and bringing the laptop closer to himself, rubbing a palm across his face in presumed tiredness. 

“Did you work on the ideas for the articles?” you ask, voice low, as if you were afraid to speak first, now that you’re in his space. “If they’re too different from mine, we can make like… sections… in the magazine… or something like that. But I think it would be easier if they correlated, you know.”

Renjun hums, not giving you many words this time either. He’s always difficult to work with, but today, it irritates you twice as much– maybe because you’ve gone out of your way to meet him at his apartment, when it was all his idea to work on the project today in the first place. Sighing in disappointment, the boy takes it as a hint that you expect more of him than tired hums and silent nods, and so he opens his mouth to speak, soft voice echoing through the silent apartment.

“I did,” he says, “don’t really know what you’re going for, but I have a short list.”

Satisfied with his answer, you nod. “Can I see it?”

Shrugging, he looks around for a while, eyes searching through the place as he finally finds the paper peeking out from the bottom of the coffee table– so much for the seemingly clean space– and offers the A4 format to you, scribbles in blue ink almost unreadable as you squint onto them, bringing them closer to your face. Once your eyes finally get adjusted to his handwriting, you manage to decipher a few of the words he’s written down; some of his ideas are neatly described, yet, some of them are just a simple word that barely gives you any idea of what he truly meant to say.

The difference between more thought-out ideas like ‘Karaoke songs (history, questionnaire of favorites across the campus…)’, ‘The importance of art in education’, ‘How to really use wikipedia’ and simple words like ‘campus’, ‘festivals’ and ‘soccer(?)’ almost makes you laugh out loud, but you note that the boy actually took the time of his day to work on the project like he promised you he would the last time you spoke about it in class, so you can’t really say anything mean to him, for you truly think it would hurt his pride. Nodding as you finish reading over the list, you offer the paper back to him, noticing him watching you with eyes full of undeniable expectancy.

“Satisfied?” he asks, irony seeping through his voice. 

Rolling your eyes at him– because of course he has to be annoying about everything– you choose to not play by his rules, opting to nod instead and let the tiniest bit of irritation show only through your ironic smile as you reply to him. “Very, actually.”

Seeing as he’s satisfied with himself, you choose to continue to lead this meeting with the same energy as to this moment. You think it’s the safest choice, and it’s also what he seems to be comfortable with, so you don’t beat around the bush and speak up again. “I think it won’t be that hard to combine our lists, since our ideas aren’t that different,” you note, cringing at the suggestion that you and the man in front of you actually kind of think alike, “but I think it would be nice if we chose a few topics and wrote about them together. I bet the professor would like to see some articles written by the both of us, so it shows that we actually worked on it together, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” he mumbles under his breath, taking you off guard. See, maybe you got ahead of yourself when you thought that this afternoon might go by smoothly– you forgot for a moment that Huang Renjun enjoys the idea of being a total ass to the people around him (or you, at least) these days. Huffing at his response, you furrow your brows in disbelief.

“Why not?”

“Just… don’t wanna,” he answers shortly, shrugging in nonchalance.

The sight of him in front of you, not even sharing eye contact as he points his gaze towards his laptop, makes your blood boil. What does he even think of himself? You were starting to think that Jimin was right– you should’ve rethought this interaction over and spared yourself the trouble, because this was surely not going anywhere.

“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you were clearly the one that told me we were project partners, so I don’t know why you’re being so difficult about this-” you huff, but are instantly cut off by your partner.

“I’m being difficult?”

“Yes,” you jump in, “yes you are! And I don’t get why you even invited me over to work on this, when you clearly don’t have the slightest intention to do so in the first place!” you complete, almost ready to stand up from your place on the light-brown sofa and storm out of his apartment. 

He chuckles at your outburst, rolling his eyes. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not in the mood to work on a stupid project after arguing the whole day on the phone with my cheating ex-girlfriend,” he mutters.

The moment those words come out of his mouth, it seems like the already silent apartment gets even quieter. Staring at him in dumbfoundance, the spark that ignited the anger in you suddenly dies out as you ponder on your next actions. Because what does one do when your project partner suddenly overshares possibly one of the most traumatic and heartbreaking facts about himself so casually, in between snarky comments and a petty argument? Sure, you do feel sorry for him now– because no matter how shitty a person acts to you, nobody deserves to get cheated on– and you suddenly wonder if the whole change of atmosphere in his character isn’t the direct result of this very fact. 

You can’t tell him that you’re sorry– because frankly, you know that Huang Renjun doesn’t want your pity. He doesn’t want to hear that you feel sorry for him and what happened, because you’re not friends and you’re not close enough for you to express such feelings towards him. A question arises in the very same essence, though, making you wonder why he even chose to share this information with you in the heat of the moment in the first place, and even though you could excuse his lack of motivation to work on the project by this fact, it still doesn’t change the reality that he was the one initiating the whole thing, and suddenly, you feel confused. 

He invited you over to work on a project, even though his mood was shitty and he didn’t have the motivation to do so. One would find that ridiculous, but if you really look past the sharp eyes and the bleached mess on his head, you could see the true intention behind his actions– the poor boy just wanted a distraction. And with how empty his apartment seems to be right now– his roommate, Donghyuck (a person that Jimin shares a Finance class with, as you learned this very afternoon) is nowhere to be seen– you only bet you were the last option he had instead of wallowing himself in pity and terror. 

Jimin would argue that you’re stupid for your next actions– you would even agree, because this truly doesn’t feel like you– but still, despite going against yourself in a way, you close the laptop sitting in your lap and reach over to the soda he placed in the middle of the coffee table, pouring yourself a glass. You don’t leave his apartment like you fantasized of doing just a few minutes ago; instead, after downing the sickeningly sweet liquid, the bubbles hurting your throat, you rest your back against the sofa and watch the boy in a new light.

“Okay, let’s not work on the assignment, then,” you calmly say, “wanna watch something on Netflix instead?” you ask, seeing him staring at you with confusion in his expression.

“I don’t-”

“It’s okay if you don’t have it, I can log in with my roommate’s account. She’s probably watching Single’s Inferno right now, but I’ll text her to find something better to do instead,” you don’t let him finish his sentence– because you already know that he’d try to protest to your suggestion– shrugging in nonchalance as you reach over to the TV remote you find sandwiched between the sofa cushions.

Turning the TV on, not even sparing a glance to the grumpy-looking boy sitting on the floor opposite of you, the shuffling of clothes and socked-feet on the ground lands into your ears, a figure taking the remote out of your hand when you can’t figure out how the TV works, a low mumble full of fake offendance masking the shameful, yet clear gratitude in his voice.

You don’t miss it as you look over at him with a tight-lipped smile, though, seeing the Netflix app suddenly come up on the TV, his shoulders relaxing as he settles into the cushions of the sickeningly colored sofa. 

“Of course I have Netflix, what do you think I am, poor?” he grunts.

…and the old Renjun is back.

Arriving at class the next week, you’re finally met with less nervousness than the last few times. After interacting with Huang Renjun more and seeing him break his stone-cold demeanor in front of you as you two watched Netflix– he even made popcorn after the second episode of Unsolved mysteries you decided to watch when you saw the show in his ‘continue watching’ list and gushed about how it’s your favorite (to which he told you that you’re weird, but he’s the one binge watching it too, so you really don’t know why you’re the problem and he's not). Thankfully he doesn’t seem as smug and insufferable as he did before. It’s not like you’re suddenly best friends or anything, but you can feel the ice between you melting with every word he sends your way that isn’t laced with irony– not that there's many of them, since Huang Renjun loves his sarcasm– but it’s progress in your book.

Walking over to your usual seat in the classroom, making your backpack fall to the ground next to your desk with a soft thud, you sit at the chair and take out your things for the class when you notice something standing in the way of your notebook and pencil case in the middle of the table. 

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you move the cup of coffee out of your way, closer to your seatmate’s side. Sighing, you mumble under your breath. “Don’t you have enough space for your things on your side of the table?”

“That’s yours,” he deadpans. Gaze switching between the cup of iced americano from the coffee shop at the corner of the campus (you know it by the plastic cup with their logo on it– it's too tacky for your liking and you even gushed about it to Jimin the day the café opened) and the blonde boy next to you, confusion doesn’t seem to leave your insides as you let out an unfocused hum, showing him that you’re still not following. 

“Do you not like coffee or something?” he hisses, seemingly annoyed at your expression. If you saw yourself in the mirror, maybe you’d understand his frustration– your brows are furrowed and there's a crease in the middle of your forehead from how hard you're racking your brain to come up with answers– but now, you’re just in utter disbelief. Maybe you are a little slow– it’s only 8 in the morning, to your defense– but you really don’t remember bringing coffee to school today. Especially not an iced americano– you don’t like the bitter taste, opting to choose a sweeter drink like a caramel macchiato or the infamous pink drink that Jimin teased you for the last time you got it. So how did this strange cup of coffee end up on your table?

Looking around the space, noticing another half-empty cup of coffee on Renjun’s side of the table, the label on the plastic the same as the cup that was waiting on your side, you finally connect the dots. “Did you get that for me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, not even looking at you as he agrees, taking another sip of his coffee instead. 

Now, you do finally know where the strange cup of coffee came from. Why did Renjun buy you coffee in the first place, though, is still a mystery to you, but you guess with how he’s avoiding your gaze, eyes glued to the white board and an uninterested expression sitting on his face, you think it’s better to not ask him any other follow-up questions. He did something nice for you, and with how your thoughts and rationalization are the only clues you can use in figuring out the reason behind it, you wonder if this was his way of apologizing for being rude to you and thanking you for hanging out with him last week.

“Thanks,” you mumble out instead, smiling at his humming figure that barely acknowledges your spoken gratitude. Taking a sip of the drink, while trying really, really hard not to scowl at the bitter taste, you shift your focus on the class instead, taking notes from time to time. Drinking the coffee as if it was a disgustingly tasting medicine your mother forced you to take when you were little– you hated the taste, but had to get through it anyway– you eventually finish your iced americano somewhere in the middle of the lecture. You feel kind of proud of your acting skills, but there’s also an annoying voice somewhere in the back of your head asking you why you even forced yourself to get through that drink anyway and why is it that you didn’t want to hurt Renjun’s feelings by refusing it in the first place. 

But like anyone in your position would, you shush that voice out of your head.

“Did you finish watching the whole season last week?” you ask instead, suddenly interested in having a conversation with him. After you told Jimin about how your weird hang-out with Renjun went, she practically scolded you for not going home right after he let out the first snarky comment out of his mouth. And maybe she’s right and the whole thing you’re trying to do– but what are you even trying to do in the first place? – makes you seem like you’re out of your mind, but at the end of the day, you did finally progress in watching the TV show after putting it on hold for multiple months because your dear roommate wouldn’t stop begging you to watch all of the seasons of Too hot to handle with you instead, so it’s a win in your book.

“I didn’t,” he replies, his voice quiet enough only for you to hear, not interrupting the rest of the class, “Hyuck, my roommate, didn’t come home until like 11pm and I got too creeped out to watch it alone after you left,” he completes, his face completely serious as he utters out the laughable words.

Chuckling at his response, you see him crack a smile from the corner of your eye. The sight is a rather pleasant one, for you think you've  forgotten how it looks in what seems like ages since the obvious breakup with his girlfriend happened, the reminder of his squinted eyes and full cheeks making you feel accomplished, in a way. “Didn’t think you were the type to get scared so easily,” you tease him.

“Not scared,” he huffs out, offended, “just creeped out. That’s different.”

“Did you wait for your roommate because you were too scared to go to sleep?” you test the waters with more teasing, your tone light and playful.

“No, I waited for him because the last time he got home late and I was asleep, he came home drunk and broke down the door to his room and we had to get it replaced,” he announces, making you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand as you almost burst out into a loud giggle. 

“You know what? Yeah. Valid.”

Your conversation falls silent after that, and it makes your spirit fall for a split second. You don’t even know why you wanted it to continue– you don’t know your seatmate, and frankly, you shouldn’t have the desire to do so in the first place. But the sudden act of service thrown your way, although the coffee was disgusting and he could’ve presented the gift to you in a different, more welcoming way, made you get your hopes up– about what exactly, though? 

Jimin always told you that desperately wanting to be everyone’s friend (despite being socially awkward and kind of nervous around new people), is one of your best and worst qualities at the same time. Best, because it means that you’re nice to people– worst, because you’re nice even to people that don’t deserve your kindness; and you also get too disappointed when people don’t share the same enthusiasm with you. Maybe some friendships are meant to keep at surface level, and if this was the type of relationship you and your project partner are about to have, you’re going to have to let go of that annoying voice in your head that keeps telling you to get deeper than that level.

“Why did you dye your hair, by the way?” you ask him nonetheless, after a few heartbeats of silence, curiosity getting the best of you. The moment this question leaves your mouth, you regret it– thinking you somehow could’ve made the boy uncomfortable, your words annoying to his ears– but instead of rolling his eyes at you or telling you to shut up, he replies instead. The reaction surprises you– he really conditioned you to think that every question of yours is going to be met with spite and tantrum, didn't he?

“Dunno,” he says, shrugging, “they say blondes have more fun, so I think it’s only natural to go blonde when you’re sad. To cancel it out, or something,” he snickers as he looks at you, realizing the implication of his words makes the whole statement kind of embarrassing, his tight-lipped smile being the proof of his internal battle not to cringe at his explanation.

You understand, humming in acknowledgment. You’re just a simple woman, after all– you very well understand the urge to change your hair after a breakup. While it is a visible proof of his mental breakdown, you guess you can’t really blame him for trying to feel like there are things that are under his control; even if it’s just the color of his hair.

Walking along Renjun, the atmosphere is thick and a little awkward. Your bag is heavy on your back and you’re slowly starting to feel a bit of an ugly sting in your bones from it; you mourn the fact that you decided to ask Renjun to walk there with you instead of having to take the bus by yourself, too afraid of getting the address wrong and getting lost along the way. You’d love any kind of transport instead of your own two legs right now, since the walk seems to be never ending and you’re pretty certain that the backs of your feet have calluses from wearing your new shoes that you got from a clearance sale from the Nike store at the corner of the town. 

Clearing your throat, you decide to spark up a conversation. It seems like you always have to be the one to initiate things when it comes to Renjun– it’s kind of ironic, though, when you think of the fact that he was the one that made you be his project partner in the first place.“Why did you wanna do the article about the shelter? I didn’t know you were an animal person,” you hum, testing the waters with a casual question. 

Looking up at you, furrowing his brows, the man offers you an indifferent shrug. “My friend Taeyong works there and he wanted to advertise the shelter a little, so I offered to take pictures for his Facebook page in exchange for me writing the article about it,” he mumbles, “he thinks that would give the shelter more exposure too, but I doubt it. Nobody’s gonna read our fake magazine anyway, it’s just an assignment…”

Humming, you kick the rocks on the pavement, a tight-lipped smile appearing on your face. Huang Renjun must do a lot for his friends, you think. You remember him taking pictures for his friend Xiaoting once– she’s an influencer (a model, if you want) and well known around the campus. When you saw his instagram username in one of the picture descriptions one day, you were surprised at the quality of those shoots (and it also led you to stalking his instagram for a bit, but that’s not the main point of this conversation). You also remember seeing him with his friends Shotaro and Yangyang in a team when it was your school’s annual Sports day (you’d argue that you’re not high schoolers anymore and this day is useless, but your classmates seem to think otherwise) trying his best, despite not really liking sports in the first place– or so you heard and seen from how badly he did in most disciplines except from running– and if that’s not a sign of him doing everything he could just to make his friends happy, you don’t know what is. So to see him doing an article about the animal shelter Taeyong works at, despite being more of a plant person himself, you’re not as surprised as you thought you’d be. He does show affection to his friends, after all– you’re just not one of them to see that side of him often.

Walking some more, you eventually end up in front of a big building painted a light tangerine color, windows decorated with pretty curtains on full display to you. Renjun chimes in like a regular, crossing multiple halls and taking sharp turns before you’re met with the image of a taller man with dark brown hair putting small, pastel colored collars on necks of a few little creatures running around the room, despair clearly written on his face.

“No! Don’t run away, oh god-”

Chuckling at the view of yet another kitten running away from his hands, you admire the fluffy little cats crawling all around the place, your heart quickly softening at the sight of them. It’s been a while since you were around animals yourself– the dog you had back home died the summer before the semester started and you weren’t really in the mood to get a new one, since you weren’t going to be around much anyway. 

When yet another kitten escapes the man’s hold, you find yourself watching Renjun as he crouches to the floor and swiftly takes one into his hands, walking closer to the man with collars in his hands, grinning to himself. “Here you go.”

“Man, the cats hate me… where did you two get here?” he shakes his head in disbelief, putting a collar onto the small cat before he pets it on its tiny head.

“Just a minute ago,” Renjun says, “is that one Poppy?” he asks, reading the name tag dangling from the little band around its head, affection filling his words.

“Now it is. I got confused when they all started running around,” he shrugs, sighing as he looks around the room, counting the last few kittens that needed their collars. His eyes soon land on you, a welcoming smile spreading on his boxy lips. “Hey! I’m Taeyong. You must be Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile, trying to make yourself seem as nice as possible. You don’t know what Renjun told him about you, but if they were bad things, you only hope to undeceive the man with your warm attitude. 

Renjun then puts the kitten down, and while you’d expect it to run away from him and join its siblings in the corner of the room, the creature does quite the opposite– it stays by his side and lays on the ground close to him, making even Taeyong himself gasp at the image. “Wow,” he snickers, “you should start coming here every time I need to put these on them, you’re like a cat whisperer.”

While the two of them chat, you stay a little behind, not really wanting to intrude. You take off the heavy bag and take out your camera, deciding to take a few pictures of the shelter instead, so you can say you worked on the interview with him. You think it’s expected of you, since he asked you to come along despite being absolutely fully capable of doing the interview with his friend alone, so you do your work and zoom in on the two of them talking, snapping a few quick pictures. 

After a while, you take a seat on the ground– being the infamous enjoyer of sitting on the hard surface of it, earning yourself a lot of scolding screams from your mother growing up– and fully take in the interior. The walls are the same light tangerine color as the outside ones, and there’s a little enclosure in the corner of the room that would surely make Taeyong’s job much easier if only he had used it. There are bags of cat food in the other corner of the room, and while the shelter doesn’t look very modern or fancy, you think it’s kinda homey and welcoming. You bet kids would love it here– with the colorful atmosphere and the smiley worker running around catching kittens, and after a while of taking pictures of everything your eyes land on, you find your inner child healing, little by little.

The truth is, you always wanted a cat. But you were never able to get one, because your mother hates them. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how many times you petted strays on the street and begged her to take them home, you never won this battle– so you had to settle on a dog. And don’t get me wrong, you loved your dog, but at the end of the day, you knew you were more of a cat person anyway.

Reaching forward a little, noticing the kitten waddling your way, you think of petting it– it quickly jumps out of your reach, though, too scared of your touch, and you’re left frowning, the bubble bursts at the rejection from the small ball of fluffiness.

“Taeyong?” you hear a voice of a woman call from the door, the man swiftly turning to her with brows raised in question. “They need your help with the big dogs. They keep dragging Yeri on the leash and she’s too weak to get them to their cages.”

“Oh,” the man deadpans, scratching his neck for a bit before he turns to Renjun again, escaping the room in one swift motion, “I’ll be right back!”

The room falls silent after that, no longer having the background noise of their conversation playing as you observe the animals. You feel the atmosphere growing thicker again, and as time passes by, you find yourself taking short glances at your project partner, wondering what’s on his mind. One moment, he’s crouching down and petting the cats that come his way, the other, he is gazing out of the window with a soft frown that takes over his features like a dark shadow, and you wonder when this expression really settled into his face and made itself the default, and why is it not willing to leave. Not really knowing what to say or what to do to make the boy that’s still so out of your reach feel any better, you opt for silence, even though it does get quite heavy and thick over time– and the truth is, you don’t even know why you notice yourself feeling this way so often around him, when all he’s done was give you the cold shoulder so often and then offer you an iced americano you don’t even like in the first place.

Minutes pass and the silence slowly makes your ears ring; you desperately try to find a good solution in your brain– create a script where hanging out with Renjun is easier and less nerve-wrecking– but still, there’s nothing and you’re left with the awkwardness and hesitance. Sighing when another kitten escapes your grasp, you put your hands into your lap and give up on the task, settling on just watching them instead– there was no use in you trying to pet one when all it wanted to do was run away from you.

Watching the group of fluff jumping at each other and sleeping all around the room, your focus only shifts when there’s a kitten suddenly thrusted into your point of view, its big blue eyes staring you down making you awe. You wonder how it got there in a moment of full stupidity before you look up and see your project partner, the cat magnet himself, holding the cat up to you, waiting for you to take it into your hold and pet it. Gazing at him with mouth agape in confusion, he slowly puts the cat into your lap, petting the creature when it settles, and takes a seat opposite of you all in the span of a few seconds, the action making you smile uncontrollably.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” he mumbles, watching as you pet the kitten in your lap, cooing at the soft fur. There’s a hint of you that desperately wants to adopt it once you finally pet the small cat, but you know that it wouldn’t be a smart idea– animals are banned at dorms and you don’t think you’d have enough energy to take care of another living creature right now anyways.

“They are,” you hum, “I always wanted one.”

“Why didn’t you get one, then?”

“My mum doesn’t like them very much,” you mumble, pouting at the small creature in your hold, as if to apologize for the words coming out of your mouth.

He hums in acknowledgement, picking up another kitten that waddles his way, putting it up on his thigh– his body now sitting cross-legged on the floor. Watching as the animal crawls up his body and tickles him with its claws, soft laughter erupts out of him, making you smile unconsciously at the boy. 

“I’m not really into animals that much,” he says, further proving your earlier claims. See– in some ways, Renjun is easy to read. Just by looking at him, you could tell he’s not a fan of sweet beverages; you can tell he enjoys black coffee– just like the one he brought you that day– and herbal teas, perfectly matching the image of him in your head that’s surrounded by plants rather than animals, just the bit of greenery you saw around the kitchen very clearly still alive and thriving making you believe you are correct in this assumption as well. One can say a lot about a person by the way they dress, and with Renjun’s casual, yet cozy attire, you can tell he dresses for himself, choosing comfort over style, but still looking effortlessly put together at the same time. You would never strike him as someone that makes spontaneous decisions, rather being more focused on a plan, so to see him dye his hair so randomly is a sign of the fact that there’s something crumbling inside of him– a sense of security, maybe a feeling of stableness– that he tries so hard to grasp. 

“They are into you, though,” you giggle when the kitten purrs at his touch, pointing at the cross-eyed creature. 

“What can I say,” he shrugs, “I guess I’m that irresistible.”

There aren’t many opportunities for you to laugh at his jokes. Mainly because he doesn’t make many, but also because you always notice them being self-deprecating, and you don’t want to support that idea in his head. At this one, though, you send him a soft chuckle and a roll your eyes, showing how you seemingly think the idea is ridiculous and his joke is corny, but deep inside knowing that you resonate with his words.

In a moment of selfishness– an indulgence you try to mask by the fact that you came here because of the assignment and this was your job in the first place– you take your camera and snap a picture of the boy in front of you, his hands holding the small kitten up in air and snickering when he sees you pointing the lens to him in order to capture him playing with the creature. You don’t know what it is that makes your heart warm up at the image that comes up on the screen shortly after, but you figure that’s a problem of future you and there’s no use in pondering about it now.

You don’t know how many minutes pass with just the two of you playing with the kittens, but when Renjun takes his phone out of his pocket and checks the time, you furrow your brows before he hums. “He’s taking so much time,” he says, sighing. 

All while playing with the fuzzy small balls, you didn’t even notice the time passing by so quickly. You don’t know how much time it’s been, but you assume it could be more than 35 minutes of the two of you left alone in the room, Taeyong seemingly too overwhelmed with the shelter responsibilities.

“Maybe we should go,” he offers, catching you off guard.

“Oh,” you hum, “well, maybe. But you haven’t even done an interview with him yet,” you mumble, your hands lost in the soft fur of the kitten still laying in your lap.

“I can just send him the questions to his email. Perhaps, I’m sure you’ve taken more than enough pictures of the kittens for his Facebook page,” he snickers, shrugging, “I don’t see why we should be staying here if he’s busy, we’re only putting more work on him.”

“I- I mean…” you mumble, trailing off at the end. You don’t really wanna say goodbye to the kittens, the healing in your heart not quite done yet, when the boy next to you laughs at what you presume is your emotions showing clearly on your face.

“Unless you wanna play with them more, of course. We can stay a little longer, then.”

The autumn season slowly fades into winter, time passing by quicker than you could even grasp. The shock and surprise of having to work on the lengthy project with Renjun morphs into a feeling of ordinarity, getting used to his mood slowly shifting from reserved and irritated to a one more pleasant, full of hesitant smiles and soft words when he notices you feeling down or disappointed with yourself, and a one more close to a brother-like teasing when he watches you arrive to his apartment to work on things. One would say you hit it off, your energies matching as you slowly get to know the boy, but still, there’s a hint of something inside of you that makes you grow nervous around him whenever he is too close to your figure, your body falling limp and your brain working on overdrive. You wonder if it’s the sheer fact of simply not being fully used to his presence; while Jimin says you’re down bad for the man. She’s wrong– or at least you’re convinced that she is– and that’s why you simply think the uncertain feeling of uneasiness that settles in your bones sometimes is the effect of the fact that you never truly know what to expect when you arrive at Renjun’s place.

Some days, when you arrive, there’s a mess waiting for you in the living room, where you usually work on the project with Renjun. There are pots and pans with dried food everywhere and your partner’s hands are foaming with washing liquid when he opens the door for you, and you giggle at the sight. Other days, the apartment is full of people you don’t know and Renjun has to throw them out with a scream saying that the group was supposed to leave two hours ago, and when you come on weekends, he lets you in wearing sweatpants and bed hair, as if he spent the whole day in his sheets. Dare you say, this is your favorite version of him– his eyes are half-lidded and he moves slowly, even his remarks aren’t as harsh as they tend to get. Jimin once argued and told you that you two don’t even need to meet that often for the sake of the project– and on a weekend as well– but you’d say it adds to the value of the magazine if you two can get opinions out of each other and review each other’s writing in real time. 

Some days, his roommate is home, and that’s when you join Renjun in his room so you two get a bit of privacy (not that you’re doing anything that requires privacy. His roommate Donghyuck is just very nosy and he keeps asking you questions you don’t have the time and energy to answer). 

Today is one of these days, with his energetic roommate roaming the halls of the apartment, but this time, you two don’t hide away in the comfort of Renjun’s small, yet very organized room. Sitting in the living room of his and Hyuck’s shared apartment, your bottom meeting the carpeted floor instead of the cushions of their couch, your laptop screen darkening when you don’t work on the device for some time and it puts itself to sleep mode. The reason for said action is your attention being somewhere completely else– on Donghyuck’s figure trailing in and out of the room, each time wearing a different outfit than before.

“What about this one, Y/N? Do I look good?” he asks, posing like a model that didn’t pass an audition in any modeling agency, their dream of flashing a smile on the title pages of Vogue fading out of their sight.

You burst out laughing at the weird combination. You don’t remember Donghyuck ever being bad at fashion from the few times you've met him before he left their apartment to attend a party or go to class– you’re quite certain that his habit to always tuck in his shirts into his skinny jeans, the stylistic choice showcasing his long legs making not one, but many girls, boys and others salivate over him. But when seeing him in a tragic combination of cowboy boots and a cow-print shirt, you can’t help but giggle.

“Hyuck, now you’re just taking the shit. That’s your Halloween costume from last year,” the boy next to you on the ground whines, running his hands through his hair in despair.

“Okay, but what if I really want to wear it?” he asks all innocent, his roommate now faking a cry in response, “besides, I was asking Y/N, so you shut your mouth.”

“I think it’s great,” you nod, wiping the corner of your eyes from the stray tears that fall off from the laughter you’ve been doing at the interaction. Your assignment was long forgotten the first moment Donghyuck decided to pay you a visit in the living room, starting with shitting on his professor for making him study on a weekend (which you argued that he could’ve started with earlier in the week, to which he glared at you and asked if he looks like a nerd), and then proceeding to do everything but study– starting with making a smoothie in the living room– while efficiently making so much noise with the mixer every time Renjun spoke up, annoying the short male– to giving you a make-shift fashion show.

“Do you want me to embarrass myself? See, I wore this to test if you were being genuine, but I see now that you’re on Renjun’s side,” he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief and escaping the living room, making you burst out laughing even more as you hear the door to his room shut with a loud thud.

He’ll come back soon– you’re sure of it.

And you’re right. After Renjun manages to let out a loud noise of despair at the fact that he has to live with someone like Lee Donghyuck– not only now, he complains about it every other day, when the latter drags him to parties only for him to be the designated driver for the night and get him home safely, or how he makes him pay for dinner he orders for the both of them without asking– the other man joins you in the living room again, now dressed casually in sweatpants and a loose shirt.

“Okay, the fashion show’s over. I think I’ll go with the first outfit, just by the way, because it matches my eyes,” he says, quite seriously, to which Renjun only sighs.

“Hyuck, your eyes are brown.”

“Okay and?”

“That what you wore was– you know what, never mind…” Renjun shakes his head as he stops himself mid-sentence, making you snicker at the mental image of the outfit Donghyuck’s talking about, because frankly, Renjun is right with his frustration. The shirt his roommate wore was blue, and while it didn’t clash in the slightest, it surely didn’t match the brown depth of Donghyuck’s orbs, and that’s what makes the whole thing that much funnier.

Turning your head around to watch Renjun’s roommate moving through the kitchen area, opening up the fridge and pouring himself a glass of milk– you don’t even dare to question him anymore– you ask. “What is the occasion anyway?”

“Jisung’s birthday party,” he mumbles, taking a sip, “you know Park Jisung, right?”

“Never heard of him,” you shake your head, seeing as the man widens his eyes at you with surprise.

“No? Well, you’re gonna get to know him soon, then,” he says, shrugging.

“That sounds like a threat,” you giggle, “what do you even mean?”

To that, Donghyuck shifts his eyes to his roommate sitting next to you on the ground, shrugging. “Well, I assumed you were invited…” he says, grinning to himself.

The man next to you audibly sighs– what is the reason behind his frustration this time, you truly do not know, but with Renjun, there’s always something getting on his nerves. He has a problem with having his anger in control sometimes.

Furrowing your eyebrows at the proposition, you shake your head. “Why would I be invited to Park Jisung’s birthday party?”

“Because it’s quite the event! Park Jisung’s turning into an adult, and to that, he’s throwing a big party, which means friends of friends of friends are invited,” he says, as if it was the most matter-of-fact information you’ve ever heard, “and since you’re a friend of a friend, I’d assume you get a pass.”

Shrugging, you mutter. “Well, I wasn’t invited,” you add, not paying the whole party much thought. 

The man squints his eyes at the two of you, eyes drifting from one figure to the other, humming to himself as if he was lost in thought. “Okay, then…” he mysteriously mumbles under his breath before downing the glass and putting it into the sink, completing his visit by exiting the living room.

“Would you come back and wash your dishes after yourself?” Renjun yells into the depths of the apartment, a sneaky remark being thrown his way almost immediately.

“No, thank you!”

And after watching the interaction, you come to the conclusion that if you were living with Lee Donghyuck, you'd turn kind of crazy too. You can’t even blame Renjun anymore. Truth be told, though, you didn’t get much work done that Saturday, and you think his sheer presence might be the reason why.

“What do you think?” you ask, turning your laptop towards Renjun, the two of you currently sitting in the library, working on your project. Originally, you had planned to go to your place– but Jimin texted you last second that she has a guy over, and Renjun said his roommate has a gathering of some sort at his apartment, so you settled on the comfort and silence your university library provides. Not a lot of people are here during this time of the year; the exam season isn’t that close yet and no one’s panicking about last-minute studying, so only a few responsible students are currently scattered across the spacious room on the second floor, working on their essays. You bet they’re humanities students– they always have the most shit to do when it comes to essays. You study Journalism, but your roommate is a Sociology major, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone write as many essays as Jimin in a single semester.

What you’re showing Renjun is an opened Microsoft Publisher document, your shared magazine shining from the blue light of the screen. Renjun sent you his copy of the pages he’s done with the animal shelter interview, and as you were looking at the columns of text and off-centered pictures, the perfectionist in you woke up and forced you to fix the tiny mistakes that didn’t escape your eye.

“It’s different,” he hums, eyebrows furrowing as he examines the two-page spread, resting his head on his hand, plopped up on his elbow, and pushing his rimmed glasses further up his nose bridge. “Did you change anything?”

“I just… played around with it a little,” you mumble, afraid of what he thinks. As far as you know, he could flip out any second and scream at you for doing his work when it was perfectly fine the way he sent it to you– at least the Huang Renjun you met a few weeks ago would certainly do that– and so you don’t think it’s that unexpected of you to be so nervous about his opinion.

“This picture wasn’t here before,” he says, pointing to one of the pictures you neatly slotted into the corner of the page– it was one of your favorites, you must admit with severe embarrassment– with Renjun holding up a baby kitten, looking at it with softened eyes. When you looked at the page spread he sent you the other day, you couldn’t believe he didn’t add that picture. Something about it being your favorite– finding yourself admiring it when you look through the pictures on your camera’s SD card– was enough to make you think it’s surely his favorite as well. It didn’t matter that it didn’t really fit the professional aura the whole spread radiates. For you, the magazine wasn’t complete without including it– think of that what you will.

“It was asymmetrical without it, so I had to add it…” you say, scratching the back of your neck. That’s a partial lie– you could make it work if you moved the pictures around a little bit, but Renjun doesn’t have to know that.

He hums, eyes scanning over the text, shrugging. “It’s nice. As long as you didn’t change the text part, I don’t mind,” he says, relief making your shoulders slouch down, not even noticing how tense you’ve become, “I actually got bored while working on this, so I get that it didn’t really look nice before. Thanks,” he completes, offering you a soft smile as he takes a sip of the black americano sitting on the desk.

“Good,” you nod, shaking off the nervousness from before, “okay.”

Scrolling through the document, moving a few things around, adding better punctuation here and there, the number of pages is still not hitting the criteria for your final grade. That’s okay– you still have a lot of time to complete the magazine and you still have plenty of ideas. To execute them is another thing, but you’re sure you’ll find a way.

“What about your interview?” Renjun suddenly asks, almost making you jump up from the surprise that is created by his voice suddenly cutting through the silence of the library.

“What about it?” you hum, looking at him. His hair is a little tousled– he’s been putting in way less work than you today, laying on the table occasionally when you don’t show him anything on your laptop for a while, acting more as your company than a help. It looks like the coffee on his table is the only thing keeping him awake, and you suddenly feel a little bad for insisting on working on the project even though your initial plans of doing it at your place fell through, because he seems to be exhausted.

“Well, I did the shelter, so you should do something too,” he says, shrugging, “or do something similar, you know… I think it would be nice to have you write about something from a reporter's perspective.”

“Oh,” you nod, “well, I dunno… I had a few ideas, but it’s…”

“Hm?” he motions for you to talk when your voice drifts out, eyes looking at you with patience and genuine interest. The change of demeanor that’s been happening with him lately slightly shocks you, but you welcome the new character in him with open arms. Still, it doesn’t mean you don’t get a little hesitant around him whenever he shows you this side of him– you don’t really know how to react, or what to expect of him anymore. It’s like walking on eggshells, but you can’t say you hate the strange anticipation.

“Well, it’s stupid, but…” you start, seeing him roll his eyes at the beginning of your proposition, “my favorite writer is doing some sort of a fan sign slash q&a thing in the local library next week. She’s coming out with a new book, and I think it would be nice to get an interview with her, but she’s probably very busy and everything, so that won’t work out.”

Looking at Renjun, feeling shy of the sudden revelation of hopes and dreams, you chew on your bottom lip in anticipation. The range of answers he could give you is truly big– he could laugh at you, tell you to go alone, or he could tell you that it’s a stupid idea, a boring one, even, or he could be supportive– the least likely response, you think. Sharing your idea with him makes you a little hesitant again, feeling a little naked in front of him, and you even avert your gaze towards your laptop and aimlessly scroll through the document to avoid his gaze, to seem more nonchalant and not at all bothered by his lack of words, when he gives you a tired hum.

“Well, you could at least do an article about the library, then. To advertise sustainability, and all… And kids these days don’t read much, so I think it’s nice to talk about it,” he says, once again folding over the table and burrowing his face in the space between his folded arms and his chest, half sitting, half laying down on the furniture, “wanna go next week? Maybe we can catch that writer of yours.”

Allowing yourself to look at him, relief once again washing over you at the acceptance, you can’t help but smile at his slurred words of affirmation. “I mean, I’m down…”

Doubting you could get the interview– not even trying to reach out to the writer, already setting yourself up for the expected failure– you make plans to visit the library the said day with Renjun anyway. You’ll get your camera and maybe get some nice shots, maybe ask around for an interview from one of the nice, old librarians instead. It’s not a bad idea, and it fits the vibe of your magazine quite nicely.

Who knows, maybe you could even get your book signed. Doesn’t hurt to try.

You think it was safe to say that you didn’t expect to see a text message pop up on the screen of your phone one afternoon, the black letters shining darkly on the bright screen with a hesitant, yet a little hurried invitation to Park Jisung’s birthday party. The whole interaction you had about it with Renjun and Hyuck was awkward, and so to see getting an invitation for yourself the day of the said event was a shocking concept, leaving you scrambling your things from various places of your apartment and putting them into a handbag before getting dressed for the occasion. 

Quickly learning that Lee Donghyuck is a man of his word– meaning that he never lies, especially when it comes to big parties– your mouth hangs open when you arrive to the address Renjun texted you in the afternoon, the big mension-like building full of people you’ve never seen before, leaving you to acknowledge that friends of friends of friends must have been invited to fill up the whole place, since it’s not possible for poor Park Jisung to know everyone at his birthday party. The fact makes you feel less special; the invitation not really making you feel like you were wanted there, the place breaking in its seams making you internalize a thought that you were there just to fill up the blank spaces and Renjun invited you only for the sheer fact of needing a lot of people for his friend’s party. A little disappointed, yet, still kind of amazed at the size of it all, you walk out of Jimin’s car– she offered to drive you there– and hesitantly set your foot to the  grass that divides the land from the sidewalk. 

Feeling a little lost, turning your head in various directions to try to find anyone you’d know– Huang Renjun being the best alternative, since he was the one who invited you, after all– you start to feel a little out of place when no one pays you any attention and the loud music filling your ears only acts as a distraction that slowly makes you oversaturated with stimulus. Just when you go to take your phone out of your bag to call either Renjun or your roommate to come back to pick you up and drive you to the safety of your apartment, a hand lands on your shoulder and makes you turn around in your tracks, a strange sense of comfort enveloping your insides when you see the short blonde peeking at you from under his carelessly styled bangs, a grin sitting on his face. “You’re here!”

“Yeah. I told you I’d come…?” you mumble, observing Renjun’s sudden enthusiasm at your arrival, letting the man drag you inside of the building. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel all the eyes of the guests on you. While you were a stranger to all of them, you are almost certain the popular Huang Renjun was one of the more known people of the bunch, catching attention of multiple friends of his and also friends of their friends, and suddenly, the feeling of his touch on your wrist as he drags you inside makes your skin burn, your brain almost overheating when you realize this might as well be the first time you’ve had any sort of physical contact with the male. Fixing your gaze on his back, enveloped in an oversized leather jacket, you start to wonder if he’s drunk.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks, finally turning back to you when you arrive in the spacious kitchen. You wonder if this house is rented, or if Park Jisung’s one of the wealthy kids in the town. You truly have no knowledge on the man, and when you hesitantly look around the room, trying to sort out what alcohol they have in store– while mentally thinking of what would make you the least hammered, considering your low alcohol tolerance– you feel Renjun’s eyes glued to you, heat inevitably rising to your cheeks. “What’s that in your hand?” he asks, making you jump out of your haze.

“Oh,” you stutter, “I brought a birthday gift for Jisung,” you mumble, seeing Renjun’s glossy eyes blink at you a few times, his lips suddenly twitching up in amusement. In this moment, you think he truly must be drunk, his fingers reaching towards the gift bag in your left hand as he peeks inside, noticing the handwritten card and a box of chocolates you brought to the boy you’ve never seen before. Your project partner cracks up as he puts the bag away to the corner of the room.

“You’re too sweet for this world,” Renjun giggles as he looks back at you, making you widen your eyes in surprise at the affectionate words falling off his tongue.

“Why?”

“Nobody actually expected you to bring a gift, you know,” he says as he walks through the half-empty kitchen, eyes roaming over the solo cups filled with alcohol, “you don’t even know him. Half the people here don’t know him and I’m pretty sure half of his actual friend group didn’t give him anything.”

“Oh,” you blink, suddenly feeling stupid. “Well, I didn’t want to seem rude…” you sheepishly mumble, scratching the back of your neck in hesitance. Maybe you did go a little overboard– nobody can really blame you, though. You’re not a big party goer, and since it’s someone’s birthday, you only assumed it’s socially expected of you to bring a gift. And it’s Renjun’s friend, on top of that– one would say you wanted to give off a good impression, as his plus-one to the party, whatever that means. If you were considered that, to be exact– with the amount of people here, though, you were starting to feel a little lost in the situation.

“See, you’re too sweet,” he says, shrugging,  eyes still fixated on the kitchen counter as he seemingly searches for a specific drink. Arm motioning towards one of the red solo cups, he suddenly turns to you and offers you the contents, smiling. “He loves chocolate, though, so that gift’s gonna be his favorite. Well, if it even gets to him in this whole mess… rum and coke?” he asks, and without much thought, you eagerly take the cup from his hand, nodding.

“Thanks,” you say, tasting the alcohol on your tongue. You don’t tell him that rum and coke is your biggest enemy– not because it tastes bad, quite the opposite, actually. You enjoy the mixture too much for you to control yourself sometimes. You can only pray that you don’t get too loose tonight.

The man’s eyes stay strangely glued to your figure as you sip from the cup, and you almost open your mouth to tease him about it– or ask if there’s something on your face, either or– when there’s a chant coming out of one of the rooms outside, incoherent screams slowly forming into one recognisable word– a name, to be exact– the voices calling Park Jisung, tonight’s birthday boy. Renjun’s eyes widen at that, his body moving fast as he tugs you by your hand again, almost spilling your drink in the process, your figure suddenly standing in a living room seemingly bigger than your whole apartment, the sight in front of you making you laugh.

A tall, lanky boy is thrown up in the air by the arms of multiple men– one of which you recognise to be Hyuck– as the whole room chants Jisung's name, the sight  a little comedic in your eyes. Rose tint settles on Park Jisung's face as the whistling only gets louder, a few phones with the flash turned on pointed to his face, the moment captured in time. You wonder what the boy did in his life to get this amount of popularity, but you can only imagine that, as one would say, this could very well be a core memory for him. You only turn adult once in your life, and for some reason, the thought of Park Jisung doing so surrounded by his friends that threw him perhaps the biggest birthday party in the history of your university campus, you get a little emotional for him. Maybe Renjun was right with you being too sweet for this world– in this moment, though, you think you’re too soft instead.

After a while, the men get tired of holding up his weight and the boy slowly comes down from the high, the hollering getting more quiet as it turns into the birthday song, making you join in with the singing. The thought of being an outcast, just a random person in the crowd slowly seeps away when you feel included in the moment, worry leaving you as you watch Donghyuck– the biggest hype man of his friends, or so it seems– shake the birthday boy vigorously by his shoulders before he lets go and plants a sloppy kiss to his cheek, which leads to the two of them chasing each other around the crowded place.

Watching the whole scene unfold right in front of your eyes, you find yourself gazing at Renjun from the corner of your eye, the bright grin on his face making your heart squeeze in a weird way. He seems so happy in this moment, dragging you from room to room excitedly as if he was a regular in this place, the joy of celebrating his friend making his flushed face glow in a healthy way. You got used to seeing his face clouded in a shadow; the worried crease in between his eyebrows and the darkness under his eyes regular visitors in his expression, so to see him seep in the ugly orange lights of the luxurious house tugs at your heartstrings in a way you choose to not recognize or name. 

“Y/N!” you hear your name screamed from somewhere in the room, making you tear your eyes away from the man standing by your side. Looking at the source of the yell, you find Lee Donghyuck striding towards you with his long legs, the action almost threatening, yet, his face beams in an excited aura.

“Hyuck!”

“You came!” he yells back in the same energy as last time, although his body is now only a few steps away from you, making you giggle. You recognise his outfit to be one of the multiple he showed you back at their apartment before he started acting all silly, the memory making you laugh in fondness.

“I did!” you nod, “I got invited,” you say, voice almost sounding proud of the achievement. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says as his eyes drift from you to Renjun, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively before he earns himself a punch to the shoulder from his roommate, a sharp, over-exaggerated scowl escaping his lips at the motion. “Come meet Jisung!” he quickly switches up the topic, dragging you along with himself like a rag doll in an instance. He must be drunk; you think. 

You wonder why you keep being dragged around the house– maybe it’s a sign that you’re too weak and should probably start working out more so you can stand your ground. Nonetheless, you follow the man as you look around, as if to apologize to Renjun for leaving him, when you see the blonde following you to the small group in the corner of the living room, recognising them to be the ones holding up Jisung just a few minutes prior. 

“Jisung! This is Y/N!” Donghyuck utters out as soon as you get to the small gathering, all eyes suddenly glued to you. You wouldn’t say it made you feel comfortable or even invited– quite the opposite, to be honest– but the man that was addressed cutely turns to you, a shy smile plastered on his face when he greets you.

“Ah! Hello!”

You doubt Park Jisung even knows who you are. You doubt any of these people do– with how they’re looking at you in examination, but you still bite through it as you force a smile on your face. “Happy birthday,” you say to him, earning yourself a bright smile from the recipient.

“Thanks!” he beams. “You’re Renjun hyung’s friend, right?” he asks  in response, almost making you choke on your spit in surprise at the fact that the boy knows who you are, which leads you to believe that you were talked about in this circle before.

“Sort of,” you nod, forcing out a giggle.

“Sort of?” the annoyed voice of Huang Renjun himself fills your ears from your right, making you jump up at the proximity of him that you weren’t aware of before, the mock offense on his face making you giggle when you think of the remorse he treated you with when you first met. He looked like he never wanted to speak to you in his life, and now he’s acting offended at you not fully calling him your friend? Yes, you did that to spite him– because if you weren’t friends, you truly don’t know what you were even doing here in the first place– but you still think the whole thing is a little ironic. “You’re at our house at least once a week and we’re not friends in your eyes?” 

“Well, that’s only because I have to,” you argue, when the man only shakes his head at you in disbelief.

“Okay, you’re not allowed to eat our snacks when you come over anymore,” he says, shrugging in nonchalance. Laughing, you find yourself looking over the group you’re standing with, the discomfort slowly fading away when you engage in conversation with Renjun. You catch a few names you can’t really place to their respective faces– mainly because Jisung was the only one formally introduced to you– when you notice a girl staring at you in examination, her figure not noticed by you before. 

The longer you stare at her, the longer you start to recognise her, and before you let panic overtake you– in all honesty, you don’t even know why you’d panic at this fact– you realize it’s none other than Huh Yunjin, your friend’s ‘cheating ex-girlfriend’ looking at you with something resembling spite in her eyes, her jaw clenched and her look glazing from your outfit to your face, as if mentally scoring you on your attractiveness, judging every detail of your body, all while a tall boy hugs her to his side– whom you presume is her new boyfriend.

He looks nothing like Renjun– he is quite the opposite, if you really think about it– and even though you tear your eyes away from her figure, your brain still screams at you with arguments that you look nothing like her; even though it shouldn’t really matter. You’re not Huang Renjun’s new girlfriend– not even the object of his desire, or the new girl by his side– you’re just his project partner, a classmate he’s grown to calling a friend, but still, you can’t help but notice her radiating beauty, the outshining features on her face and the charismatic aura she radiates– the polar opposite to everything you’d describe yourself as; and the comfort you felt while talking with Renjun’s friends is suddenly swept under the carpet, long forgotten when you still feel her eyes burning through your skull, her gaze making you like an intruder, someone who’s not supposed to be here, someone who doesn’t belong. 

And to make things even worse, you suddenly feel Renjun’s hand around your waist, and when your eyes lock with his you swear you see a hint of understatement in them, something that lets you know that he’s aware of his ex girlfriend’s burning stare; his protective side kicking in, yet still making you question the matter even more.

You bet he did it to soothe you. You can even clearly read his intentions in the warm smile he sends you when he squeezes your side, hugging you closer to himself, but the more you’re aware of his burning palm on your flesh, the more uncertain you become, the less engaged in the conversation you get, and the more uncomfortable you feel under the orange lights of the living room.

“Wanna go outside? I’m pretty sure they have a karaoke machine there, if you wanna play,” you feel Renjun whisper into your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin, the hint of vodka in it supporting your earlier claims and that he was at least a little tipsy after all. 

Nonetheless, you nod and find him leading you outside, not before you turn around to look at Yunjin for one last time, though, seeing clear jealousy shading her expression; making you wonder if you were invited just because she was too, and if you just fulfilled your designated role for the night.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” you ask, looking at your companion as the two of you sit on the stairs outside of the university building, your bags carelessly placed at your feet. It’s getting quite dark out, the winter days still being insanely short even though it’s the middle of February and spring is slowly approaching the town. The two of you had worked on your assignment in the library before Renjun told you that he has to wait for his friends Jeno and Donghyuck to pick him up, since they are meeting up with their friends from high school, their friend group living out of town requiring the two of them to take a drive there.

“Of course not,” Renjun shakes his head, “I offered to drop you off, so why would I mind?” 

“What about your friends–”

“If they have anything against it, I’ll make sure to choke them, so don’t worry about that,” Renjun softly laughs at his own joke, trying to ease you. Still, there’s something inside of you that makes the atmosphere heavy and thick, having you crack your knuckles as you sit in silence, chewing on your bottom lip from nerves.

“What’s up? You’ve been acting weird lately,” Renjun hums, looking at you from his place on your left. 

You tried hard to mask your hesitance, especially because you think the worries inside of you are stupid, but you can’t help but feel a hint of discomfort whenever you think of Jisung’s birthday party. Sure, you had a great time– his friends were nice to you, Hyuck even dramatically sang a song at the karaoke with you when Renjun got tired, the two of you taking shots together when you were done. You danced with Renjun after, the music keeping you close, and when you got tired, he walked you home. Everything felt normal between you– except from the weird closeness and occasional touches he sent your way– but you presume that was the effect of alcohol, so you didn’t ponder on it that much.

The eyes of his ex girlfriend on you the whole evening is what made you feel a bit itsy about the situation, and even though there was no hint that would further prove your previous claims, you can’t help but think about Huh Yunjin from time to time, and that’s what makes you feel at least a bit awkward about the whole thing.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you say, trying to play it off.

“Come on,” Renjun sighs, “tell me. Is it something I did?”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes at his insisting. The shift in dynamic is ironical, to say the least– 4 months ago, he wouldn’t care about what was making you feel so down, he wouldn’t even care about you walking home from university alone in the darkness of the evening hours, but now, the crease between his brows almost makes him look worried about you, and you can’t say you hate it– even though in this moment, you’d rather have him not care at all.

“Okay, so I’ll just play a guessing game, then,” he scoffs, humming, lost in thought. “You’ve been weird since the party. Something happened there?” 

“No,” you disagree, tone of voice almost sounding desperate and harrowing, not really wanting him to keep asking about the reasoning behind your mood.

“Okay, so that’s a yes. Did someone make you feel uncomfortable? Do I need to beat somebody up? Oh god, was it Hyuck? That fucker said something to you, right? I’m gonna lock him out of the apartment, I swear to god–”

“It wasn’t Hyuck,” you giggle at his outrage, deciding to save his roommate’s life.

“It wasn’t?” he asks, seemingly genuinely surprised, expecting his devilish roommate to be the reason behind all the bad things in the world. “Okay, so it must have been me, no? What did I do?” 

Sighing and shaking your head in disbelief at his insistence, you grunt. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jun, can you just stop asking?” you say, the nickname rolling of your tongue automatically, without much thinking. 

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you. It does nothing to help you relax or feel better about the situation, but at least you think Renjun finally dropped the topic and won’t ask you about it again. You’d rather have the ground swallow you whole than to admit what’s been bugging you, especially when it’s Renjun himself you’re talking to about the matter.

You were, once again, wrong in your assumptions. Renjun did not drop the topic– no, he just took his sweet time to hit the nail on the head.

“Was it because of Yunjin?” 

The question opens a pit in your stomach, the embarrassment creeping out of your body and making you heat up not helping your case. Hands clammy as you shake your head and gesture, trying to prove your disagreement with the question to the best of your abilities– but only making yourself look stupid and like you’re trying too hard– your words come out weirdly high-pitched, only further proving Renjun’s point.

“No, it– it’s not that, I– I–”

Renjun scoffs at you, shaking his head. “It’s okay. Did she– did she make you feel uncomfortable? I know she’s been staring a lot the whole evening, I’m sorry about that…”

His words do a little to comfort you. You wouldn’t say you were perfectly fine with the fact that he knows that it was his ex girlfriend that’s been on your mind the past few days– because you two aren’t dating, and realistically, this shouldn’t matter to you– but his understanding eyes bearing into yours make you calm down a little when you sigh and avert your gaze, chewing on the inside of your cheek before you speak back up again.

“It’s okay,” you hum, “I– It was expected, I guess?”

Renjun hums, eyes focusing somewhere into the unknown. Picking at the skin on your cuticles, you think the conversation is over and you’ve done a good job at playing it off, half of your worries now soothed, but Renjun is a man full of surprises, it seems, when he looks at you again, licking his lips in hesitance.

“But that’s not all, is it?” he asks, but he gets no answer from you. It doesn’t matter– your silence is enough of a conformation. “Look, I didn’t… I didn’t invite you to make her jealous, or anything, if that’s what’s running through that brain of yours, okay? I didn’t even know she would be there.”

Blinking a few times at him, not expecting him to read you so well, you let out the breath you didn’t even know you’ve been holding, nodding at his reassuring words. “Oh…”

“I invited you because I thought you’d have fun… and because I kind of wanted you there. And so did Hyuck, actually, he thinks you’re his platonic soulmate, or something–” the man rambles, explaining his intentions to you, the frantic words coming out of his mouth making you giggle. Relief washes over his face at that, noticing the ease in the atmosphere, his hand gently squeezing your knee when your laughs get quiet. “Everything’s good now?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “thanks. It was silly, but– you know,” you shrug, awkwardly grinning to yourself.

“Yeah,” he sighs out, looking back in front of him, the moment of silent sincerity between the two of you having him open up to you, “it wasn’t like that. me and her… it wasn’t quite the same for a while, you know? Like, I knew it was over before it really happened, but nonetheless, I didn’t expect her to… to do what she did to end it.”

You hum, not really knowing what words you could offer him to console him. Not really wanting to ask any more questions, you wait for him to talk by himself, to assure you’re not insensitive or prying too much. You’ll let him tell you how much he wants, and you’ll silently thank him for the trust he has in you when holding up his feelings to you on a silver platter, naked and vulnerable for you to see and examine. 

“It’s like… I wanted to end it, but not with her cheating on me. That– that hurt more than the actual break up, I think. And maybe it shouldn’t matter, because I wasn’t in love with her anymore anyway, but it still… left a scar, I think,” he hums, and by the way he plays with his fingers in his lap, you can tell he didn’t expect himself to open up to you like this– maybe this is the first time he’s even sharing this with anyone, and the urge to protect him and his heart is suddenly stronger than ever before, even though it’s been somewhere there, deep inside of you, all along.

“That’s valid,” you say, “nobody deserves that to happen to them, no matter how your relationship looked at the time. You were still together, and she shouldn’t have done that,” you mumble, hoping to provide comfort to him, but also hoping your words aren’t unwelcome at this very moment.

The blonde looks at you, an appreciative smile appearing on his face. “Thanks,” he says. There’s nothing to thank you for, you think, but perhaps those are the words he needed to hear for a while now. Perhaps your sentences just mended something in him, perhaps you were the voice that finally made him admit that what he’s been feeling about the situation wasn’t stupid or irrational.

In a moment of weakness, a selfish masochism, even, you let out a prying sentence slip out of your lips– a sentence that could hurt you, have you not been prepared for the outcome. And maybe you were going too far, maybe you should’ve stayed quiet, but you can’t turn back time and the words were already spoken. “Do you ever miss her?” 

Renjun thinks for a while– a heartbeat of a second that makes you feel like you’re falling into a deep abyss– before he shakes his head. “Not really. Not her, I don’t miss her. I think that sometimes, I just miss what we had, but… that’s long gone.”

Humming indifferently, you accept his response in a quiet solace. 

You don’t know where this conversation brings you, but you bet it’s a step in some direction.

After a while, with Renjun’s head soundly resting on your shoulder when the silence gets too long, yet a comforting aura still shades the two of you sitting at the stairs, there’s a black Ford Fiesta honking at the parking lot, the two of you jumping to your feet. The boy drags you to the backseat, your bags hitting the floor of the vehicle, as Jeno looks back at you from the front, smiling at you with moon crescents in his eyes.

“Hello!”

“Hi,” you breathe out.

“Is Y/N tagging along?” Hyuck gasps from the passenger’s seat, turning towards you two, a face of a pleasant surprise written all over his face. You know what, maybe Renjun was right and you and his roommate are platonic soulmates of some sort. Or at least that’s how Lee Donghyuck’s been acting ever since the day he met you.

“I’m not,” you giggle, shaking your head in disapproval.

“Jeno, can you drop Y/N off at her apartment?” Renjun hums, and suddenly, the previous worries leave you as soon as the tall man nods and tells you to navigate him to your place. There was no reason why you’d be rejected by Renjun’s friends– for more reasons than one, you just aren’t aware of them yet.

The ride to your apartment is filled with laughter. Squinting at your project partner sitting next to you at the back of the car, you notice that he’s glowing brightly in the reflections of the lampposts shining through the windows of the car, a stolen galaxy swirling in his eyes when your eyes meet when you pay your goodbyes to the guys while getting off at your driveway a few minutes later.

And it’s quite funny. You don’t even live that far.

–

Clapping when your favorite writer completes the little interactive Q&A at the local library on a Monday afternoon– all throughout you didn’t have any courage to ask any questions yourself, even though you had plenty– you stand up from your place at one of the little, lanky folding chairs in the back of the room and smooth your hands over the skirt of your dress, getting the creases out. You’ve learned a lot about the author today– all from how she started writing, what inspired her to write your most favorite novel, and where she finds her inspiration for writing. You have a lot of information, yet, you still bet you could master more questions, if you were to do an interview with her– you wouldn’t even have to try as hard. 

Reading is one of your passions, it’s something that brought you to the love you have for writing, and although you didn’t stick with fiction for long, finding that the world building and creating plot and characters got boring for you after a while, you found your love for writing shining through when you type articles; making sure your headlines are captivating, that your articles are well-structured and bring something new to the table. It’s a completely different branch– some would say a less creative one– but it’s undeniable that the love for it started in you when you first started reading books, when you were little, in the quiet and comfort of your room.

Glancing back at Renjun, the boy follows you like a lost puppy (you bet it’s his first time at the library, despite him owning quite a few books himself– you noticed so while examining his room one time and found classics in his bookshelf), he offers you a soft smile, nudging you to keep walking. There’s a line forming towards the head of the room, where the writer is still sitting, numbers of passionate readers and fans of her work waiting to get their books signed. There’s a little stand in the middle of the far right wall, containing numerous books written by the person currently sitting in the same room, breathing the same air as you two, and you don’t hesitate to buy the latest one, the one you haven’t had the chance to read yet, with the intention of getting it signed.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Renjun asks, standing close to you and pointing towards the stacks of books on the stand.

“That one,” you hum, bringing his attention to the paperback cover at the very corner of the stand, watching as the man takes it into his hands and flips it over, reading through the summary. He looks like one of those Pinterest boards you’d title ‘Dark academia’ with a series of emojis that fit the ‘aesthetic’, with his plaid coat layered on top of a knitted, light brown sweater, the blonde fringe slightly falling into his eyes. 

“I’ll get this one, then,” he looks at one of the ladies behind the stand, smiling at her as he gets his wallet out.

“Don’t you want the latest one?”

“Nah,” he shrugs, smiling at the lady once again when the book is back in his hold, paid for and now in his ownership. His eyes are back at you when he offers you the explanation. “You said you liked this one, so I wanna try it. And you don’t know if the latest one is any good, so at least I’ve heard a good review on this one and don’t have to be afraid of buying a shitty book,” he snickers, making you roll your eyes at the tone of his voice, but still, there’s a little man in your brain screaming at the top of his lungs– screeching, even– at the action, the gears in your brain turning faster and faster as you let yourself indulge and overthink his words. He bought it because it’s your favorite– so he said– and in a split second of delusion, it doesn’t matter to you if it was just because he wanted to be sure the book is good, or if it was just him wanting to read your favorite book as a way of learning more about you.

“As if any of her books could be bad,” you mumble, moving slowly through the line. You’re the last ones waiting for the autograph, and while there’s still a lot of people in front of you, you can’t help but feel a little nervous at the promise of an interaction with the author.

“Well, you can never really know. Everyone has bad days.”

Snickering at his argument, you shake your head in disbelief and move a few steps forward again. You’ve taken a few photographs of the library while you were sitting and listening to the talk; a few of the author– to capture the nice memory– and some of the interior as well, showcasing the numerous shelves filled with books of different genres that the library provides. Still, you take the camera into your hands again, taking a few more– you were sure to get permission from the smiley and welcoming librarians when you arrived– trying to capture the atmosphere and the heartwarming aura of it all. A little selfishly, for your own memory, you turn to your companion and point the lens towards him, seeing as he poses with the book, acting a little silly when you take the picture, and when he breaks into an amused grin after, you take another one– a moment captured in time, his toothy laugh on full display. When you look at the picture again, your heart warms up a little at the image. Maybe you could get it printed out and add it to your memory book alongside the pictures you have from your first university parties and moving into the new apartment with Jimin– just so you have something to look back to.

Soon enough, you reach the front of the room, your bodies only a few steps away from the author. When the last guests in front of you leave, paying their goodbyes, you take a step forward with a little sigh, trying to encourage yourself and also calm down the erratic beating of your heart, ready to face the idol you’ve been looking up to since you were 11. With Renjun on your side, you put on your most picture-worthy smile, clammy hands offering the book to the writer when you reach the long table, choking on your words.

“Hello,” you greet, not really knowing what to say. You would be lying if you said you didn’t rehearse this in your brain seventy different times ever since you talked with Renjun about going to the library last week, trying to make up the perfect scenario and find the best words to use when you finally meet her, but in this very moment, the whole script flies through the window and you’re left silent and hesitant, heat rising to your cheeks when you can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Hello,” you hear Renjun greet shortly after you, bumping into you a little with his hip when he stumbles to the table, seemingly more calm than you, trying to save the day, “my name’s Huang Renjun,” he says, and you want to kick him in his shin– because who even does that? Who tells their full name to a stranger, an author he’s never heard of before actually attending this meet and greet, acting as if he was an old friend of hers, meeting the famous writer after a long time? You almost thought he’d save you from the embarrassment and lead the way, from the way he approached her, but after hearing those words come out of his mouth, you almost go to scold him for his behavior.

To your surprise, though, the writer’s eyes widen in what seems to be realization, nodding to herself. “So you must be Y/N!” she says, looking back at you, a welcoming smile appearing on her lips. 

“I- I-” you stutter, suddenly feeling really confused. Is this a dream? Are you asleep? Or is your favorite writer suddenly a psychic too? What are you missing?

“Yeah! She’s just a little nervous right now,” he grins, taking a short look at you before he turns back to the author, “so… I take it as you haven’t changed your mind about the interview?”

“Not at all! I’m actually really happy to hear that students are taking interest in my writing and that they want to interview me,” she says, quickly signing your books on the front pages, offering them back to you, “I usually don’t give interviews just to anyone– you know, it would get a little too busy if I did that– but your passion really caught my attention.It reminds me of myself when I was your age… Just give me a few seconds, I have a phone call to make right now, but after I’m done, I’m all yours!” 

“Of course!” Renjun nods, watching as the author stands up from the table and disappears in one of the back rooms, seemingly to take care of the call. Turning back to you, still finding you dumbfounded from the interaction, he can’t help but let out an amused laugh. “Are you okay over there?”

“I- What-” you stutter, shaking your head as if to make your brain reboot, dragging your hand through your hair to get it out of your face, “how did you even manage to- she doesn’t even-” you fail to create coherent sentences, shock and surprise overshadowing your otherwise good choice of vocabulary, confusion spreading over your face like a shadow.

“I have my ways,” he shrugs nonchalantly, as if this was the easiest thing to accomplish, once again breaking into a grin when he sees your stoic face, “maybe try to smile a little? She might think you’re terrified of her if you keep frowning like that.”

“I am,” you mumble, still not quite comprehending the situation.

Rolling his eyes at you, he snickers. “Come on,” he says, “I bet you have plenty of questions for her up in that brain of yours,” he points to the middle of your forehead, shaking his head at your frozen figure.

“I do, but-” you mumble, catching yourself mid-sentence, “how did you even-” the words stream out your mouth, a puzzled expression not leaving your face.

“You can thank me later. Now focus on your job,” he says, turning you by your shoulders and pushing you a little towards the author that has now emerged out of the back room, a welcoming glint in her eye when her eyes land at the two aspiring journalists.

On that Monday afternoon, with sweaty palms and tongue-tied as you stutter out the curious questions, making an interview for your imaginary magazine, you learn that contrary to the popular demand, Huang Renjun is quite full of surprises. 

The longer you know Renjun, the more you hang out without the purpose of working on your assignment together. Truth be told, you started working on it pretty early into the semester, and while others were now aimlessly pulling all nighters to complete the magazine, you and Renjun were pretty much done with it already by now, since you forced the man to start working on it as soon as it was possible. He didn’t say it out loud, but you can tell he was thankful for that– it would kill the both of you if you had to focus on the project now, when exam season is slowly, but surely in reach and you’ll have to start studying soon.

It was a little awkward at first– you still remember the first time you watched Netflix with him in the silence of his apartment, with his mood very apparently below zero– starting with the two of you taking breaks in between working on your assignment, talking about the latest episodes of the anime you two have, coincidentally, chosen to watch at the same time; later progressing into full on sessions of gossip with his roommate Donghyuck joining the two of you at the comfortable couch. You’d say your friendship started a little this way, with you and Renjun running to the convenience store when you ran out of snacks in the middle of your study sessions and the two of you randomly laughing at something in your Journalism class, earning yourself scolding looks from the professor. It was unexpected, but you grew familiar with the antics, flowing through the days together, filling the boring days with texts full of TikTok links and Donghyuck sending you random pictures of your project partner all zoomed in on Snapchat. You even invited Renjun over a few times, Jimin accepting the new man in the comfort of your home when she realized he’s not as bad as he used to be before, as you ate up all of your snacks this time around instead, having impromptu karaoke sessions in your room, trying to quiz each other on the lyrics of your top tracks of the last year on Spotify. 

Everything felt casual, growing more in tune with the man he was, learning his antics and all about his character. You quickly learned that when he’s feeling down, he gets a little snappy– a bad habit you made him recognise and try to eliminate, at least when you’re around. You found out that when he’s nervous, he bites his nails, and you choose to slap his palms from the proximity of his lips whenever you catch him in the act. When he’s annoyed– much like when you prevent him from the action of gnawing at his fingernails until the skin around them  bleeds– he rolls his eyes and sighs, sometimes even shakes his head at you in disapproval. He looks adorable while doing so, but to save both of you the embarrassment, you’d never tell him out loud.

And you’d even dare to say he learns about you too. He’s an observing individual, and you’d even argue that he cares about you at least a little. For one, he’s not rude towards you anymore, the way he was when you two first started talking, and also, he shows his affection towards you in the most Renjun ways possible. He’d argue that he’s not good with words, but he’s always there to affirm you with them in his true love language whenever you’re stressed or overwhelmed with responsibilities. He also remembers your favorite drinks and snacks, opting to save them for you whenever you come by his place, and even slipping some into your bag before you leave his apartment. He’s a caring individual, a big hearted man, delicate in all directions.

You believe it’s impossible not to fall for him at least a little. Not when you really know him– the way you do, from up close, in his most joyful moments and the ones where he tries to battle you away when the ghosts in his brain try to make him shelter himself away from everyone too.

But you wouldn’t tell him that. Never in a thousand years.

“I hate all this fucking snow,” you tell him instead, when you walk by his side with your groceries in hand, the tips of your fingers brittled from the cold. “Why is it even snowing in the first place, it’s the end of February, for fuck’s sake!” 

The two of you decided to go for a grocery run together, and while some would say it’s not a fun activity to do, you think you like experiencing mundane things with your close ones the most. If you enjoy someone’s company, you truly do not care what you do together– you always go pick up packages from the post with Jimin, or drive your little sibling to the store when you’re back home, even though the action itself doesn’t provide you any conventionally ‘fun’ experiences, most of these are a fond memory in your brain, because you got to spend time with someone you love. It’s the same right now– even though it’s snowing heavily and you can’t feel your feet from the cold– you went to buy groceries with Renjun when he texted you about it, realizing you could buy some things you ran out of as well, opting to walk there together.

“I thought you liked winter?” he snickers, seeing your grumpy expression. 

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you said you hated summer,” he says, matter of factly, making you giggle to mask the warmth spreading on your insides from the knowledge that he remembers the random fact you once told him when you were working on your project together.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I like winter either,” you say, shrugging.

“Do you even like anything?”

“No,” you shake your head, totally serious before you burst into laughter, “kidding. I like spring,” you smile at him, eloquently, shuffling your legs along the snowed-in ground, moving closer to the campus, near to where you both live.

“I like spring too, actually.”

“Because your birthday’s in spring?” you snicker, teasing him.

“Maybe,” he admits, laughing with you. “No, but I think spring’s neat for a number of reasons. It always feels… like a new beginning, perhaps? After months of silence, you can finally hear the chirping of birds in the morning, and the sun sets later too, so the days feel longer…” he says, and you find yourself observing him, admiring the love he has for the season.

“Exactly,” you nod, pointing your gaze towards the ground when you notice that he caught you staring, embarrassment creeping up your back before you shudder from the cold, heavy snowflakes falling on top of your head, drenching your freshly washed locks and making your cheeks burn with cold. You can’t remember the last time it snowed so hard– you were in for a couple of warm winters for the last couple of years– and as much as you hate to admit it because of your noticeable aversion towards winter, you must say it looks quite magical.

“Look, I know you hate winter, but you do have windows in your flat, right?” he jokes, making you roll your eyes at the nagging you know you’re about to hear. “Maybe look out of them before you go out, so you could dress for the weather the next time.”

“Very funny,” you snicker, “I’ll let you know, it wasn’t snowing when I was getting ready.”

“Okay then, maybe start using the weather app. It’s great if you want to know how cold it really is outside, and you’re quite good with technology, so maybe you could-”

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, but feel yourself grinning at the teasing.

The man lets out a sigh– a habit of frustration he does a lot whenever you’re around– before you feel him tugging something onto the top of your head, your ears suddenly shielded by soft fabric. Looking up at your companion in shock, you notice that the beanie that had been sitting on his head until now is covering yours instead; and although you appreciate the gesture with a giddy clench on your insides, you find yourself protesting.

“Jun! You’ll get cold,” you pout.

“Okay, but so will you, and as far as I’m concerned, I have more layers on than you right now, so you need it more than me,” he shrugs, all nonchalant, making you hesitantly smile at him and shut up, keeping the warm wool over your head. 

Next time, you’ll look at the weather app to save your heart some trouble. 

Or maybe you won’t.

Walking closer to your apartment complex, naturally accepting the fact that Renjun decided to walk you home– or just hasn’t realized he’s doing so yet– you fall into comfortable conversation, mostly consisting of you complaining and Renjun finding your tangent amusing.

“My groceries will get all wet! Fucking hell, Renjun…”

“I didn’t force you to come,” he laughs.

“Well, but you have the weather app, as opposed to me, so maybe you could’ve predicted the fact that it was going to snow soon,” you pout, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“And if I did?” 

“Then why’d you drag me out?” you huff, nearing the steps that lead up towards the front door of your building, being careful not to slip on them as you stand on the first one, towering above the man that takes his position opposite of you while you say your goodbyes. 

“Okay, next time get your groceries alone, if you’re just gonna complain the whole way,” he giggles at your fake offendance, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Snowflakes settle on the tops of his cheekbones, the rosy tint in his face taking your breath away, something in his eyes captivating you and hypnotizing you into doing things you would’ve never dared to do as you reach out towards his hair, now wet from the snow that manages to melt away on his body, brushing your hand through the locks.

“It’s gotten so long,” you muse, “the blonde’s all grown out now.”

He hums, the eye contact making you heat up despite the coldness that’s been trying to seep into your bones. “Maybe I should dye it back to black, then.”

Grinning, you shrug as your hand escapes his scalp. “Yeah,” you nod, “maybe you should.”

“It’s a plan, then,” he says before he grins, poking you in your forehead with his pointer finger as he takes a step back from you, heading towards the direction of his apartment. “I’ll text you,” he adds.

Paying your goodbyes to him, you stumble inside and reach your flat, your whole body on fire even though you’ve been freezing until now as you take off your wet shoes and tug the borrowed beanie from your head. Putting away the groceries, you wonder if there’s a significance in his decision, if the change of hair is the same as the reason why he loves spring; if new things are beginning, or if you’ve just tricked yourself into falling for him too hard.

“You have to mix it together with this first!” Renjun whines, sitting at the edge of the bathtub as he watches you open the box dye you bought together at the drugstore a few hours ago, pointing his finger at the white pack containing the mixing solution.

“Oh,” you mumble, clammy hands flying around and trying to read the instructions instead, too worried to mess up again and accidentally burn Renjun’s hair off. After a few moments of you silently turning the big sheet of paper around in all directions, you hear your companion snicker under his breath, standing up from his position at the edge of the bathtub and mixing the dye with the solution in a little plastic container he got from under the sink himself instead.

“Let me do it,” he shakes his head, “didn’t know you were this useless.”

“If you didn’t want me here, you could’ve just said so,” you put the instruction paper down, crossing your arms on your chest as you take a step back and look at him with an offended pout, watching as he gets everything ready. His hair is sticking all over the place and the shirt he has on is stained with bleach– you suspect he wore this exact outfit a few months ago when he dyed his hair blonde– the fabric hanging loosely down his shoulders. 

“I’m perfectly capable of dying my hair on my own, if you didn’t notice,” he says, “me wanting you here is the sheer reason for your presence.”

Heart skipping a beat at the sentence, masking it off with a fakely annoyed sigh, you watch him take a seat back at the edge of the bathtub when he’s done, motioning for you to take matters into your hands and start dying his hair. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“I’ll do so just to spite you,” you argue back, taking the plastic container with the dye into your hand and standing close to Renjun, parting his hair down the middle as you get the chemical-smelling mixture into his growing locks. Focused on the task at hand, trying really hard not to get the dye all over the place, you almost get lost in the motion of playing with his hair and pay too much attention to each section, your touch gentle not to tug at his hair. It  makes you not notice the way you’re suddenly standing in between Renjun’s opened legs, your skin covered by fabrics of sweatpants touching.

His head suddenly moves, making you almost dye his whole forehead black, when he plops a gummy worm into his mouth and regains his previous position. 

“Stop moving or else it’s gonna look bad!” you scowl, frustrated with the fact that he made you lose your focus.

“Want a gummy worm?” he asks, looking up at you with an innocent smile instead– as if to make you forget all about his actions from before– and you reward him with an annoyed shake of your head that shows him disapproval which he seemingly chooses to ignore as he reaches into the pack of gummies again and holds one up to your lips, fingertips brushing against the skin of your mouth making you feel heat in your cheeks. You didn’t want a gummy worm, but with the proximity of his hand to your face and the starry gaze he offers you when you meet his eyes, you don’t hesitate to take the gummy into your mouth and chew on the candy, earning yourself a satisfied smile.

Turning towards his hair again, the last few strands left undyed waiting for your attention, the man suddenly squeezes your thigh, making you wince. “How is it going up there?”

“Good,” you choke out, suddenly hyper aware of his hand resting on the skin of your leg, as if to hold you in place, his other hand working almost on auto-pilot as he completes the symmetry and grazes your other thigh, his touch on you so gentle you could almost miss it if you didn’t pay enough attention.

“If it’s patchy, I’m blaming you and not the dye,” he teases, drumming against your leg with his fingers, each little gesture making you less and less focused on his hair and more on the way his eyelashes fan over his cheekbones from above, biting down hard on your lip to keep yourself from making any sound close to frustration or the sound of perhaps losing your mind. 

“Well then, maybe you shouldn’t have bought the cheapest one.”

“I’m staying on budget,” he says, making you snicker.

Forcing yourself to focus back onto his hair, you finally complete your task of dying the man’s hair back to its original color. Taking a step back from him and putting the plastic container onto the sink, you start to miss the feeling of his hand on your skin; his hair slicked back by the dye makes him look oddly amusing, though, so you let a grin slip out at the sight of your companion sitting at the edge of the bathtub like a scolded child, his legs outstretched right in front of him and a pack of gummy worms once again firmly gripped in the palm of his hand.

After cleaning up the mess you’ve made on the bathroom sink, with Renjun singing to himself as he put up a timer on his phone for 20 minutes, you find yourself in his kitchen, walking around and finding a pot in which you could cook some ramen for dinner. It’s getting quite late and it’s rare that you find yourself alone in Renjun’s apartment with him, his roommate finally getting out after the dreaded exam season to celebrate, and you can’t help but find the domesticity of sharing his space with him– although this is not the first time– overtake you in a deep feeling of intimacy.

Stirring the noodles around with a fork you found in one of the drawers, listening to the low hums of Renjun singing in the bathroom as he cleans up the skin on his forehead and behind his ears with a wet cotton pad, you wonder how you managed to get used to this– how you even managed to find yourself in the presence of Huang Renjun so often, after only hearing about him from gossip around the school halls and hating his presence when you first had to work with him. It’s ironic, but you don’t hate it quite as much as you would think. 

“You’re making ramen?” he asks as he finally reaches the kitchen, big eyes full of thankfulness meeting yours when he notices you getting out some plates to transfer the meal into, since you’re close to being done.

Humming in agreement, you see him lean on the kitchen counter from the corner of your eye, a satisfied smile reaching his lips. “I should invite you over more often.”

“I’m here like twice a week, Jun,” you mumble, focused on not spilling the meal all over the place.

“Well, if it means you’ll cook all the time, you can even move in, if you want to” he jokes, making you shake your head in disbelief as you take the plates and move them to the coffee table you are so used to sitting at by now, since the boys don’t really have a dining table in their apartment, making them (and sometimes you joining) eat all the meals at the coffee table, sitting on the ground.

“And where would I sleep? On the couch? No, thank you,” you shake your head, digging into the noodles and blowing on them to make them cool faster.

“I’ll kick Hyuck out, so you can have his room,” he mumbles in between bites, following you. 

“So you just want me to be your maid, got it,” you nod.

“That’s not what I said,” he looks at you with offense, before digging into the noodles again, mumbling under his nose before taking a bite, “although you would look nice in a maid dress-”

Kicking him in the leg, seeing as he chokes up on the food from laughing, you shake your head in disbelief at his antics. You think it’s the hair dye getting to his brain, so when his timer goes off in a few minutes after you’re both done with the food, you thank god for bringing you out of your misery. 

Listening to the sound of the shower as he washes the hair dye off, you take it upon yourself to clean up the dishes. You’d feel bad for leaving a mess in his kitchen, and you also think it’s a nice thing to do. It only takes a few minutes before he’s out of the bathroom again, hair damply sitting on his forehead, his figure twirling like a ballerina– reminding you of the way you did little fashion shows for your father whenever you came home from shopping with your mum– waiting for what you have to say about his new look, although in true reality, he looks just the same as a few months ago. 

“Does it look good?”

“I can’t tell ‘cause it’s wet,” you say, squinting your eyes at the mess on his head, “go blow dry it.”

“Fuck no,” he shakes his head, protesting, “I hate blow drying my hair.”

“Why? I can’t tell if it’s patchy this way,” you say.

“My hands get tired and I get bored and I just really don’t enjoy the experience,” he simply states, and he wins– whether this was his intention or not– as you drag him back to the bathroom and get out of him where he keeps the blow dryer, plugging it in and moving to do it for him. 

There it is again– that funny feeling in your stomach as you move your hands through his hair, brushing his bangs away from his forehead as you blow dry his locks. The feeling makes you weak in your knees as you look at the boy who now has his eyes closed, seemingly enjoying the motion of your fingers threading through his freshly dyed strands, and when you finally turn the device off and watch him open his eyes, looking at you half-lidded and seemingly a little tired, you once again notice his hands on your thighs as he sits at the bathtub, although now the touch is more firm, pulling you close to him. 

“Are you happy now that your hair is black?” you find yourself asking, your eyes bearing into him as you reference the dialogue you two had when he dyed his hair blonde, when you two didn’t know each other well just yet and he told you the wishful secret of wanting to have more fun as a blonde since he was sad when his hair was black. 

His smile looks a little drunk, despite the both of you being completely sober as he replies, acting as if he was getting tipsy off your proximity and gentle touch. “My hair’s black because I’m happy, not the other way around,” he mumbles, your eyes momentarily drifting to his pretty lips as he talks, their rosy plumpiness making it hard for you to unstuck your gaze from the curve of his smile and focus on other features of his face.

“Good,” you nod, your hands finding their place at his shoulders, almost going for a hug, but never really completing the action. 

“So how do I look?” he asks again, your conversation growing quiet in the intimate atmosphere, voices not wanting to interrupt the calm, yet tense harbor. 

Examining him, you find yourself once again attracted to the boy you see in front of you. He looks exactly like he did before his break-up– yet now, you’d argue and say he looks even better; healthier and more radiant, his features gentle, hair a little longer and his smile reminding you of an angel. Humming to yourself, you brush your hands through his black strands again, letting yourself indulge in your growing feelings for the man for just a second, before the moment is gone. “Really pretty,” you mumble, watching as his smile grows for a mere second before his eyes drift from yours down to your lips, making you forget how to breathe.

Your hands continue to get lost in his hair as you stare at each other for a while, silence in the bathroom making you listen in on each other’s breathing, before your brain fails you and you let yourself operate on auto-pilot, leaning down to his face, surprised to see him meet you in the middle. You kiss him as if you’ve been waiting ages to do so, your lips molding in with his in a perfect harmony, firm, yet still unmistakably gentle contact making you shiver. 

It feels like a century before you pull away, ready to face the consequences of your actions, when he captures your lips in another kiss, drunk on the action. Feeling him standing up from the edge of the bathtub and moving his hands to firmly grip your waist before he walks you backwards against the tiled wall, the coldness of it mixing with the heat spreading across your body makes you gasp into the kiss and invite his tongue into your mouth.

Your hands fall from his hair and find their way around his neck, tugging him close, while one of his gentle palms rests on your jaw, angling your face in a way that lets him take control and have you even closer, two bodies seeking each other’s presence.

“Renjun…” you gasp when his lips move away from yours, leaving kisses down your jaw, slowly reaching the delicate skin of your neck and the conjunction of your shoulder. 

He hums into your skin, a cold hand sneaking under the hem of your shirt making you wince, all of his actions making your senses hyper aware to the touch and feeling of his lips pressed against you, especially when he finds the sweet spot behind your ear and makes you squirm under him, the feeling of his smile against your skin turning you crazy.

Finding yourself tugging his face back to yours, taking back his lips, his hand travels up your side, leaving goosebumps all over your skin with the cold motions of his fingertips, you shiver under his caring, yet teasing touch. The kiss feels as if it’s one step away from heaven, letting out a satisfied sound when he softly brushes the underside of your breast.

Pressing him closer against you, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his neck, you feel him hard against your thigh, neediness overtaking you as you lightly move against him, hearing him choke out a breath. “Is- is this okay?” he asks, voice not louder than a whisper before you continue with your motions, answering with your actions before using your words, breathing growing quicker with the way the friction makes you feel.

“More than okay with me,” you mumble, seemingly encouraging him as he presses you firmer against the tiled wall, helping you guide your desperate movements. Foreheads pressed against each other, breathing mixing in the silent room, you can’t seem to find it in you to stop, completely losing yourself in him and in the way he makes you feel, selfishly chasing down release from all the butterflies and electric stares he’s been sending your way.

Grunting when you press up against him in a way that sends sparks down his spine, his hand reaches up under your thigh, almost on the skin of your butt, holding up your leg to make more room and get you even closer to him, before he heaves out a sigh. “Let’s go to my room?” he asks hastily before you nod and let him plop you up against his figure with your legs entangled around his middle, escaping the cold tiles of the bathroom and walking over to the his room smelling of fresh laundry detergent and vanilla, soft sheets enveloping your body when he lightly drops you into his mattress.

A giggle escapes your lips at the contact of your body with the bed, earning yourself a playful roll of Renjun’s eyes as he leans over you, plopping himself up on one elbow above you, caging you in his embrace. Maintaining eye contact with him, blissful smiles stretching on your lips, you almost think the moment is over, but he quickly brings you back to the neediness you felt before as he leans in again, kissing you painfully slowly while his hand reaches under the hem of your shirt, letting his palm travel against your body. His actions make you shiver as his fingertips softly tickle your side, moving towards the dip of your waist, then back up across your stomach as he traces mindless shapes against your skin, occasionally letting himself travel up towards the fabric of your bra. Cupping one of your breasts into his hand, you let out a soft grunt when he squeezes the flesh softly enough to make you yearn for more.

Mirroring his actions, your hand moves under his loose shirt, hypnotized by the heat of his flesh. Enveloped in his warmth and the smell of him in his bedsheets, you let yourself roam up his abdomen, embracing the way his muscles jolt a little under your touch, before your hand settles onto his back, fingertips dancing up and down his spine.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles, making you break into a blissful smile, before his hand lazily dips down your belly, seeking approval in your eyes, “can I?” 

Nodding, afraid of seeming a little too eager– although maybe he would welcome that with open arms– you feel his fingertips messily dragging down the waistband of your sweatpants a little by little, leaving you in front of him only in your underwear, his lips swallowing your sighs when he hesitantly brushes his thumb against your clit. 

His movements get more confident as he adds more pressure, making you let out a few more muffled sounds he welcomes with a cocky smile, demeanor shifting as he presses a wet kiss against your cheek when he drags your underwear down and gets back to where he was before, but now acting more gently– as if the contact of your bare core with his fingers made him afraid you’re gonna break in his hold. Softly nudging your thighs, opening up your legs and softly tracing his pointer finger down your slit, he makes your cheeks flush from the contact and the feeling of air against your naked bottom half.

He doesn’t say much as he tests the waters, dragging his digits along your folds, examining your reaction when he circles your sensitive bud and sees you crumble under his touch. Your hands grip his pearl white sheets, not really knowing what to do to ground yourself back to reality, the man above you finally finding enough courage in him to insert one finger, then two inside of you, watching you react to his actions.

“Feels good,” escapes your lips, and truthfully, you didn’t even catch yourself saying it. It left your mouth on itself, your tone a little fragile but full of eagerness, wanting more– and seemingly understanding, he moves inside you with more reason now, hitting the right spot that makes your eyebrows crease and your breathing hitch in your throat.

“There?” he asks, as if to tease you. In any other circumstance, you’d find it in you to bark back something full of sarcasm and irony, but now, vulnerable and sensitive to his every move, you only nod eagerly and meet his eyes which are now clouded with lust, a view you’ve never experienced before, but welcome with undeniable curiosity.

Angling his fingers inside of you just the way you need them, you quickly feel yourself reaching your high, one of your hands flying to his forearm as if to let him know or warn him, somehow. Judging by his actions, he got the memo– showing his experience when he continues with the same speed and pressure, keeping still– before he slowly trips you over the edge, having you clenching around his fingers as you let moans slip out from your lips, euphoria taking over your whole body.

His figure leans into you, holding you close as your breathing comes back to normal, his lips press soft kisses to your temple. It’s almost a hint that the act is over, his actions growing more tender as opposed to the way he had you just a few moments prior, but you find yourself not wanting it to end, tugging his shirt up and earning yourself a questioning look.

“More?” you mumble, looking at him, grabby hands helping him take his shirt off. Your please sound almost like a question– they may as well be, for you don’t know if he wants this too– but he reacts to you positively when you have your eyes roaming across his bare torso, hands flying towards your own shirt, taking it off before you chastly press against him, both of you sitting at his bed, meeting him in a kiss as you settle yourself into his lap. 

In this moment, there’s nothing but him. Your head spins with his essence, your brain painfully aware of everything; of your hands holding his cheeks when you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth, chasing after his neck in a desperate need of leaving a mark, wanting evidence of you being there the next morning, so you could remind yourself that this wasn’t just a dream or a product of your own imagination. When you press down against his lap, dragging your naked core against his hard on, his hands grip your sides, sneaky fingers trailing up after a moment as he tugs the straps of your bra down before slipping it off completely, leaving you naked in front of him.

Lifting you by your hips and moving you back against his pillow, laying you into his sheets, he lets you drag his sweatpants down, your fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxers and gently dragging along the sensitive skin, feeling needier at the sounds of satisfaction escaping his lips. Bringing him closer with your other hand, he takes a moment to confirm with you one last time. 

“Are you sure you… want this?” he doesn’t seem to find the right words, leaving you softly laughing at his puzzled expression.

“I am,” you nod, assuring him, “I- I want you,” you mumble, still loud and clear, and he wastes no time in freeing himself of his underwear and aligning himself with your entrance.

He slowly pushes inside of you, his whole length filling you up. He leaves you some time to adjust, checking in with you with a look to your eyes, fingertips gently dragging your hair out of your face before you confirm with him that you’re okay with a soft nod, making him move and gently thrust inside of you; painfully slow at first, but reaching deep, taking in every inch of you. Pleasure builds inside of you as his thrusts become more quicker, finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl and your hands fly to his back, scratching down along his skin when he hits your spot and your eyes shut in a spell of satisfied sighs.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss against your lips, a sentence sweet enough to make your cheeks flush under him– yet you think the heat you feel is more than shyness from his words, but from the contact of his skin on yours, driving you absolutely crazy.

His finger gently plays with your clit, slowly, but surely tipping you over the edge. You hold back a moan, head falling to your side on his pillow, Renjun’s lips pressing kisses into the now exposed areas of your neck, still going at a steady rhythm. 

“Fuck,” you let out when he picks up at speed, the imaginary glass of pleasure in you getting fuller and fuller, making afraid of it spilling out when he keeps going, your hand flying into his hair, tugging at it in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, “I’m close.”

He hums against your neck, softly biting a bruise into your flesh. He doesn’t say much, again– his loving is quiet, only occasionally letting out needy noises out past his lips here and there, grunts slipping out when you feel just right around him. You find it hard to keep up with the silence, blissful sounds escaping you when he takes you over the edge. Your walls clench around him as he’s still thrusting into you, chasing down his climax and making the most out of yours. You swear you can see stars, the tips of your fingers starting to tingle when you get a little too overstimulated, but before you can do anything about it, he slips out of you and warmth spreads on your stomach, his body crashing next to yours.

He doesn’t say much after either. The room falls into silence, your bodies heaving with deep breaths as you try to calm down the erratic beating of your hearts. Mindlessly threading your fingers through his hair, you stare at the ceiling, his arms draped over your middle, occasionally playing with the flesh of your hip, squeezing it with his palm and dragging his fingertips across the soft skin. Looking down at him, not seeing much other than the raven locks falling into his forehead and his closed eyes, you try hard to appreciate the closeness of his body, just in case you don’t get to experience it ever again.

Feeling his nose nuzzling into your skin, you wonder if he’s happy.

Dark, wallowing pit opens up in your stomach, the harrowing feeling you didn’t know you could recognise fills you up to your rim; your vision goes a little blurry at the sight in front of you and after a few seconds of torturing yourself by watching, you feel the bitter taste of blood on your tongue from gnawing at the gentle skin of your bottom lip too hard. That alone wakes you up from the weird transe you’ve been put in, making you turn on your heel and chime outside of the building, the iced americano in your hand thrown in the nearest trash can as you take the short way home, suddenly wanting to hide away from everyone and everything, too fragile to deal with the outer world today.

You open up the door to your apartment with a little struggle, your hand shaking not making it easy for you to put the key inside the keyhole, and when you finally get to the comfort of your little place, you’re met with Jimin’s concerned eyes waiting for you in the hall, her figure hesitantly walking over when she heard you struggle with the door.

Closing the door behind you a little too loudly, careless in your actions from how hard your heart is hammering against your ribcage, your roommate approaches you with gentle words. “What happened? Weren’t you meeting up with–”

“No,” you shake your head, cutting off her sentence before his name manages to come out of her mouth, your throat closing as you choke out the response; the soft gaze she offers you at the stern words of disapproval makes your eyes water even though you already promised yourself you wouldn’t cry over this.

“Oh, sweetie,” Jimin mumbles as her long legs make their way towards your shrunken figure, enveloping you in her arms. You let yourself be comforted, almost yearning for the slow strokes she gives your back, her long fingers threading through your hair. There aren’t many instances where you two had to hold each other in the entrance hall, too afraid of letting go before one of you breaks. You remember her breaking up with her boyfriend Jaehyun– they dated for a couple of months last year before he had to move away and a long distance relationship wasn’t something either of them was willing to put each other through– but that time, it was in the comfort of her bedroom and you watched the first season of Too hot to handle together after it was done to take her mind off things. You, however, don’t have much dating experience. Not a significant one anyway– you only dated in high school, and even though the boy you crowned your first in many things was sweet, you simply fell out of love with him after a few months and called it quits, with no tears shed and no hearts broken.

“I think I was just a rebound,” you get out in between your quiet sobs, the image of Renjun sitting at the cafeteria with Yunjin, his soft gaze offered to her as she leaned over the table and said something quietly to him before pressing a kiss to his cheek only further proving your claims.

And you guess you were the stupid one– you guess you were silly for thinking he was over his ex already, even if it’s been a couple of months since they broke up, even if he told you he didn’t miss her, but was sad to let go what they had– because the sweetness in his eyes when he looked at her hurt you more than you could’ve ever imagined, because you think you remember him looking at you like that the evening you dyed his hair black; you remember him looking at you like you hung up the stars on the sky, and you believed the gentle gaze– you believed there was something more than sex to it, you believed he felt the same feelings as the ones you’ve been harboring for the boy ever since you first hanged out at his place and watched Netflix with him to take his mind off the said girl.

Jimin doesn’t ask any questions– she knows you’ll tell her eventually, you just need comfort right now. Sniffling as you try to come down from the heartbreak you’ve caused yourself, you groggily get out a sentence that hurts to say out loud perhaps the most from the feelings freely roaming around your brain. “I don’t think it meant anything to him– I– I don’t think I meant anything to him.”

As if to torture yourself even more, the images of you two getting closer over the time flash through your brain– and you wonder if you were just lying to yourself the whole time. If his words weren’t what he made them out to be, if his gentle nature that overtook him when you were around was just him treating you as one of his friends. If he hooked up with you only because he was horny, and not because he cared for you enough to want to explore you further, deeper– if you were the only one in it for something more, if he was just keeping himself busy while trying to get over his ex.

And much like that time at the party, where he held you close and spent the whole night pretty much glued to your side, right in front of everyone’s eyes, you wonder if you just fulfilled your purpose in his life. 

“Shh,” the girl shushes you out of your self-destructive thoughts, still not getting any context on what happened, but being there for you anyway, “let’s just watch something, okay? We have the whole day off to ourselves, let’s watch this new anime I’ve been eyeing, what do you say?” she mumbles, seeing as you tiredly nod and she affectionately squishes your cheeks together, leading you towards the living room.

If you weren’t so numb right now, you’d even giggle. Jimin doesn’t watch anime– the amount of reality TV she watches is quite concerning sometimes– and her effort to aimlessly search through the internet for the first episode of an anime she randomly saw on Tiktok one day and thought would suit your watching style both amuses you and makes your heart warm just a little. Indulging in TV series is one of the only coping mechanisms either of you can ever come up with, it seems.

When the opening credits roll, you hear your phone’s notification sound pop up, your hand reaching for the device. You don’t even get an opportunity to look at who is texting you before your roommate snatches the phone out of your hand, swipes across the screen and turns it off with one swift motion, forcing you to focus on the animation going on the TV.

Sometimes, all you need is your caring roommate to take over everything. Today, more than ever, you’re more than willing to give yourself into her hands.

After that, you do what you think anyone in your situation would (or wouldn’t do, to be precise). You don’t text Huang Renjun random things throughout the day like you used to– you no longer laugh at weird memes he finds funny with him and you no longer read his texts that are full of random complaining, mostly about his roommate Donghyuck, throughout the day. You don’t meet him to work on the project together. It’s almost done and you still have time– you are planning on just finishing it by yourself and turning it in on the day it’s due, with no contact with the male. You also don’t call him when you’re walking home alone in the late hours of the evening, scared and yearning to find comfort in his saccharine words. You don’t even look at his messages– he sent you multiple– only letting yourself to check the contact name before you swipe the notification away without giving it much thought, making yourself ignore all of his calls the moment you hear your ringtone go off. Worst of all, you don’t even attend class anymore. You’re glad for the past you that managed to attend every single class, because now, you have more than enough absences to use up before the semester ends and you go on spring break.

You do everything in your power to erase him out of your life. It takes an admirable amount of self-control, you must admit.

And sometimes, it even feels silly. It feels stupid to react so much to seeing him with his ex girlfriend, because frankly, you two weren’t dating. No amount of touches, gentle words, hang-outs after the sun sets and intimacy means that you are a couple; it didn’t matter that you opened up to him so much when neither of you confirmed to this being inclusive. The day before you dyed his hair back, you two were just good friends, after all. Sex didn’t change anything– even though you thought it would. 

And maybe that’s what’s making you feel even more angstier about the whole thing. You gave him every last ounce of yourself you had, every inch of your body, from the inside out– so now, you feel thrown away, as if you were useless.

The cold nights slowly turn into warmer evenings, birds chirping outside waking you up in the mornings even more reminding you of the man you lost somewhere along the way. Spring was the favorite season of you both, but somewhere deep inside of you, you’re starting to dread it. Maybe it’s the fact that you were yearning for a new beginning for yourself in spring; for something to be born seemingly out of nothing– but it seems like you are supposed to bloom by yourself now, and you’re finding it harder than ever. 

It’s the beginning of the second week of March. Warm sunlight makes your feet spring up from your bed in the early morning, forcing you to take a walk. You’ve gotten used to going on these, as many call it, ‘mental health walks’ lately– you read on the internet that they help your mood, and even though it’s a slow progress, you’re willing to try anything, at this point. 

You chose a fixed destination you walk to every other day. It’s on the opposite side of the campus– where the Science buildings are– and you would be lying to yourself and everyone if you said you didn’t carefully craft the journey so you wouldn’t get in contact with the man you’ve been trying to avoid for the last two and a half weeks. It’s far away from your apartment, and even further away from his. There’s no reason for him to visit those parts of the campus, and you find comfort in the fact. 

Finding a bench under a cherry blossom tree– it’s slowly starting to wilt these days– you sit in silence for a while on some days, and on others, you put in your earphones and watch the world around you go by without you moving a single finger, trying to find comfort in the fact.

Listening to the playlist you made in the crack of dawn last night– Renjun always made fun of you for the fact that you once listed ‘making Spotify playlists’ as your hobby– you fall deep inside of your thoughts. When this happens, it’s hard to control your mind and think of something positive. The only thing left for you to do is to hope and pray you don’t spiral.

Why did it even matter so much to you anyway? It was just a kiss to his cheek. It’s not like you caught them in the act…

However, still, the image of them looking so comfortable together broke your heart; because somewhere along the way, you thought he’d always feel resentment towards the girl. She broke his trust, she made him feel worthless, and it was left for you to take all those broken pieces of him and glue them back together. You didn’t realize it back then, but just the fact that you didn’t give up on him back when he was being difficult was enough for the boy to feel at least a little better again. Your nagging, yet silent acts of meeting him somewhere in the middle, even on his worst days, was a source of comfort for him. And after a while, you started noticing that– you started noticing him warming up to you every time you met, you started noticing his gratitude towards you in the little acts of service he brought with himself when he bought you snacks or texted you if you came home safely after your meetings. 

You guess that seeing Yunjin talking so freely with him, seeing her kiss his cheek with such tenderness, made you feel so deeply, easily replaceable in his life. You guess you always feel like that with everyone anyway. It’s a bad habit you find hard to break– maybe you too, just need someone to be patient with you while you heal.

“What are you listening to?” you hear a voice, tone close to honey, ask from the place next to you. It makes you jump in terror, both from recognising it so easily and from not expecting him to find you here, so far away from everything, as you look at him with surprised eyes.

You don’t know what it is that keeps you silent. Perhaps it’s surprise. Perhaps it’s pettiness. Perhaps it’s shame. 

The feeling makes you stiff in silence, everything in you refusing to respond to his sudden casualty. “Okay, I’ll just stalk your listening activity on Spotify when I come home again, then,” he shrugs, his uninhibited demeanor making you boil inside. You feel like your insides are on fire, you feel like the whole world came crashing down on you because of mere seconds of seeing him with someone that he once held so dear to his heart, making you  feel replaced and forgotten, and yet, he comes to you so easily and doesn’t even acknowledge your hurt?

“What are you doing here?” you ask, voice soulless as you turn your music off and put your tangled earphones into your jacket pocket, finally choosing to recognise his presence. 

“Talking to you,” he shrugs, “I… brought you coffee,” he smiles, showing you the Starbucks take-out cardboard holding two drinks together, one iced americano and one caramel latte, the sight making your heart warm up quite dangerously at the thought that after all this time, he got your coffee order down, he noticed you sweetening your drinks, and he remembered.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you scoff. “How did you know I’d be here?”

The man shrugs. “I didn’t, at first. I… I came to your apartment to talk to you, but Jimin said you weren’t home, so after a few minutes of begging her to tell me where I could find you, she gave up and sent me here.”

You guess you’ll have to have a serious talk with your roommate when you come home.

“Why… why are you here, then?” you ask, still feeling the bitter pettines on your tongue when the words escape your mouth.

“Well,” he starts, taking a deep breath in, collecting his thoughts, “at first I thought I’d give you space. I thought you didn’t want to talk with anyone and you kept ignoring my texts and calls, so I texted Jimin to ask if you were okay, and when she told me you were doing fine, I figured it had to do something with me. And then– and then I thought I’d give you some space, since you looked like you needed some, but… but I think I need to face the problem now, since it’s clearly… something big, you know…” 

It’s undeniable that Huang Renjun is quite the smart individual. His ability to instantly sense your emotions and decipher the meaning behind them never fails to catch you off guard, though.

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you suddenly notice the nerves he tried to mask by fake casualty. He keeps chewing on his bottom lip and he’s picking at his cuticles so hard you think they’ll bleed at any minute, his frame small and hesitant as he turns away from you, afraid to meet your eyes. He looks so, so guilty, and you suddenly feel stupid for making such a big deal out of something that shouldn’t have mattered to you in the first place.

“What… What did I do to hurt you?” he asks, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Because you must be hurt, if you’re avoiding me this much.”

Taking a deep breath in, you shake your head at the whole situation. He’s right, though– perhaps it’s time to finally face your problems now, so you can move on. Maybe this closure is what you need, maybe you need to hear it from him– to hear that it didn’t mean anything to him, to hear that Yunjin apologized and he’s gonna get back together with her, because somehow, your brain convinced you this was the case– to finally let him go and stop mourning something that was never there in the first place. “I–” 

Your words fail you.

“Do you… regret it?” he asks, voice so small you almost don’t hear him. 

The sentence takes you off guard. Looking at him, you can’t even bring yourself to speak, confused eyes roaming over his tense features. Opening up your mouth to ask for clarification, he mumbles again before you get a chance to speak. “Do you regret sleeping with me?”

Blinking at him a few times, a crease appearing in between your eyebrows, you shake your head. Is this really what was running through his brain? Is this why he left you alone for more than two weeks? Because suddenly, it makes sense– the way he gave you space and let you avoid him for two weeks before he came to find you in person– but again, this is not at all what was running through your brain all these days. Never once did you regret what you two did, no matter how shitty you’re feeling about it now after your brain convinced you of things that weren’t even real in the first place. “No,” you simply say.

A hint of relief washes over his face, his shoulders relaxing just the tiniest bit– it looks like this was what he’s been scared of the most; it looks like he feared he hurt you in this way. Still, he insists on talking it out once and for all. “What is it, then?”

Shameful to meet his eyes, you point your gaze towards your feet. Convincing yourself that your feelings are valid and that you were right to feel the way you do, the same way you did to him all those weeks ago at the stairs in front of the university building, you confess to your worries. “I saw you with Yunjin the other day.”

Now it’s his time to stay silent, and somehow, your brain can’t find a way to deal with not getting a response from him, so you ramble to cope. “At the cafeteria, I mean. I– I wanted to surprise you, and you said you were getting lunch alone and I was at the campus, so I thought I’d come to keep you company, but then… then I saw you with her, and you two seemed so comfortable together, so close, and then she kissed your cheek and it made me… it made me feel like… like you maybe wanted to get back together with her, or something…?”

“And really, it’s fine, if you want to do that, I guess I just… for the sake of both of us, or maybe just me, I think… I think it’s better for me to keep my distance from you, then.”

Watching as his expression shifts to one full of disbelief, you swear that what you want the most in this moment is to disappear. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me those past two weeks?” he asks.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, suddenly feeling insanely silly and unreasonable when you say all of those things out loud, you avert your gaze from him, pointing it somewhere into the distance. 

“Is this really it?” he asks again, insisting, full of disbelief. “You made me feel like you regretted having sex with me, and this is it?” he chuckles, and you don’t know if it’s because he’s looking down on you, or if he just truly finds the situation funny. 

“Look, I–” 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gets out, looking as if every nerve and stress in his body finally let go, relief washing over his face like waterfalls, “I was so scared, and this is what’s been bugging you?” he asks, shaking his head in disbelief as he runs his hands through his hair. “She came to apologize to me. Not that it mattered something to me, and not that it made any difference, but I didn’t have it in me to tell her to fuck herself, you know? That’s what you saw. She told me she wishes me well and that she hopes I find joy in someone else too. She didn’t even– she didn’t even sit with me at lunch. She went to eat with her boyfriend.”

And here it is– the inevitable notion of shame intensifies. Finally having the explanation you’ve been wanting to hear, but purposefully avoiding for two weeks; finally feeling relief in your chest, your worries escaping out like the summer wind, and even though you should be happy, you can’t even bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“No, I mean– it’s just… I’m sorry too, it’s just…” he trails off, making you look at him with examining eyes, eyebrows raised in question. You don’t really know what he’s apologizing for. Maybe for leaving you space even though he was convinced that’s what you needed– had he approached you earlier, you wouldn’t have to avoid him for two weeks.

“It’s just…?”

“I find it ironic how you thought I wanted to get back together with her, when in reality… you were the one I wanted to get together with in the first place, you know?” he asks, and if you squint hard enough, you could still see hints of nervousness in his body when he asks the rhetorical question, soft eyes scanning your face when your eyes meet.

“Oh,” you hum, mouth agape in surprise.

“Yeah,” he nods, lips pressed into a thin line, “cause I like you… like, a lot, actually, so…” he mumbles, the confession reminding you of your first weeks with Renjun– tense and awkward, but with a promise of something new the more you got to know him.

“Oh,” you repeat again, your brain still not catching up to the situation.

Suddenly, the two weeks of avoidance feel even more silly. You don’t know what happened in you to cause this much distress for the both of you, but you’re filled with delight with the fact that even though you expected him to get mad at you– to call you unreasonable, maybe even a little stupid– he seems to be understanding of your emotions. He seems to accept them, willing to put up with them and everything that requires of him; he seems to be willing to find you even at the end of the world and try to get you back into his life. Because only god knows how much he appreciates your presence in it. 

“So…” he mumbles, a silent question hanging in the air, making you realize you were too caught up in your thoughts to really give him an answer.

“I… I like you too, if that… wasn’t obvious,” you snicker, shrugging as a wide smile spreads across your cheeks. The words fall a little bashfully off your tongue, the confession ringing strangely in your ears, but you don’t mind the little uncomfort the shyness in your demeanor brings you.

There are no long confessions, no deep words of love. Once again, Huang Renjun is a man of few words– he shows you his care through actions. 

He finds you when you’re avoiding him. He makes sure you get home safe. He tries hard to work with you on a project he originally wanted to avoid, only because he notices you finding interest in it, your passion slowly sparking up his. 

He keeps annoying the publicist of your favorite author for a week straight to let you make an interview with her, even though he got declined twice over an email with messages filled with bitter and annoyed words. He remembers your coffee order and he invites you to hang out with his friends to show you that you are now a part of his circle, that you are one of his close ones. He lets you make fun of him with your roommate, but doesn’t give you the same treatment he gives Donghyuck when he tries to bully him. He sends you all the cat pictures he gets from his friend Taeyong, sometimes even asking for some when he hasn’t sent you ones in too long, and he also thinks of you any time he sees the snow– because he gets reminded of the walk you two had in the midst of the snowflakes, even though you hate the cold. 

He reads your favorite book and finds pieces of you scattered all across the pages, he feels his love for you in the poetic words and metaphors hidden in the plot. He lets you dye his hair to signify that a part of his life is now over and a new one started– with you being the main actor of the subtle metamorphosis as he slowly shifts back into his old self, yet now a little wiser. 

He is a man of few words, affection coating them only sometimes, when he reassures you over a mug of hot tea in the evenings before you present your assignments in class and when you get too scared of crowded places; but somehow, the words he keeps to himself translate to you despite not being spoken.

In the beams of the warm sun, you gravitate to him like you’re two planets in the solar system, always sharing the same space. And when his smile meets yours in another kiss, you think that after all, you get the kind of new beginning you wanted in spring.

You and Huang Renjun may be the prime example that love, just like cherry blossoms, always blooms in patience. 

[yunhoszn]

(this is user sourkimchi pls don’t perceive me on main lmao)

i saw another user post this abt this hongjoong fit and it’s been living in my head rent free…

as a fellow asian rave bisexual.. i need a fic for this concept 🫣

(not so) alcohol-free

PAIRING kim hongjoong x f!reader

WORD COUNT 3.46k

GENRES fluff?﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, clubbing scene, reader feels self conscious, mentions of alcohol, strangers to lovers?, ummmmm hardly any plot tbh half of the wc is porn, couch sex, little bit of foreplay (vaginal fingering), some marking here and there i think, cowgirl position, missionary, protected sex, allusions to multiple rounds of unprotected sex, not beta’d or proofread bc we rawdog this shit like men

SUMMARY notorious for canceling plans at the last minute, you finally let your friends drag you out for a night at the club. however, a chance encounter with the prettiest man you’ve ever seen has the night turning to something unexpected.

MORE AAAAAAND i finally finished my first request LOLLLLL here u go yves!! i kinda strayed away from the main idea bc i wanted to make it my own, but i hope this meets ur expectations <3

@atzhouse

You had a natural affinity for canceling plans at the last minute. You’re not sure why, especially because you always get an awful case of FOMO every time you do. It’s your own fault that you feel left out when your friends get together without you.

No matter how far in advance you plan for the event, you somehow still find a way to lose your motivation to go. You haven’t properly hung out with your friend group in months, so when they start talking about clubbing tonight, you immediately say yes. 

At first, you think you’ll change your mind an hour later, since it’s only an afternoon’s notice. But when you realize your friends will be here to pick you up in thirty minutes and you’re finishing your makeup, you nearly jump for joy. You successfully stuck it out for once. 

Even as you’re sandwiched between Wooyoung and Mingi in the backseat, San in the drivers’ seat and his girlfriend in the passenger, you’re still shocked that this is your reality. You’re actually dolled up and you’re actually on your way to a club right now. 

“Y/N, do you remember the signal if someone hits on me?”

“Wooyoung, no one’s hitting on you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mingi. It could happen.”

You snort, pulling your skirt down a little. “Woo, we should come up with a signal for if I get hit on.”

“Yeah, Y/N’s more likely to get laid than you are even though she’s bitchless, too.” Mingi nods, adjusting his sunglasses. (You have no idea why he’s wearing sunglasses at 10 PM.)

“Kill your—”

“We’re here!” San announces, effectively putting a pin in any argument that was about to begin. As long as your friendship with the males spanned, he’s always been the mediator. You’ve known the three of them dating all the way back to high school, lumped in the same homeroom your freshman year. The four of you sat in the same general vicinity and got grouped together for a project once and you’ve been inseparable ever since. 

You know you look hot, Wooyoung wolf-whistling at you the moment you started walking towards the car, but you still feel a bit insecure. It probably has everything to do with the fact that you don’t go out much and you’re self-conscious as is. Stepping into the crowded club, a scene that could only be compared to a sardine can, has you shrinking in on yourself. 

Instinctively, you tug on the hem of your skirt to attempt to cover your ass a little more. Then you wrap your arms around your midriff, though your cleavage leaves pretty much nothing to the imagination. You swallow thickly as your trail behind your friends, like a lost puppy with its tail between its legs. 

This is why you always back out of plans. You feel so out of place, like you don’t fit in even when people try to include you. It feels like everyone’s staring at you, waiting for one wrong move so they can point and laugh like you were the butt of some sort of weird joke. You’re ready to go home. 

“Are you okay?” Mingi asks once you’ve settled at an empty high table just a few feet from the dance floor. Through his stupid sunglasses, you can make out the concern on his features. 

“Yeah, I think so,” your lips purse, arms hugging yourself tighter. “I just haven’t been out in so long. I feel… like I shouldn’t be here or something. I’ll be fine. I hope.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, but doesn’t ask any more questions, instead turning to San and his girlfriend who were about to make a trip to the bar. Your poison for the night is simple, a plain margarita that’ll ease your nerves more than anything else. You weren’t much of a beer person, often opting for fruitier, sweeter drinks in comparison to your male counterparts. (When you do go out with them, that is.)

Wooyoung and Mingi fall into a heated discussion about who knows what, leaving you to become a third wheel while you wait for the couple to come back with your drinks. You people-watch to pass the time, chewing on the inside of your lip, your eyes flitting around the club like some kind of guilty criminal. Almost immediately, they land on a guy in the middle of the dance floor. 

He’s hypnotizing, body fluidly moving to the song the DJ’s playing and matching the energy of his friend standing next to him, two girls in front of and facing them. His dark hair falls into his eyes slightly, though parted and styled damn near perfectly. He’s dressed in a black tweed jacket, a white button up left open enough to reveal a couple necklaces resting on his sternum, some ripped jeans, and black boots. But none of that is what caught your attention. 

You’re entranced by his smile, its brightness and how fucking pretty he looks wearing it. You caught the tail-end of something his friend said that made him laugh, and you feel yourself being pulled in deeper and deeper without a single conversation with him. Too bad he seems unavailable. 

“Woah, N/N, might wanna wipe your chin,” Wooyoung teases, a stupid smirk on his face that you want to punch away. “I think you’re drooling a little.”

Mingi howls with laughter, falling onto the table to support himself. He clutches at his stomach as it cramps up from how hard he’s laughing. It wasn’t even that funny. You roll your eyes. 

“Shut up, Wooyo.” 

“Who are you even staring at?” He inquires, resting his elbows on the high top surface, his chin placed on his hands. He blinks at you expectantly, like he’s not letting you off the hook. You avoid his gaze, simultaneously ensuring that you don’t look in the attractive stranger’s general direction either. This all felt so elementary. 

“None of your business.” You murmur, ducking your head. Thankfully, San and his girlfriend return to the table with your drinks perfectly timed, and the topic is dropped completely. 

The first sip of your margarita is damn near heavenly, the alcohol flowing through your system smoothly and calming that storm waging in your mind. It’s not too strong, just enough that another couple drinks would inebriate you entirely. It aids with the anxiety of being in such a packed space, but that feeling of not belonging still sits inside your chest. 

You can’t help but look for the stranger again, who’s no longer on the dance floor. Now he’s on the other side of the club at another high table. His friend is still with him, but the girls from before are nowhere to be found. You focus on his hands and the chunky rings on his fingers, the way he holds his beer bottle, the way his free hand runs through his hair. Your tongue twirls around the straw in your glass out of habit, enthralled by this man who has yet to give you the time of day. 

Except when you glance up to admire his face, you discover that he’s already looking back at you. He’s nodding along to his friend’s words, but his eyes are zeroed in on you, a different kind of smile playing on his lips. Your features fall slightly from being caught red handed, cheeks warming up significantly. You aren’t sure what’s more embarrassing, caught gawking at a stranger by your own friend or by the stranger himself. Truly, the universe was out to get you. 

You down the rest of your margarita and excuse yourself to go to the restroom, needing a second to gather your bearings. Your skin is flushed and you have to hold your cheeks between your palms as you psych yourself up in the mirror. Why should you feel ashamed of thinking someone’s hot? You were only human. Besides, you looked good, too. 

When you exit the restroom, you’re shocked to see the stranger walking out of the men’s restroom at the same time. Your eyes are wide and your body freezes. He gives you that smile from before, ruffling his hair as if this interaction wasn’t difficult enough. 

“I was hoping I’d bump into you,” he says, unabashedly drinking in your figure. “It’s not everyday someone as gorgeous as you crosses my path.”

So he’s a flirt. Noted. 

“I could say the same,” you manage to get out, though your palms are already clamming up. “If fleeting glances across a dance floor count as crossing paths.”

He laughs and you swear it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. A couple girls come into the hallway, and you maneuver so they can go into the women’s restroom. His hand comes to rest on your lower back when your balance wavers slightly. 

“I’m Hongjoong, by the way,” he introduces himself since he’s in such close proximity to you now. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yeah, sure,” you nod, too distracted by how much prettier he is only inches away from you. “I’d like that.”

Hongjoong leads you to the bar, a gentle hand wrapped around your wrist so he doesn’t lose you in the crowd. He orders himself a beer and turns to you to ask what you’re having. While waiting for the bartender to whip up your drinks, he strikes up a conversation. 

“Are you gonna tell me your name?” 

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. “Oh yeah, sorry… It’s Y/N.”

He repeats it, like he’s testing out the taste in his mouth. The smile that graces his features afterwards says all you need to know. It has butterflies flapping around rampantly in the pit of your stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of you. He thanks the bartender seconds later when he slides your margarita and his beer bottle across the bar. 

“So, Y/N, what brings you out tonight?” He takes a swig from his bottle, one arm leaning onto the surface of the bar. God, the things you would do to him if given the chance…

“Catching up with my friends,” you answer honestly, baby-sipping your margarita through the straw. “I don’t really go out much, because I’m really bad when it comes to canceling plans at the last minute.”

“Should I consider myself lucky then?” Hongjoong quirks a brow, licking his lower lip. If men had anything, it was the audacity. And this man had the audacity to do everything in his power to lure you in with his good looks and charisma. 

“I’ll have you know that this is a one of a kind, once in a lifetime opportunity,” you play along, stirring the slowly-melting ice cubes around your glass. “You’re a very fortunate man.”

“Yeah?” He laughs again and you think you might faint right here and now. He looks off to the other side of the club and then back at you. “I think Prince Charming over there is looking for you.”

He points at the table where your friends are, and you find that Wooyoung is glancing around in search of something, or someone. Namely you. It’s most likely because you went to the restroom and then never returned. He’ll live. 

“Wooyoung? Nah, he’s just being a good friend. I raised him right,” you turn back to him, sipping at your drink leisurely. “Now where were we? Something about you being lucky?”

“Hwa, I’ll— shit— I’ll have to call you back,” Hongjoong forces out, promptly hanging up so he can focus on putting you in your place. You’re like a damn leech, lips attached to his neck, marking the supple skin like it was your job. Your hands paw at the button of his jeans, your lower half grinding down on his lap. “So fucking impatient. Can’t even wait until I’m off the phone?”

“Want you too bad, Joong,” you pout, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt, his jacket lost somewhere near the front door. He groans when the nickname falls from your mouth. You had no idea how sexy you were.

The two of you were so insatiable, you couldn’t even make it to the bedroom, collapsing on his couch. You hardly had the mind to message your friends to let them know your whereabouts. His hands hold your ass firmly, halting you from any further teasing. You whine, pushing his shirt off of his shoulders. Your nails drag down his toned abdomen, enjoying the way it tenses beneath your touch. After all he’s put you through tonight, you think you at least deserve a bit of payback. Just a bit. 

“Are you too antsy to make it through foreplay?” He coos and presses a quick kiss to your lips, trailing a few along your jawline. Your eyes flutter shut with a hum and a nod. It was true. If he didn’t fuck you soon, you feared you might go insane. 

“I need you inside me already,” you whine, trying to spread your legs and create more friction downstairs. He chuckles at how desperate you are, how touch starved you must be considering you don’t get out much. It fuels his pride knowing he’s the only one to see you like this, to have you like this, for the first time in who knows how long. If he’s successful, maybe he’ll be the only one ever. 

Hongjoong bunches your skirt around your waist, sneaking a hand between your bodies to rub tight, gentle circles into your clothed clit. A blissful sigh escapes you, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. The cocky smile you’ve grown to adore over the course of the night decorates his lips at how quickly he has you falling apart at his fingertips. 

His middle and ring digits push your underwear to the side, sliding down your slit to prod at your entrance. He nips at the base of your throat, working his way up to the spot behind your ear. Your sighs grow into whimpers, squirming around on his lap when he applies pressure to your cunt with the pad of his middle finger. 

“You’re so wet, sweetheart,” he mutters into your skin, shivers running down your spine from the low register he uses. He circles his digit around your hole, not quite giving you what you need. “You weren’t kidding about how bad you wanted me.”

You’re about to quip back, but then he’s inserting a finger and rubbing your clit with his thumb. You gasp, biting down on his collarbone to ground yourself. As much as you would love to sit here and let him finger you until sunrise, you have bigger priorities. “Mmm, Joong, please… Fuck me, please…”

He kisses his teeth, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. He supposes he can satiate your hunger, though he really wanted to take his time with you. “Do you think you can be still while I put the condom on?”

You pull back and nod enthusiastically, sitting on your haunches slightly, fingers locked behind his neck. “I’ll be so good, I promise. I just need you, like, now.”

All he can do is laugh, and you melt into a puddle in his arms. You’ve concluded that smile of his would quite honestly be the death of you. He removes his fingers from your pussy, instead squeezing your hip before helping you onto the couch cushion beside him. You rest on your knees as he unbuttons his jeans and kicks them off, swiftly grabbing his wallet out of his pocket and plucking a condom from it. In the same breath, he’s taking off his underwear and tugging you back on top of him. 

He places the foil packet between his teeth so he can quickly aid you in the discarding of your panties. Now that your cunt is bare, you can feel the heat of his cock and it’s so hypnotic. Your eyes can barely stay open as you watch him tear open the condom packet and roll it on. He’s the perfect thickness and the perfect length, and you feel so special straddling his lap right now. 

Hongjoong kisses you softly, gripping your waist so he can guide you to sit on his cock. The first breach of your entrance has a shaky exhale leaving your lips against his own. You stay like that for a second so you can adjust to the feel of him inside of you, the fullness in your lower half, and overall just how fucking good it feels. He grins when you slowly start bouncing up and down, his dick thrusting in and out under you. 

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” He pecks your cheek, moving downward and reaching behind your back to untie your halter top. It slips off of you with ease, revealing your tits to him. 

“So good, Joong… Feels so good,” you arch into him, whining and moaning every time he brushes that crook in your cunt that has you seeing stars. He peppers kisses all over your chest and sternum, scraping his teeth along the skin of your breast. You whimper, nails sinking into his back and your toes curling. You’re completely aware of what’s going on, but those two margaritas have to be contributing to the pleasure swirling in your abdomen. 

“Yeah? You’re taking me so fucking well,” His eyebrows knit together when you switch your pace, sitting on him fully and letting his cock fill you for a couple seconds. In reality, your knees were starting to ache and get tired, something he recognizes instantly because he was so attentive. 

His hand holds the small of your back and he flips you so you’re in missionary on the couch now without skipping a beat. The change in position allows for a change in angle, his dick dragging against your velvety walls deliciously. Your sounds grow in volume, scratching his back when he pushes one of your knees to your chest. 

You weren’t anticipating to end up here at the end of the night, but you don’t think you could dare complain. While a majority of this night felt like a fever dream, you feel a high that’s never taken over you before. 

Hongjoong’s hair falls into his eyes as he glances down at where your bodies meet, his cock disappearing inside of you and then sliding out with ease. You intertwine your fingers behind his head, pulling him down so you can connect your lips in a fervent, passionate kiss. That familiar summit is within view now, your hand nudging his own to your clit so you can inch closer towards it. 

His thumb swipes side to side on the sensitive bundle of nerves, never once breaking your kiss. There’s so much stimulation going on for you, you’re starting to feel dizzy. In a good way. He’s gentle in a way that’s still rough enough to knock the daylights out of you and the juxtaposition makes the moment all the more enjoyable. 

“‘M so close, Joong,” you arch off the sofa in an attempt to be closer to him, to sandwich yourself between him and the couch. 

His thrusts become faster and more calculated, but he doesn’t break the focus on your clit. His efforts come to fruition and he mumbles words of encouragement for you as you finally reach that boiling point. A strangled moan falls from your mouth and you spread your legs to suck him in further. 

The uncontrollable fluttering of your walls following your climax is almost too much for him and he has to pull out. Your eyes are half lidded, nimble fingers rolling off the condom. He fucks his fist until he’s painting the area between your tits with his cum.

The two of you don’t move right away, regaining your composure. He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and then repeats the action all over your face until you’re a giggly mess. This is probably the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, and part of you doesn’t want to go home— whether that be later or tomorrow morning. 

“Do you have the energy to go again, or should I go grab a warm washcloth to clean you up?” He raises an eyebrow at you, indicating that he’s just joking but he’s totally down if you are. You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. 

“If you give me a minute, I’m all set to do that again,” you start, resting your eyes for a second. “You don’t have to worry about a condom this time. I kinda wanna feel you raw.”

Hongjoong laughs in disbelief, glancing away from you and then letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder. “What have I gotten myself into…”

© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost. 

[sminiac]

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡ Bad Miracle | Day 24 of Piwontober !

⋆ Ex Bf!Choi Jiung x Reader

Event hosted by my beloved @kisseobie & @sxfterhearts <3

Prompts — Seduction, Against a wall, Somnophilia.

Contains — Alcohol consumption, saliva consumption, slight exhibitionism, oral, porn with plot, sex in a vehicle, very heavily ‘Nope’ referenced, Jiung being kind of pathetic.

💌 — This is quite a lengthy read which is genuinely my bad, I got so carried away, I just love Jordan Peeles brain. If there’s any consistencies pretend there isn’t, I’ll be making tweaks here and there to this even though it’s already posted, I was just worried abt getting it out haha, thanks :b

“So…slutty Jean Jacket it is?”

Of course Jongseob happens to string together his most unpleasant sounding set of words and absentmindedly spews them out at you, precisely summing up your biggest internal struggle.

It’s like he’s petulantly flicking salt into the gaping deep seated wound of guilt that hollows you out.

Despite your torment, it still eats at what’s left of you for subjecting him to even more of your off-putting behaviour that’s only worsened over the past few weeks leading up to the party. Unknown by him, you’ve been fighting with the same question the entire ride out, it’s been sitting in your mouth, warm and heavy like a bad bite you just can’t swallow.

Maybe you deserve it. Fortunately Seob’s tolerance for your fret without a readily available solution to wash it down, disinfect you of the bile, is astounding—gold medal deserving, even though your plastic display case now feeling more like cardboard box because of your ex’s absence.

Seob is already frequently withdrawn because of his jobs demanding schedule, leaving him socially deprived, added an unhealthy addiction to energy drinks that only makes his screen induced migraines worse.

Funnily enough, with the proclivity for being a cloistered insomniac he possesses the biggest hatred for being alone. Impromptu hangouts are a norm, or—were a norm, especially the late voluntary hours you spent with him watching over the dingy looking bookstore that smells heavily of dried glue and mildewed paper. You haven’t been there in a while, but you didn’t mind how often you were staring at the same ‘Employees favourites!’ end cap that have held the same boring books for the past handful of months that he’s been collecting the same boring bi-weekly cheques.

It’s a different kind of bonding, what the two of you do, one where you don’t feel pressured to constantly entertain the other, which is why there’s a remarkable lack of awkward tension now.

It’s normal for Seob to be spacey once trapped in that busy head of his, full of silent yearning for a position in the lively music store that’s just down the street from his, even with what little room his discontent leaves up there, he doesn’t lack the critical thinking skills that it takes to figure out the foundation of your ulterior motive, which he assumes was the very thing that led to your sudden call for a ride after being so steadfast in your refusal to attend a party that you know fully well he’ll be at.

The fact that Seob grudgingly agreed to your company for the ride here doesn’t mollify your stacking inhibitions anymore than the culpability thats balling up in your throat, keeping your tongue tangled and barred in its enclosure, a strange thing he implicitly feels inclined to shoulder too.

A finger adjusts the strap of your wings that uncomfortably dig into the soft part of your underarm, its already a struggle conducting the sexy inwardly it doesn’t help that he sounds so dejected talking about your version of the large horse hunting saucer.

Flowing light with each sway of your hips the white mini skirt you hunted for is hugging nicely at your hips, while silently you endure the tedious task of having to pull up the thin cheap-feeling socks every few meters you walk, which isn’t something you have to explicitly express your loathing for anyways, he could already tell by the third yank.

But, you look good, even with the excessive effort and inconveniences, you know you do.

All of your details, even down to the pair of red lace panties that shape you in just the right places, is for the sole purpose of what you’re walking into now—your secretive plan, which, if you outright ask Seob, is inherently a horrible idea, but even in all of its horrid glory you still pursue it tirelessly for the sake of having the smooth voiced male to yourself for just another night.

Dead set on getting your turn one last time, the intemperate lengths you went to for your costume would make sure of it. You’d make yourself a spectacle if thats what it takes to have him back in your optics.

Indiscriminately walking out from the shallow line of trees that taper off in thickness the further you come from the main road while actively sexualizing angels of all things, right in front of your squeamish, personification of virginity looking friend is the most anticlimactic, shameful culmination of what is —notably one of your more desperate attempts yet— made to somehow, some way, successfully seduce someone, and subsequently not how Seob envisioned his night out. Never has he ever seen you in something so indecent, so vile in the most watered down, gentle of words.

All of this, for what? Closure? He doesn’t get it, your intentions, the enervating process of breaking up only to then come back? Yeah, all of that and still somehow having the profound drive to do whatever it is you’re up to. He doesn’t fucking get it.

Fictitious or not you believe that somewhere past his denial and shaping of resentment there’s a sliver of him that supports you, in a: it’s just dick, do it! Way.

Besides, you could always do much worse than sleeping with your ex.

Your eyes are still focused on his location and nothing but. Zooming in, flicking out and refreshing the map that Jiung’s idle avatar sits on like some psycho stalker. You’ve been like this, acutely anxious and insufferably inquisitive ever since he parked his mom’s vehicle off the side of the dark secluded road when your map had suddenly gave out and stopped working due to the abrupt cutoff from service, it was in Jongseob’s opinion undeniably foreboding to how the rest of your evening was going to play out, but keeping a handle on his lips would probably be for the best.

With two vodka seltzers already settling into his system that you bravely shotgunned together in the front seat of the silver mini van, he’s already so dreadfully bored that not even his oncoming buzz is enough to make this enjoyable. He sighs a loud antagonizing breath, looking off his shoulder to see the small scattered twinkling mix of orange and purple hues starting to leak through the bushes, a muddled, faint sound of music and drunk laughter following.

Usually he’d be anxious to get to your destination but all he can think about is being home—getting plastered in the safety of his own cluttered room, with you, in comfy pyjamas and within the range of expensive fast-food delivery services instead of having to worry if some asshole with beer induced confidence is enough to get you to strip of that tiny fucking skirt, because when you’re drunk he’s convinced you were a track star in your past life, he hates sports, and he hates a floating drunk just as much as the talkative ones.

“You hear me?” He tsks, pinching at the cheap pair of wings on your back and tugging on it. His fresh bi-coloured hair that you did by hand sweeps with the motion of his suddenly weighted head, falling to the side of the dirt path that you walk, studying your face in the cool toned glow of your screen.

Hoping to catch a glimpse of Jiung, you’re too focused on tapping through the few stories people have posted to care for the small feathers he accidently rips out, leaving a bald spot on your right wing.

You swat his hand away, still cradling your phone. “Slutty…bad, yeah i know, you despise me. But it’s…fitting, isn’t it?”

God, he thinks, if only it were that easy.

He watches as you slide up out of the app, and then promptly tap it back open again, eyes rolling for the umpteenth time tonight “What? The sexualization of a territorial slaughtering alien? You can’t be serious.” Hands stuff further into the pockets of the baggy denim that hangs at hips, a thick braided chain hung off the loops of his waistband, clanking with the dramatic rise.

Who does he think he is? Acting all high and mighty. “You’re the one who speculated that Jean Jacket found OJ worthy of mating with, this is all your doing, boy. And, arguably, your costume isn’t even really a costume but I’m not saying anything about that.”

If you were to ask the rest of the friend group who has all taken a sudden, unexpected interest in the 2022 sci-fi thriller movie —that in your opinion is more of a psychological-thriller than horror— they’d make quite the defensive argument about it, the same way you expect Seob to with his half-assed take on Angel Torres.

“That’s insane, so you want to mate with Intak? ‘Cause that’s what I’m hearing. If you’re so interested I can go grab him for you, or…would you rather take a ride on the cowboy?” He says it to be annoying, he didn’t mean it literally, but whatever he intended or didn’t the offer catches your attention.

Big unsure eyes peer over at him as you hug your phone close to your chest, which he already knows is your only source of heat that’s preventing stiff fingers and chattering teeth. Another thing to roll his eyes about.

“If it saves a horse. You wouldn’t mind finding him from me?” The question comes with an abrupt pause, your feet just as uncertain as your tongue. “I- well shouldn’t we, i mean, how do you think he’d feel if i showed up with you? He was never fond of how close we are, so, should I walk up by myself?” If only you knew of how badly Jongseob wants to call you out for your stupidity right now, to slap your pretty face with both the flat surface of his palm and the back of his hand like they do in the cartoons. Before his lips can even move with the ghost of an insult, an unexpected laugh beats him to the sheer hilarity of your unnecessary complexities. “Wow- no? Thats fuckin’ pathetic, Y/N, I was being sarcastic. You seriously need’ta calm down, you’re not even a virgin and you’re acting like this.” A heavy hand of his reaches out, grinning in a way that makes his tooth poke out from behind his lip as he pats heavily against your shoulder, causing your winged frame to shake.

“No ‘m sorry, that was really harsh. Oh, you feelin’ it yet? ‘Cause I think i am..” At the same time he asks you both come to a sudden stop at the expansive clearing. The lights brighter, the music louder, a blazing fire maintained hot and tall to the left of you.

How did you not realize you were already here? How long ago did the effects of the two cans you knocked back start to kick in? Or, did it kick in?

“Y/N, Seob, you made iiit!” Shit.

Intak, the not-so-chalant ‘OJ’ tries to scoop you up in an awkward three-way hug, just barely do you manage to step back in time to not get lassoed in by his long orange sleeved arms. Obviously a few shots deep he doesn’t seem to notice that he’s only cradling one of you as he sways back and forth, babbling loudly—something along the lines of being glad he has other people to drink with all while leaning his entire weight from one foot to the other and nuzzling the the top of his forehead against Seob’s.

Keeho and Taeyang, a very well decided fit for ‘Emerald’ and ‘Antlers’ are a few paces back, red solo cups in hand, sharing an unfaltering run of giggles over what you assume is Intak’s tendency for being overly affectionate and Jongseob’s constant susceptibility to it. You break off from the two emotional idiots, finding company with the other two who are at least not swaying and going on drunken tangents about how much they love each-other.

Keeho announces loudly, “Y/N, sexy Jean Jacket! I like it.” While wrapping an arm around your shoulder, unhesitant about inviting you in as he’s always done, sticking you right between him and Taeyang who shuffles away a little with a genial smile, allowing you more wiggle room.

The three of you make short conversation, bonding over detailed stories of the two in front of you that were actively wrestling; trying to see who would hit the ground first by aimlessly swiping at ankles. They went at it for a while, Intak’s boyish laughter and Seob’s shrill cackle entertaining you until you started getting so cold that it became a struggle for the sound to come naturally. By the time they calmed down, dry mouthed and winded, you’d finished off the last of Taeyang’s drink that he offered somewhere between Seob doing this and Intak doing that. Unsurprisingly you were the first to offer grabbing sodas and a special refill in thanks for Taeyang’s generosity, it was an unsuspecting card that you pulled, but Jongseob knows you aren’t that considerate, you haven’t even seen Shota yet, a presumed highlight of your night, your personal paparazzi.

You don’t hear the slurred, sputtered out complaints as you quickly make your escape under the poorly strung Halloween themed lights that dangle from one low branch to another along the perimeter of the barren landscape, especially by how quickly the bonfire draws you in like a moth, your motionless body gone cold from standing for so long—you figure that’s where it makes the most sense to be, plus, better scoping ground.

The boys wouldn’t mind a few forgotten minutes as you settle on top of a tree stump. Surely they could wait for you to warm up before returning.

This isn’t a place you’d typically be comfortable by yourself, it only sinks in as you settle. Couples aggressively make out across from you with their tongues and cheeks contorted by the heat, an uncomfortably loud game of beer pong on an unlevelled table that happens just a few feet away, and the boring’s who are only lively when there’s pictures being taken, bright and fast.

Beyond the fires hot flickering light, there’s an old barn, big and dark—much too big to be overtaken by the fire, notably ominous looking from the distance it sits at, something about its unwelcoming nature intrigues you.

We are a creature of habit, even the unforgiving ones, aren’t we? You lean forward, letting your cold cheeks warm in its embrace, squinting, trying to make out any little detail you can from being this far out.

“Y/N?” A masculine voice calls. It should be disgraceful the way you know exactly who it is as soon as the first syllable of your name is pronounced, but you don’t have the spare time to linger on it.

He doesn’t wait to see your face before he proceeds to silently crouch down at your side, coolly granting himself the pleasure of your company without the need of clarity, it almost makes you question how he’s so comfortable and certain of himself for doing it, granted that of in itself is quite the rabbithole.

A colourful can occupies his hand as he bends in his red blazing-like suit, floral embellishments decorating the blazer, sporting a smile under his cowboy hat, white hot teeth the glint of your very demise. “i knew it was you.” He finishes suavely, body planting in your direction but his chin rests on his shoulder, only allowing you the right side of his cheek and jaw.

Spot on, you think. He couldn’t be more like Jupe even if he tried.

An arm is propped to the side of your thigh to keep his rocking weight stable. Eyeing what little he’s lent to your field of view, theres a lingering smile of your own, wondering if he’d also move it closer without a word.

“God. ‘Knew it was you’ don’t tell me you’re a stalker now, Jiung.” It’s endearing, really, your wit smoking off your tongue and he’s only spoken a few words, he loves how you don’t cower under his towering height because of its persistence. “Are you?” Seems your skin has thickened in his absence, too.

It’s sharp, the sensation of his teeth digging into the delicate internal flesh of his lips, pursing them tight as his defined adams apple bobs in his throat. He’s humoured by you. “Mmh not quite. I, can be though, if that’s the kind of thing you’re into now.” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker towards you under the bone white suede of his ridiculous hat, brows raised in a subtle sign of expectance on your end, then again, you can’t see it.

“Is it?”

Your head shakes, an airy almost bashful laugh filling in your wordless mouth, its a different timbre in comparison to the girls he’s encountered previous to your arrival who were fervently nodding as if he had just asked if they wanted a treat when he was dropping vague hints to the unraveling of their revealing costumes. Your wet lips glisten in the available light, smiling that pretty fucking smile he can trace in the cold wrinkles of his pillowcase. “Like.. roleplay? Never thought about it, pervert. What’ve you been getting up to since I’ve been away?” His laugh is fuller than yours as it abruptly escapes, but it’s a shared emotion nonetheless, even if you loathe the way he shares it with you so easily.

“Man, you wouldn’t even believe. Speaking of, do you…aghh, no- never mind.”

You twist, but his position only hardens. A sour ringing in your gut at the implications of his activities. “No, oh my god, no, you can’t do that? Do…i, do i what?”

Out of habit he start toying the silver ring that sits on his ring finger, a swipe of his pink tongue running against the corner of his mouth. It’s stupid, even he’s wondering where the overbearing amount of confidence came from that prompted him to even think of asking you such a thing. But he never learns. Does he? “Do you- i mean, are you into…that kind of stuff?”

A chill crawls up your back, dispersing over your skin, dancing on your spine. “Well, i mean- that’s an awfully personal question, considering we aren’t…” Jiung backs up a little bit, his arm shifting away from your thigh as if he didn’t expect for you to remember that you aren’t dating anymore. “—No yeah, it is isn’t it? You’re right I shouldn’t uh- you shouldn’t answer that, i mean, you don’t need to. Obviously.”

The drinks you’ve kocked back are really starting to build off of one another, so much that you don’t even try to hide the entertainment you consume at his expanse. A laugh makes him feel lighter. “Obviously…I was joking, you already know what makes me tick, right? Don’t get your incredibly red suit all dirty about it.” Panicked, Jiung lifts his arm, looking along his elbow to see a few smudges of tree pitch dragging along his sleeve. “Shit,” he murmurs, desperately attempting to rub it off with dry fingers. “was expensive too.”

The curved brim of his hat is full in your vision, a desperate shake to his frame as he fruitlessly tries to lessen the stain. “Spit on it.” You thoughtlessly suggest while crossing your leg over your other, attention fully diverted from his panic, because thats the pleasure you have of doing now.

Jiung stops suddenly, the top half of his face that’s still well hidden from the angle lowers further from your sight. Utterly clueless he eyes at what little skin you’ve exposed to him. Generally speaking the expanse of your soft looking legs isn’t a lot, but with a sex drive as high and responsive as his, Jiung already feels the switch of pressure in his lower region flip.

‘Spit on it’ he thinks, trying to subtly adjust his waist out of view. Do you know how insane you have to be to say that around him and not mean what he now so badly wants it to mean? His short nails drag over the sticky spots along his arm, redirecting his attention to the ground, for your own sake, for his. “I don’t think that’ll work.” He utters.

This is humiliating, he’s the one dressed as a cowboy yet here you are doing the wrangling, and you don’t even know how good of an arm you have.

His thighs tense under the tightening fabric, fighting the sudden urge to move in a way that’ll satisfy his stirring cock. He can’t fuck his ex-girlfriend, thats not something he does, that would be…deplorable, he’d be despised by your shared mix of friends, but fuck, he’s never wanted to see what those buttons on your shirt would reveal if he were to rip them free, would Seob, the more protective of them all even notice if he took you right in front of the orange light? Would he keep watching if Jiung made you messily fuck yourself on his cock? Your finger taps on the crown of his hat, “Your mouth dry?” You ask.

Jiung’s lips part, but then decidedly shut again as he nods. “Yeah, uhm, really dry, is there any water? ‘m not feeling good.”

Honestly, you should’ve known that the host of the party would’ve had it somewhere you’re not even supposed to be, and that all of the drinks were hidden in the barn so it wouldn’t look suspicious coming to the property with heavy coolers and kegs. The water was left behind thinking it wouldn’t be important enough, nor worth the struggle of trudging through sharp dead grass to retrieve it.

You set out towards the ominous building, a quieter volume than you assumed is shared in the passing stroll, the few words that you do exchange are fluid, amiable in short, and enough for you to successfully rock your weight into every divot in the hard-to-see ground. Your ankles have a much easier time when Jiung intently takes your arm around his, making you hold onto him with an assertive hand, you feel the way it effectively causes your dilapidated barrier to crumble under his touch, the frail support beams of your silence that you’ve been silently trying to uphold comes crashing down just as fast as he links into you.

He knows just as well as you that it’ll only lead to more of your mutually fruitless efforts to be squashed underfoot, but neither of you speak on it, instead you step a little harder and you hope a little less that your backup walls manage to persevere through his wrath. Unsure of if this is right, if you’re allowed to cling to him like this, any lick of your self restraint being wrapped up by a frail splitting string, intent on squeezing you in two halves. The small unfurling existence thats been covertly living somewhere inside of him starts to crack when your attention evolves into something vast, the same one that bloomed in the heat of his bed, seeking to be bathed in your pouring praises.

There’s always been something about you, something infuriating, something nauseatingly enticing about the way you patiently tend to his almost-aching cock with such a weightless attention compared to the borderline fret that others may have felt about getting him to reach his peak.

But tonight, he would leave different.

Even as you’re smoothing his pre-cum down the curve of his erection, his unopened bottle of freezing cold water discarded at his feet, your eyes find other things to admire.

Your head is in the clouds and he’s losing to what’s above.

Struggling with the knowledge that the space you occupy is unrestricted area, Jiung fights with the unimpeded sounds of soft fuss that burst from his mouth.

You don’t notice. Or, maybe you just don’t care. “It’s pretty tonight…clear, you notice?” The slightest amount of pressure is appended to your already taut fist as you wetly stroke him down to his base, pace notably far too lackadaisical for his taste, however he still finds some form of joy in this, almost exciting in a way, how you build back into the motion of things, running a finger over his tip ever few returns you make to the head. Despite his prior grievance you do manage to press slightly against his balls with the established speed of your milky glide, a guttural sound initiated by both the coursing zip of twitching pressure and the lack of increase in speed.

After having made a sticky mess of your palm it comes up to circle at his tip, grooving so sensitively against his continuously drooling slit that it admits an additional series of whimpers to escape, some he manages to catch before they drawl out, others he has to physically stop himself from letting free by digging his teeth into his red swollen lip. “Shit, been too fo-fuck! Focussed ‘n you.” Normally, he can pull out a minuscule reaction with that one, but it’s as if his piteous response drifts right past your ears. Continuing to drag long boring strokes absentmindedly you mutter back, “That’s sweet Ji’.” dismissive of his tactics, you look like you’re speaking more to the air and not to his face as you deftly slip the small silver hooks from the top of your corset. “‘s not!” He cries, emotion tightening in his face, trying to evoke some sense of empathy into you, any little sliver you have to offer.

Unsuccessful, you hum to yourself in a hairsbreadth of contemplation, “I don’t feel like putting you in my mouth tonight, y’know. ‘m sorry if that’s what you were waiting for.” It isn’t sincere, he knows you don’t mean it when you take your attention away from him to briefly peak your head out from behind the shed. “Aren’t listening to me…spent s’long, so much ‘f my- fuck, time. Hn’ you wont even pay attention t’me.”

Being on the furthest side from the lights makes for quite the struggle to scan the field, to see if anyone has managed to stray away from the group, you worry for your reclusiveness. Before you can get a good thorough look Jiung weakly rests an unsteady hand on your cheek, curling along the structure of your face as he silently pleas for a minute—just another minute added to his time spent with you, its all he needs.

Narrowed in confusion your eyes find him before the rest of your body cares to follow. “What?” You coax, bland of confusion, or even a genuine interest at all. Still he’s persistent as ever about his goal tonight. To get a word out of you at the very least was successful but nothing to feel exultant about, there’s still a large nagging part of you thats unvanquished, and there’s not a chance he’s backing out now when he’s so, so close.

He swallows, an expression on his face that would be poignant to anyone, except you. “Listen please. Just want you to make me forget where we are, or- shit, who i am to you- if i matter or not. I’ll take it.” He looks pained as your slowing motions come to a gradual halt, letting out a strenuous needy groan, but you can tell in some sick way that he’s savouring every bit of his torture, like he’s ready to spew the words ‘thank you’ any second now as you run your thumb against his sore slit.

His cock stands upright, so wet and heavy that it bobs a little even with the scant movement of his hips and no support of your hand. He’s so pretty, so much that you could chant it in a never ending string until your words blur together and no longer sound real, so pretty and so stupid. The pressure is ripped away, only returned so you drag the pad of your index finger up the side of him so painfully slow.

“You will, huh?” You ask,continuing to trace him. “Whatever i give you?”

Greedier than time, firm in his belief he confirms “Everything.” via burnt throat. “Give yourself to me, need you t’use me if thats what you need.”

“You’ll be quiet?” It’s a gentle ask, as soft as the breeze that makes him shiver just the same when he feels it.

A nod once slowly, twice, and then it becomes so fast. “Everything?” You ask again, bold—unsure of if that’s the kind of question he’ll willingly answer a second time, if it’s something he thought critically about the first, but the feeling of hearing him say it is so satisfying you can’t help wanting it a second time.

It’s funny, someone like you not expecting someone like him to drop everything for just a strum of your time. He has nothing, absolutely and completely nothing to lose. Jiung’s been looking for a pleasant sounding being all his life, and this whole time a symphony was right under his nose.

With not even a waver in his voice Jiung replies, steadfast on his decision for a second time: “Everything.” With equally as much conviction on his tongue.

Fingers work fast at your panties, tugging them down and off. Jiung watches, choked with words, his desire, feeling whiplashed by your pace and the contrast of lace. He’s overwhelmed, but fuck does he enjoy it. The underwear is as good as forgotten when he drags a large tantalizing hand along his stomach, a habit of his that’s known of, he likes the way his nerves tingle, how the feeling goes straight to his cock, it reminds him of the time you made him explain to you in thorough and jaw achingly explicit detail how he likes to fuck himself when you’re away, the way you squeezed your thighs tight when he mentioned the parts that weren’t inherently sexual, but were a habit of teasing. Is it bad to wonder if he stills does it the way he told you? Even though the underwear is an extremely flattering cut and colour, you couldn’t possibly care any less when his fingers reveal the set of butterflies underneath his crisp button down, finger tips dragging over the sensitive lines.

The light touch of your own fingers quickly guide his cock between your plush thighs, “Pretty, whadda’ they mean again?” he can feel the heat you put off before the both of your faces are screwing up at the sudden feel of each others differing temperatures. You don’t really care, he knows you don’t. “Being pretty isn’t enough?” Jiung can feel the brittle air dispel from his body as you reach a hand down to better separate your sticky folds over his dick in addition to a soft rocking motion. Immediately catching at your sopping hole when he shoves forward, you catch the way his chest squeezes in with a depriving inhale of air.

It feels like he’s just been punched in the gut, hands dropping to your waist to keep himself held back against the wood wall, a deep groan unfolds in his chest, shooting up his throat at the haze of pleasurable tingles. “Love that you don’t really care, know you don’t, fuckin’ love it.”

You’re ridiculously soft, and so fucking hot that it almost hurts from the effect of the frigid air, he can’t believe this is what you’ve been keeping from him, that he allowed it to happen. He should not be as gone as he is without even being inside of you yet, but god the thick warmth of your arousal coating over him is so heavenly as you start moving, finding refuge in you from the cold. “Can’t…can’t keep…” he struggles, unknowing of what it is exactly that he can’t do, but what ever it is you’re greatly overestimating him if you continue to keep grinding your slick pussy on him like this.

Mortifying, that’s what it is when his head is thrown back, unable to watch you inconspicuously rub yourself along his length, coupled with getting an ear full of your muffled sounds of pleasure. Taking the opening of his neck you lean in, tongue dragging against his skin before pressing light pecks to the wet area. You move so fervently that he can feel his tip poking out and brushing against your skirt on the other side—dragging along his dick, the stitching in the front soaks up your remaining fluids.

He’s able to catch quick glimpse of his drenched cock with a certain swift bump of his head directly against your clit, but even in his sputtering pleasure he refrains from watching all too closely, even when soft, more audible sighs start billowing out of your pretty mouth. “Y/N, baby plu-please…‘m not as strong willed- fuck, ‘s you think i am.” He tries his best to keep his lower half still, open for you to use—his twitching erection pressed snug under you, between, but the rest of his body unapologetically has a scorching drive of its own.

Not in the softness of his bed but he so badly wishes that he was. He can’t grip at the wrinkled sheets or fist at his pillows, the only surface keeping him held is the damp wall that you can hear the scratch of sewn sequence in the shape of a flying saucer grazing against.

Compared to the wreck of a man pressed in front of you, the pleasure you feel isn’t immense or head spinning-ly good, but, witnessing, feeling the way you have him acting makes up for its lacking amounts. “Ohh, Jiung, already know you aren’t.” The feigned empathetic lilt you speak in comes naturally, your eyes soften, a gloss to them that he’s familiar with being in his own even though his friends swear he has the metabolism of a pig.

He’s so incredibly drunk on you, absolutely wasted—fascinated beyond belief that it’s possible.

Everything feels like its slowed down, he vaguely notices the way your cheeks push your lower eyelids closer to your irises, a sharp devilish smile tensing your muscles as you simultaneously nudge his dick back with the very tip of your index finger, nestling him right under your weeping cunt, your walls tensing with the expectancy of a welcomed stretch.

You’re fucking drenched, fluctuating in excitement as you lift to the tips of your feet, then sink back with a long muted breath as he coasts inside with a huffed “Fuck…”

Nodding his head profusely, in semblance of chanting ‘good, good, good’ as he heels his body forward—out, cold hip bones pressing fluttering kisses against yours. He pauses from the sense of embarrassment augmented by your scrutiny as you sink him deeper, yet it’s still such an addicting feeling to be under, he needs more but can’t bring himself to fall under his orgasm so easily. He spasms, hesitates plenty, all the way until he’s completely bottomed out.

“Please, let me…” your body finds balance with manicured fingers pressed into his shoulders, an aching arch closer to his chest. “Let you what?” You wrangle out through a tight chest, your lips find his, speaking directly against him, into his mouth. “Don’t be coy, jus’ lemme’ fuck you already Y/N.” His head slopes slightly to the left, looking at your lips under his heavy eyelids—already waiting for a kiss that he can only hope you’ll be willing to spare.

He noses at your cheek in waiting, sharing with you his stuttering breaths as he presses a warm peck on the side of your mouth, refusing to kiss where he wants without his call of permission being uttered. “Be good, I will, make you feel- good.” The fasten of your arms around his neck is swift, a further proof of your allowance, “Really good?” You raise, urging his head straight and back.

He feels the hat lift from the back of his warm head, the change in air amplified by the sweat that clings to the roots of his hair. It pops off, but he’s buzzing in delight much too greatly to care. He slides the words out, “Really good.” with a mouth full and wet as you reach for the broad crown of white, fingers hugging as you lift it over to your head.

“Go on then.”

Almost instantaneously he’s grabbing your hips, planting a solid foot and expertly moving from his place to fit you between his chest and the barn. Hushing your small surprised gasp once he’s certain you’re stable, a chaste kiss against your brow bone as a damp palm wraps against your outer thigh, he moves it up, out, opening you so he can press further in as they drive forward, canted in his haste. “Wet—s’fucking wet my girl.” It’s a reflex to bury himself inside of you, as much- as far as you can handle and stilling once he can’t nudge himself any further. Every inch of his figure is effected by small shakes and straining twitches, choppy voice narrowly escaping as he palms at your neck, feeling, covering as much of your skin that his hands are capable of with a tight grasp of your thigh in his other hand, he needs you everywhere. Watches the process of your mouth falling slack, taking everything in, feeling the tender depth he reaches even at such a difficult angle, your fiery brain can’t even begin to comprehend how much more of you he’d be able to reach if you were in a different angle, one more accommodating, and promising of pliability.

“Focus, shut up ‘nd focus!-”

A small significantly heavier jump of his hips has your nerves shot to hell, but you hold yourself tight, even a sliver of composed is enough to be convincing. He works out of you in short, taking a fingers width worth of himself out, then giving you added an additional width of two in each return. The feeling is good, it’s filling after being starved for so long- a hunger strike if you will, but it doesn’t succeed in bringing you any closer to your orgasm. “Thought you said, you’d make me feel good.” You huff in a thin unconvincing voice, frustrated. His head descends to your shoulder, thinking that he’s welcomed when you let the slope of him in, that this is his claim, that there’s no more ground another person could cover that he’s not already been.

Nails sharp and hot scratch at his scalp in the motion of your joints closing around a clump of hair at the back of his head.

“disappointing.” Floats straight to his ear, its invasive, vibrating inside of his head like a frantic bee.

A startling moan rips from his hold, the kind where you know it was large and full of bass to start with but not strong enough to uphold up its weight, like helium spewing from the volatile confines of latex. Whining frantically, his eyes snap shut as he digs his face further into you, damp flesh pressing into damp flesh, the wet sticky sound of his cock repeatedly plunging into you from the rutting at such a loose impatient pace. The sight is indescribable, the rocking of two bodies, moving as one, feeling as one, yet the brains that keep you moving are so incredibly different from each-other, disconnected in emotion by light years, steps, miles, planes apart, but physically the closest you’d ever come to be.

His jaw is wrung slack, drool pooling out with his tongue lax over the edge of his bottom teeth. Globs of the tepid liquid drip as his thrusts flatten out into timed punches, it leaks down your clavicle, sticking to the curvature of your collarbones. His meek sounds jointly purged by your body as he slips the opening of the corset further apart, impetuously tugging further so he can get a proper hand on the soft skin.

Small unintelligible sounds are made in the back of his throat as he presses the centre of his palm to your breast, squishing the tense of your nipple into it. “Ji’,” he hears, restlessness distinct in your voice, coaxing, hoping for something more. Heedlessly Jiung’s arm, fingers that you’re so desperate to feel under your skirt, disappear from your sight, feeling as he brigs it to the side of your ass, resulting in an even greater awkward position for him to be in with his height, but he can ignore the strain he feels in certain pints of his neck and back for the way you start pressing into his hand, a struggled whine leaving your mouth with the offer of your chest to his touch. “Oh, you like that.” A squeeze to the supple round of your ass evokes a heaved sigh as he presses a cold wet kiss to the base of your neck.

The meek stimulation to your nipples isn’t as effective as your clit being played with, a vitalization, but not a slake to your insatiable thirst. A dry swallow, the pleasure all fizzles and intertwines the same even in its marginal amounts, you can’t bleat about it, the intentional squeezing around him becomes close to incessant because of it, begging that he continues with the teasing pinches as his hips oscillate with a steady reoccurring flow into yours.

From the sole feel of your body confidence daringly creeps up over his shoulder, pink tongue drawing the essence of it back in.

A silent indecipherable moment shared as he looks to you before leaning in, eyes flitting as he laves against the neglected bud, further covering you in him as the muscle retreats, curls back, cradling the secretion of saliva into the bend of his tongue before his lips pucker, letting gravity take over as it dribbles it out across your tit.

Brushing back his tussled hair, wanting a look of the glassy liquid as it departs from the warmth of his mouth, your body moves without the need for communication, fruitlessly drying to grind against his pelvis, but he’s got so much more ground. Your hand moves rashly against his mouth, index finger accepted gracefully by his tongue, an unhesitant thing—dancing against the digit.

Jiung—already so dazed, retracts back outside of you, leaving a few inches of himself in for a fleeting moment. The empty space he leaves behind aches for his return, but the sight of him readily taking a second finger to join your other mitigates any measly discomfort.

“Tell you i like it, ‘s that mean you wont touch on my clit for me?”

His lips tighten, tongue licking up against the appendages, trying to shake his head, lidded glossy eyes stare intently at your face.

“You know I’ll touch you all you want, just tell me.”

“Shut the fuck up, keep moving.” A tempting beckon for him to return back to the heat between your legs is made, small barely noticeable spots of dark over the thigh of his red slacks, how could he resist knowing of the mess you’ve made? He reaches down, skirt bunching around his wrist as his middle finger straightens out from its curve, running directly against the spot that has your entire body tensing.

A continuous slide is maintained as his thrusts quicken, full, unceasing.

The deep all consuming indication of his approaching orgasm falls into the unwonted rhythm of yours, frantic muttering and endearing whines that you try and fail to retain behind those pretty lips of yours.

It’s predictable, he thinks, the reckless abandon of your body trying to meet the movement of his own, craving for the throttling nudge of his cock to hit that special place you’ve been dreaming of.

Shallow breaths shared in a silent race. Jiung can feel your arousal starting to cover more of his finger, the dwindle in volume of your noises and the succumbing weakness in your legs. “Hol’ on pretty, mmnh—‘m gettin’ there,” he pants, your hip is far past the point of discomfort but the pain only punches your orgasm closer. “wait f’me, you can wait, huh? Know you fuckin’ can.”

God, you know you sound pathetic when a headlong “mhm!” Is tumbling from your restraint, and he adores the feeling of your body curling in on him, whether it’s subconscious or not, how you grip him so tightly, and beg for him to keep fucking you through your orgasm because once you’re stampeding through the crest of it qyou can’t keep a sensible control of how you sound or the way you move.

The obscuring blanket of fog on the windows collect into small droplets, he’s closer to believing that with each prolonged close of his eyelids that the small action spurs them to spill, allowing what’s left of the outside world a glimpse in through the thin clear streaks.

Hands abandon the secure hold on his flimsy shirt that drapes haphazardly off your backside, once spotless, now defaced by nature and your recklessness.

A lingering smell of sex hangs over your heads in the confined space, it should be repugnant, concerning the way he inhales the balmy scent so greedily, but on his own accord he justifies it in the sense that no matter how much he resents its existence, everything about you is so addicting-ly cruel—sweet with an overthrow of bitter that he yearns to internalize. You’ve always tasted, smelled all the same in compelling amounts.

Jiung can’t bring himself to be worried about his primarily bare frame being seen when his dick sheaths up into you so easily in frail minor strokes. The repetitive movement of his body leads his natural musk to emanate a heavier trace behind on your skin, the softer notes of his amber cologne crushed along the obsessive pull and hold at your back, frantically trying to keep your jelly limbs solid against him.

Stained shirt is gripped tighter in his fist, softening a whine by plunging it into an exhale as he hoists your body further up his thighs. The sheer amount of unpredictability of the situation arouses a flurry of tingles to surge from the bottom of his stomach, resistance starting to dwindle as you steadily crawl out of your hot slumber, thinking of the varying ways Jongseob would react if he conveniently showed up.

Jiung likes that someone could easily peak in and catch the both of any minute now with the recent influx of spilling people that exit from the property.

The paced rut of his cock drives him closer into overstimulation, having forced himself to still the past 2 times the unwelcome pressure of his peak pulled him to the top, you asked of him to wait, the request still vivid in his head, ‘until I wake’.

He’s doing himself absolutely no good, the steer of your weighty hips in his hold revitalize the entirety of the moment you asked him so sweetly to take care of you when your stamina was proved to be inadequate for the stretch of time he’s capable of keeping you busy in the back of the cold vehicle—knocked out with the remnants of your request still drowsily hanging onto your lips not too long after you snagged the keys from Seob’s pocket, your top clasped one hook off from the other.

The sudden flatten of your knees holding out on the seat gives him a better advantage, as well as a little bit of a scare. His clammy palms migrate to your ass, feeling on you as you press up for him, keeping yourself still so he can properly fuck into you from below. “J’…” you hum, voice barren and small, the middle buckle under your leg digging against your bone.

A hand massages at you, drawing light against the expanse of your soft skin. “I know honey, hn’know—shit..”

2:13 was read the last time he checked his phone, the feeble sound of yelling from the party starting to lose it’s vibrancy, to it now being 3:00 am with little to no noise, and his phone battery on the cusp of giving out and plunging the screen into indefinite darkness—something he’d normally be worried about, furthermore, try his best to avoid, but the way your breathing gradually softens on top of his chest as your body wakes to full responsiveness, telling by the squeezes around his length that its just what you asked for, it makes the significance of his trivial concerns so unusually minuscule.

His eyes clamp shut, swallowing down his discomfort from the lack of space he was meant to endure. “S’good, you’ve always felt s’fucking good, sweet girl.” He shifts again, caressing the back of your head, anchoring you through his stammering thrusts.

“Thirsty.” You groggily complain, slithering a slow hand between your bodies, pussy twitching from the praise, aching to be touched. Jiung was fearful of the sore throat that he knows you wordlessly suffer from now, it always does after you drink, your hoarse squeaks evidential as you trace messy circles over your puffy clit. Body far more awake than you feel.

He didn’t think to take any water before the two of you managed to slip by the boys, and there’s sure as hell not any sitting in here. “Poor baby.” Inwardly he takes the flitting time to mull it over, but realistically there’s not many options to begin with. Well, except for one.

He doesn’t hesitate when guiding your head back down to level with him, his flicking his chin up as an indication for a kiss, to which you cluelessly comply. He’s a little stunned that you meet him halfway, the mobility of his lower body unceasing, but that doesn’t hinder the process of his tongue invading your mouth seconds after he’s finally able to properly press his rigid lips against your soft pliable ones.

Expertly he shoves a wad of his spit onto your tongue, another peck left at the corner of your mouth as it disperses over the muscle before he curtly tips back. “Swallow.” He husks, sealing you off, parting from his offering.

He leans back onto his forearms, folded up blazer pushed beneath his shoulders, leaving you leaned over, wet lips holding the additional liquid inside. You let it slide to the back of your throat, gathering, he waits to see the movement in your neck so he knows that you’ve swallowed it.

When you do, the peak of his 2nd orgasm starts breaching his senses almost simultaneously.

The body of the van rocks in his urgency, sweat beading out from his hairline as it squeaks, empty cans at the foot of the front seats rattling. “Good, baby?” His face pinches, struggling to punch the words out. “Good Ji’, so fuckin’ good.”

The feeling of his quickly approaching orgasm is unworldly, yet the nagging palpability of your current circumstances looms equally significant in vitality. “Jongseobie…‘s gonna be so—so mad at us.” He worries aloud, glancing down at the dark outline of your hips that starts straying from the tempo he set, the wet sloshing sound of your cunt recklessly sucking him down intense to his ears. Your sporadic grinding against him is relieving to see. You’re close, within the same nearing distance that he is, aching for the final puncture at your thinning endurance that’ll snap you slack. “Making a mess, all over me ‘n the seats.”

What a time to finally have some consideration for your friend.

Instantly he feels the leverage you use to pitch your upper body upright, holding the top of the headrest as you meet his thighs with short bounces. You can only dream of reaching over to muffle his irrelevant noise with a hand, trying to focus on the creeping sensation that starts strumming at your nerves, one that makes your legs feel fuzzy, and causes sweat to drip down your back, it’s far more pleasant of a feeling when his mouth is shut.

Piqued by the sound of his voice, you huff back an unconvincing “We’ll deal with it-” as your head lulls back, allowing yourself to fall into the dark of your eyelids, letting you forget about what’s on the other side of the van, and exactly how you got here in the first place the faster you rub at your clit. “Jiung,” you whine, spasming and restless.

“Yeah baby” he struggles out.

You shift, hold straining around the headrest, around his cock in the same, slippery finger ruthlessly sliding on your clit.

“Need- shit Jiung, need you to shut the fuck up already, make me come.”

Fuck, it’s ridiculous the way you ask him of any little thing and he’s jumping to get it done. Jiung doesn’t take your demand lightly, a thoughtless account as his foot presses onto the carpet floor, the piston of his hips deepening out with the aid, pressing his length into you as far as he can reach, the unforgivingly lewd mix of your fluids ringing at the plinth of his cock—sticky against what’s managed to leak to the underside of your legs, you feel its thick consistency spread further from the shared pace that has you unraveling overtop of him in the matter of minutes, sinking from the muffled sound of his voice.

“Love—love you, baby, please, please say it back.” He blubbers pathetically, convinced by no one either than himself that you’re just as deep into this as he is, that’s this is just as emotionally charged.

“Come back, come back t’me…missed this pussy s’fucking much- god, fucking miss you.”

He can’t comprehend the second his own climax hits, it’s a blur of flesh and liquid, the stiffening of your body, the aggressive shaking from your waist down.

Your spent body melts down on top of his, a shared exhaustion sinking into your bones.

Fingers rub softly against the small of your back, unwilling to move even if the cramped position makes him ache and numb in certain points of his limbs. You hardly move, and for a fleeting moment he’s able to take it all in, the stillness, the quiet, the ambience that resembles the warmth of your relationship, clumsily fucking in places you shouldn’t, disappearing on weekends and not a singular trace left behind of where you went.

This is us, he thinks, painfully convincing himself into believing it utterly and completely, that this is leeway back into your old affairs. But the truth, it couldn’t be more clear, you’ve known it long before the door slides shut.

Tugging at your skirt, you smooth yourself out as you step away without a spared glance back, keys pressed into your palm, wrapped by your fingers. You’re content, satiated even previously being in the face of your unremitting constraint, you got what you came for, throughout the time it took you to get it, maybe you didn’t succeed in becoming the spectacle you thought yourself to be among everyone else, but with the spoken covet of your presence in his life again, you sure as hell felt like it.

Hefty footsteps thump closer to you at a concerning pace that slows you down. Flashlights swing along the ground, with the lack of it you can’t tell exactly who is running down the path—concerned by the urgency in their pace until the figure comes to a sudden out of breath stop.

Jongseob bends over, his sandpaper tongue striking the roof of his mouth.

“Cops were called, we gotta go.”

[livestock-and-bibles]

Things I've Noticed During My Several Rewatches of The Doomstar Requiem

(Lock in, this is gonna be long)

Murderface is the only one out of the group to have a completely obscured face, possession foreshadowing perhaps? Also he lacks the golden streaks on the halo-esque circles behind them. Inch resting... (Not gonna talk too much abt when the scene goes red and the beam behind Murderface is dripping blood because I believe it's already been talked about before by others, and I don't want to include anything in this post that's already been discussed) Also I love how all of their weapons match their instruments

The way Toki doesn't even flinch when he gets alcohol poured on his wound is heartbreaking, likely either because the torture his parents put him through as a kid has given him a wicked pain tolerance or because he's so dissociated, similarly to how he behaves in Dethfam when his parents are around or Dethzazz when he's mentally in the punishment hole (I do believe this sort of catatonic state he's in is what's causing him to seem so much worse off than Abigail—though his untreated diabetes + Magnus targeting him more because of his relation to Dethklok probably also adds to it—he's likely not really eating or taking care of himself)

At first I thought that Magnus was feeding them dog food, but on closer inspection I actually believe it to be human remains. Yeesh. You can see it really looks like muscle fibers, and there's bones, as well as skin that still has hair on it. Magnus Hammersmith they could never make me like you

On the table is the Klokateer from Tracking/Ishnifus and The Challenge!!

I think it's interesting how much Nathan's fantasies look like Toki's! I just think it's neat! They're more similar than they seem :)

This is the most expressive we've ever seen Charles and it makes my heart hurt AUUGHH

The way Nathan licks his lips/teeth after the "How can I be a hero when my dick's as big as a shoe" line. DISGUSTING /affectionate

Does this fan look familiar? He should, because it's Dethklok's son, Fatty Ding Dong!! Good to see he's doing well lol, and his real name is Rick, we can also assume that at LEAST four years have passed since season 1, since in season 1 episode 10, he's said to be 14. Since he has a roommate now, he is likely to be around 18 years old

(Apologies for the low quality screencap I had to nab this from Youtube) I kind of wish that the animators didn't change this original animation for the end of The Fans Are Chatting. I just feel like Nathan pushing away the Klokateers is more symbolically relevant. Nathan is quite literally pushing away the safety and security his avoidance has given him, the hologram disappearing and the fans leaving is a metaphor for the fact that he can no longer keep himself deluded into thinking that everything is fine, he can't hide from the truth anymore

Almost all of the Rock A Roonie Fantasy Camp counsellors came to the Dethklok audition, there's even the depressed blues guy in the background. There's also Sammy Candynose from Snakes 'n Barrels, so I like to think that Pickles told him about the auditions

There's also the guitarist from Get Thee Hence

Toki's shadow!!! The wings!!!

The animals they take the form of match two of the guitars Brendon Small created with Gibson, The Thunderhorse and the Snow Falcon :D

It's super tiny but their smiles :'))!!! Also the way their parts play on different sides when you listen with headphones but then combine at this part makes me so crazy. Not only does Toki challenge Skwisgaar and inspire him to get better, but they're also having fun! Which I can imagine never really happened when he played with Magnus

Probably just an animation error but Skwisgaar is animated as his present day self here. Idk, just thought that was interesting

I think the order of the rest of the band joining in on the background vocals is really interesting, it goes: Skwisgaar, Pickles, Nathan, Murderface. Personally I choose to interpret it as a representation of how long it took each member to warm up to Toki as their rhythm guitarist, Skwisgaar was super fast since he was the one to choose him, Pickles was the one wanting a new guitarist in the first place, Nathan and Magnus seemed to be close, so it would definitely take more time for him to accept Toki as the whole Magnus situation would still feel a little raw, and Murderface is a professional hater so of course it took him the longest

I really love just how soft and content Murderface looks in Toki's fantasy. We all know he has a softer side and I think that either Toki perceives it, or possibly Murderface shows it towards him (Which I can believe because they're often together and they get along pretty well, Toki is probably the person Murderface gets along with the best actually)

I also want to mention that at this part of I Believe, Toki is no longer singing along with the other's background vocals, and is harmonizing with himself, which gets really sad when you realize that it's because this was just Toki remembering this to keep himself sane and he's actually kidnapped, hurt, and alone. Ouch :(

The drunk driver who crashed into the Jomfru brothers is the same guy who crashed into Nathan's second grade class in Dethgov. I guess there's only one drunk driver that exists in the Metalocalypse universe lol

I think we as a fandom need to appreciate Eric Jomfru more. He's such a real one. The way they make you care about him after he's already gone is so evil lol /affectionate

The way the Klokateers join in on this song makes me wonder if perhaps they view each other as brothers, or if there's just like a strong sense of brotherhood between them

The groupie on the left can actually be seen in Fatherklok at the beginning of the episode, as one of the women Skwisgaar has been with, so y'know what? She has valid reasons to be mad honestly

Murderface's pose up top always sends me, sir please calm down, keep it together king

Murderface holding his wrist :(

If you look closely, you can actually see that the Revengeancers are eating Ishnifus. Which is just,, utterly horrifying

In between the shots of the band and the assassin, there's so many inconsistencies in the placement of the characters. For the last two images, I just like to rationalize it as Pickles immediately attempting to run away, then noticing that the rest of the band is still there and being like "Oh shit we're squaring up? Ok I guess". I know it's just so Nathan can be in the center when they use the Dethlights but I just think it's funny

Also in the second to last picture, the way Murderface, typically the most cowardly of the band, isn't looking at the assassin, but instead, is looking worriedly at Toki, makes my heart hurt. I adore their relationship

Murderface is actually sleeping in Nathan's bed here. If you compare different shots of their bedrooms and beds, it's clear that this is Nathan's, you can tell from the striped pillowcase. I'm not gonna talk too much about this, mostly because I want to make a separate post talking about how Murderface is seen more than once sleeping in Nathan's bed when he's hurt/unwell. It's very sweet lol

ANYWAY! Thanks for reading these rambles, I love The Doomstar Requiem so much! I might make a post like this for Army of the Doomstar as well, and also just some analysis posts if I get the confidence lol. Big thanks to @ratskal for watching this a dozen times with me and pointing out things too. (I actually reached the max limit of pictures allowed in a post which is a little funny, I am so normal about this show /lying)

[arolesbianism]

It's so sad that I have some stories I don't talk abt on here because I wanna keep them in the "I might do smth with them" vault. Y'all would love Barry B. Barry, rip

[pookietsunoda]

Saw this post abt Alonso getting accidentally electrocuted and thinking he was 14 (as well as this tag on a reblog)

what if... the whole grid accidentally got struck by some deus ex machina non fatal zap that gave them temporary amnesia and they all became convinced they were 14 for a day? Here is what I think would happen:

First off, they're all so hyped about being F1 drivers and get excited about the dumbest shit (phone games, wheel guns, tire blankets)

Max and Charles fight each other over the Inchident

George is starstruck by the fact that Alex is an F1 racer (bc Alex was his karting hero growing up) but Alex didn't become friends with George until he was 15, so he has no idea who George is, which is Humiliating to fragile teenage George.

Half of them can't speak English fluently yet. Only the younger ones (Oscar, Franco, etc) know that google translate exists and they help massively in the linguistic problems.

Unclear whether or not Pierre and Esteban are besties or enemies, or both. They are one of those things, and they're insane about it because they're teenagers. Lance and Esteban are probably like Normal friends though.

Lewis is like "where tf is Nico" and finds adult Nico. Lewis is super pumped to hear that they both made it to F1, were teammates and won WDCs, Lewis is an F1 GOAT, and that Nico married his childhood crush. (Their life trajectories literally sound like what a kid imagines their future to be like.) And Nico is like "hey we actually had a falling out" and Lewis is like "that's crazy man, how would we stop being friends? You want some frosties?"

Immediate Spanish speaker clique between Fernando, Carlos, Checo, and Franco. They are shook that THE Fernando Alonso wants to be besties with them (especially Carlos since Fernando is his hero).

KMag and Hulk are probably friends since this is pre Suck My Balls and they're friends now so, their energies align I guess.

Being 14 year olds who find out they're rich and famous, they all want to escape into the real world and take joyrides in the expensive cars they own/ drink alcohol/ see strippers/ buy crazy stuff and their team staff is like OH NO WE CAN'T LET THEM ESCAPE (Thus ensues comedy gold of the team staff chasing kids who have the bodies of professional athletes around the track and trying to contain them)

If in Singapore, Yuki and Zhou manage to escape because they are 2 East Asians wearing designer and F1 merch and they blend in with the fans. (As a disguise, they swap team shirts and put on surgical masks and people are like "Is that Zhou Guanyu?" "Nah why would Zhou be wearing a Yuki shirt?") Word gets out in the drivers whatsapp that they escaped and they immediately get bombarded with requests for what to buy for the rest of the paddock. They cannot rly understand each other but Zhou can get around Sgp pretty easily bc a lot of people there speak Mandarin. He has to stop Yuki from breaking at least five Singaporean laws. They stuff themselves at hawker stands and have a great field trip but then get recognized and have to make an emergency getaway on a stolen electric scooter. They do get Lewis his Frosties.

Lewis doesn't know he's a vegan and almost ruins his reputation by being spotted by paparazzi eating Frosties with non vegan milk. Also gives himself a nasty stomachache.

Despite being told not to tell other people about the mass amnesia, Max and Lance both call their dads. Lawrence is like "My poor son! I will get the experts to look into this right away!" Jos is like "idc if you don't remember how to drive the car, you're gonna do it or I'll disown you." Daniel and Lando grab the phone and tell Jos he's a meanie and also was a shit F1 driver, then hang up.

George finds chewing gum at the bottom of someone's bag and starts spiraling, convinced that the Singaporean police are going to arrest and execute them all for possessing illegal items.

Lord of the Flies scenario where George and Oscar are trying to organize everyone to make sure they don't accidentally hurt themselves, whereas Lando, Fernando, KMag, Daniel, and a few others are just trying to have a good time and cause chaos. Bottas and Alex and a third group are just like quietly messing around in the back.

They come to a truce in order to organize a GPDA strike because they have been banned from leaving the track until they regain their memories. They barricade themselves in someone's garage and have a sleepover on the floor with lots of candy and games. Lewis finds a guitar and plays Wonderwall.

They wake up the next day extremely confused (but remembering everything) and race as normal LOL

[thelastofhyde]

i. sea-day 1.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. as the ship sets sail, you search for help. at the bar, you encounter a familiar stranger. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much )&lt;3 chapter warnings. alcohol, mentions of class/wealth themes, implications that the reader has underlining mental health issues, convenient plot-devices that would only ever happen in a rom-com bc this is fun silly fiction baby!, joel suffers from acute insuferable-bastarditis :( word count. 3.7k hyde’s input. let's all hold hands and agree to ignore the fact both parts so far have opened on the reader panicking in a bathroom, okay? maybe she's a stressed girlie with a flare of ibs, you don't know her life. feeling a little insecure abt this chapter and lowkey don't wanna post it, but i promise the actual fun begins in chapter two, where we finally get to see tourguide!joel in action. previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

“What time did you say you boarded?”

Your mother’s voice travels from where your phone lays, abandoned upon the bed, all the way into the decadent bathroom.

Eyes moving a mile-a-minute, as if you're rushing to take in every jaw-dropping detail.

There’s the sink area, a double-vanity that’s centred with an array of lotions and soaps, and overlooked by an overwhelmingly large mirror that makes up half the wall, lined with a golden hue of light. A shower, with glass curtains and enough room to fit your whole wardrobe in it. Then, there’s the bathtub you’re already envisioning yourself sinking into. Marble lines the floor, and the outer wall is made up of three window panes, gifting you a view of pure blue, the sea and the sky melting into one another across the horizon. It’s making you nauseous, this looming feeling of imposter syndrome the interior brings you.

You don’t belong in this, a fancy room designed for fancy people.

An iteration of your name, back on the bed, drags you away from your own troubled reflection.

“Seven,” you call out, inching your way back into the main area of the suite.

“In the morning?!” She’s just as shocked as the first time you answered her question, fifteen minutes ago, and the second time, seven minutes ago.

Humming in approval, you give a sweeping gaze over the plush carpeted floor, the wall-mounted television displaying the cruiseship’s logo, the king sized bed that’s calling out for you, seducing you with the promise of a mattress that won’t be stabbing at your back the whole night. As if on queue, there’s a sharp pain in your lower back, a lasting reminder of the hostel you’d found little rest in last night.

“Well, there goes my jealousy!” Lacklustre replies aside, your mother continues her ramblings, used to filling the void of conversation with the sound of her own voice. “Can you imagine? Me, awake at that time? You’ll be glad you’re travelling on your own, honey.” Usually, you admire the positive spin your mother tries to bring to life. Your being alone upon this trip, however, is not a topic you want her to address, much less find the good in. “I mean, I don’t think even your sister-”

“I think they’ve made a mistake,” you cut her off, eyes zeroing in on a pair of glass doors. Snatching the phone off the bed, you turn off the speaker and press it to your ear just in time to hear your mother’s confusion, questioning what you mean. Focus on those doors, you slowly make your way over to them. “The room,” you clarify, fingers curling around a handle to unlock it, prying the doors apart. A wave of salty fresh air, hits your face as you step out onto wooden decking. You find yourself upon a balcony, facing off into the deep blue distance. To your left, there’s two sun loungers and a glass coffee table, mounted by two champagne flutes and a simple welcome note sprawled out in black ink. “I think they’ve given me the wrong room.”

It’s the next best thing to a reasonable explanation you can find, no chance on earth you were ever listed to stay in such a suite. No, a room like this is meant for a wealthy businessman and his uptight wife to overindulge themselves on gold-trimmed furniture and a fur-lined bed for a week, in which they do everything but address the lipstick stains that keep lining his collars or the chauffeur who keeps himself parked between her legs.

You can already picture such a pair now, storming over to some poor, unsuspecting deckhand, red on both their faces as they begin to berate him over the fact they're in a cabin the size of a cupboard, with a communal restroom and a bunk barely fit for one person.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“No,” it’s an answer you reluctantly give, more than aware of how ridiculous it sounds. “It’s… nice. Perfect. Too perfect, like I should feel lucky to stand in it, nevermind live in it for the next few days.”

It’s with caution that you glance over each shoulder, taking note of the seemingly never ending row of balconies that line the ship, a sizable gap between each one. Guts twisting a little at the thought, you peer ever so slightly over the right edge and are greeted with views of more balconies. Beyond that, there’s only blue. Waves crash into the ship’s side and bounce off in white foam. You renew the distance between you and the ledge, unable to stop yourself from glancing both ways, confirming there’s no neighbouring balcony that finds itself occupied.

Then bend down, clasping a hold of one of the champagne flutes.

You take your first sip like it’s a crime, wearily, eyes darting back and forth, waiting to be caught in the act and dragged out of this room, down to whatever poverty loft you really belonged in.

Or, maybe they’d just toss you overboard, rid themselves of any possible hassle. People go missing all the time at sea, right? People go missing all the time on cruises. You’d just be another blip in the system, an error that can be overwritten with a simple-

“I can hear you thinking through the phone, sweetie.”

You take another sip, and let a weight fall off your chest, dragging in a breath large enough to make up for the moment or two you’d stopped breathing. “I’m just… tired. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine. No big freak out on it’s way, again.”

“Honey, you know how me and your father feel about you calling it a freak-” she must be able to hear your eye roll through the phone, cutting herself off before she can keep going. “Just, try and enjoy this trip, okay? Maybe you’re in that room because where you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’ve been awarded some free upgrade, like that time your dad got bumped up to business class!”

Bless her for trying, though she may fail. It’s enough to bring a smile to your face.

You swallow back what remains of the bubbled liquid.

Through the phone, you hear a door burst open and the entrance of a loud, excited little voice. Something akin to granny rings down the line, and it’s enough to have you frozen where you stand, bones rigid and unable to move. Something seems to smack into the microphone, a rustling of fabric as you envision your mother making room for little limbs on her lap.

“Hey, my little munchkin! How was soccer?” You can’t make out what the voice tells your mother, heart too busy beating louder than any drum, inching its way further up your wind pipe and threatening to choke you on it. “Guess who I’ve got on the phone?” The tiny voice squeals out your name, bile joins your heart inside your throat. Maybe this is how you find out you get seasick. “Do you wanna say hi-”

“Mum, I, uh… I’ve gotta go,” you’re eyeing the remaining glass on the table, the rising bubbles enticing you to hurry up, drink it before it goes flat. “I should go find the help desk, get this room thing sorted out.”

“Just a second, let E-”

“I’ll call you later,” you hang up.

You’re left with just the raging waters below, a caw from seagulls up above. Eyes slipping shut, you pull in a deep breath and push out a silent plea for that sting in your eyes to be from the salt in the air, not a set of unfallen tears. A few more breaths and it feels safe enough to open your eyes again, glancing down as your phone vibrates in your hand.

Two texts, each from your mother.

09:38 - She says hi, and that you better bring her back a cool souvenir. 09:39 - Doctor Anderson says she’s showing improvement and they’re finally starting to get somewhere. Just thought you’d want to know x

Giving in to temptation, you snatch up the champagne glass, bring it up to your lips and- pause, interrupted as you make eye contact with a man one balcony over. He’s older, a well-rounded gut fit into a light blue shirt and tailored trousers. With a rolex on one wrist and set of bright white teeth smiling right at you, there’s no mistaking he belongs in one of these suites.

You wonder what he thinks of you and your frayed sweater, no jewellery on your wrists.

He nods, politely, and raises his own glass towards you. A silent cheer, a recognition that you’re both here, living life in luxury. You meet it, raise your own glass, and try to smile as brightly as him.

Then knock back your second drink and saunter back inside.

“Miss, there’s been no mistake.”

In spite of it being an excuse to hang up, you stay true to your word.

Come early noon, you’re standing within the help centre. Against all odds, accidental nap and wild goose chase upon the ship deck be damned, you’ve found what you were looking for.

Or, well, an older woman with sweet smile on her face and a squinted nametag pinned to her chest found it, pointed you in the direction of the ship’s atrium. What you’re looking for is the Purser’s Office, dear.

“See? The booking under your name lists you as part of our excelsior guests.” The desk clerk turns her screen towards you, acrylic nail pointing at your booking information. Sure enough, in bold letters, your full name accompanied by a golden badge at the end. Excelsior Status, checkmarked and approved by the cruise. “This grants you access to one of our excelsior suites and all private excelsior lounges.”

In all honesty, you’re tuning her out a little.

You don’t mean to, sincerely, but you’re just so caught up in reading both your name and excelsior suite, over and over and over again, that you forget to really listen, mind running just a few seconds behind the speed of her mouth.

When you finally process what she’s saying, all you can manage is dumbstruck look on your face and a muttered, “oh.”

Paper rustles as your hands wring, the pristine pamphlet you’d been flicking through to fill the time as she’d searched up your details now rumpled, thin white cracks of paper peaking out beneath printed ink.

“I also see that you’ve added the excelsior tour package onto your booking, though I’m willing to change that for you, if you’d prefer signing onto one of our team tours instead.” Confused by her offer, you glance down and read over the pamphlet’s title- All-Aboard Tour Trips, Fun for all the Family! “Would you like to hear what your current tour package grants you?”

“If,” as if you’ve not embarrassed yourself enough with your cluelessness towards your own booking, your voice cracks under the pressure of being used, more squeak than actual intelligible words. You swallow back the lump of shame in your throat and push through. “If you don’t mind, please. This, uh- The ticket, it was a gift, so I’m just a little out of the loop of what’s been booked for me.”

“Not at all! So, the excelsior tour package gives you access to your own private tour-guide, for all seven stops we’ll be making on this cruise!” Already, you feel a little queasy at the thought. A private tour, no one but you and some stranger. It’s not exactly your dream scenario. “Your guide’s purpose won’t just be to walk you through all the memorable sites, but to curate your visits to your liking, helping you explore foreign land with a familiar taste. Where the tours in team are restricted to allocated timeslots and a set route of sites to visit, having a private tour-guide grants you the privilege of exploring where you want, for however long you want. The private tour also provides more time for you at each stop, as your timeslot to board will be the latest available, making your whole trip less of rush and more of a thrill.”

The clerk, without a doubt in your mind, is quoting a script she’s already said hundreds of time- word for word, beat for beat. Yet her voice is animated, her smile is kind, and you admire her a little for getting through it without a single laugh at the corniness of it all.

You, however, fail the challenge, glancing off to your side and biting back a giggle that you hope she takes no note of. The last thing you want is for her to mistake the laughter as directed towards her.

Weighing your options, you nervously ask, “but, you could change me over to a team tour?”

She says of course, with a smile that doesn’t waver, and the tension in your shoulders lessens, the ice cold feeling of inconveniencing her melting away at her warmth.

Her nails clack as she types away on her keyboard. A double click and then, a hiss. She’s no longer smiling, a grimace taking it place. “I’m sorry, but all of our tours are fully booked.”

“Oh. That’s- It’s okay.”

“But, I could add you to the waiting list! If there’s any cancelations for any of the stops, you’ll be the first to know. This won’t affect your excelsior tour package, so either way you’ll have some kind of guide.”

With nothing to lose, you figure why not and let her throw your name in the metaphorical hat.

Mid-typing away, eyes glued to her screen, you watch as her brows shoot up. “Oh, while I’ve got you here, there’s one more thing. With our excelsior guides, it’s customary that they meet with you on the first night, to touch base on simple things, like your interests or any goals for this trip, and to plan out tomorrow’s official first stop, which is in Santorini. Your guide has left you this, detailing where you’ve to meet him.”

With renewed hesitation, you grab at the folded note she slips over the desk. It’s small, with half an inked fingerprint burnt into the top left corner.

As you thank her for her help and bid her goodbye, she interrupts you before you can turn to leave.

“I know private tours can seem daunting but, you’re in good hands. Joel will take care of you, he’s our top-rated guide.”

The note remains folded as long as you can control your curiosity, which appears to be only until you’re back on the deck, sun shinning directly in your eyes and forcing you to squint as you read over faded blank ink.

10 pm, the Tipsy Byson bar.

Below that, in a bolder blue ink, wear something green for me to find you, JM.

You’re awfully overdressed, and painfully aware of it.

The Tipsy Byson is nestled between the arcade and the casino, a balance of childlike shrieks harmonizing over outraged yelling of men cheated out of their hands. Brown wood lines just about every inch of the place, from the walls, to the tables, to the bar. There’s an outrageously large Stars and Stripes flag hanging on the wall, and memorabilia of all things Texas Roadhouse. The place is themed, down to the cowboy hat that sits atop the bartender’s head, and clearly everyone is aware of this, decked out in scruffed up boots and worn out denim vests.

Everyone but you, dark green silk clinging to you in the shape of a laced-back midi dress, dainty black heels tucked into the footrest of the barstool you occupy.

It’s the only green thing you brought and- wear something green for me to find you- you’d had no choice.

It was a quarter to ten when you got there, earlier than you were requested, but a gentle buzz of something shooting through your nervous system left you impatient, unable to wander the ship’s halls any longer.

It was fine, you figured, gave you a chance to get a drink, cool your nerves a little. Sticking with the theme of green, you’d yelled over the line music for a midori sour, please, and even cracked a little smile at the cute bartender.

By twenty past ten, you’re still alone, no tour-guide in sight, and your glass is empty, a sole ice-cube all that remains. You order another glass, given him another smile, and return your eyes to the entryway as you sip back the taste of the dewy melon goodness.

The doors opened, your hopes rise and- a couple walks through the door, adorably dressed in matching jackets.

Another sip.

The doors open again, this time you watch as a few women walk in, party hats and bachelorette signs dripping off them.

Half your drink, gone again.

Two, three, four more times the door opens and you watch as strangers filter in and out, pretending you don’t notice the way some of their eyes linger on you, sticking out like a sore thumb.

It’s as you throw back the last sip of your cocktail, eyes catching the time- 22:36-, that you watch a grin overtake the bartender’s face.

The door shuts with a slam, buried beneath the layers of stomping feet across the dance floor and the twang of a country song, yet you hear it all the same, twisting in the stool.

A man stands by the entry, salt-and-peppered hair a little tousled and a scowl etched into his forehead. He moves like water, slipping through the cracks in the crowded bar with minimal effort. All the while, eyes seem to follow him, the occasional head turning in his direction. He spares no glances, to anyone.

Instead, he’s staring right at you.

And heading your way, frown and all.

There’s something in his face that feels familiar, and you swear that this is not the first time you’d stared into those eyes. Broad, scruffy facial hair, his irritation as some drunk girl slams into him so palpable, you almost taste it on your tongue.

You mumble something to the bartender, a request for another drink, a parched feeling stirring in your loins.

He’s inching closer, and closer, and closer- and, only as he’s a mere three bar stools away from you, do you realise who he is.

You’re in the way.

Signore Miller.

The rude man from the airport!

God, you can’t wait to see what this is about. He must recognise you, must feel the shame licking at his wounded ego, driving him to come over, apologise, beg for forgiveness to a stranger he unnecessarily berated.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” It’s not Signore Miller that speaks, nor is it you. It’s the bartender, arms crossing over his chest, smirk widening on his face. “Thought you said last season was your last!”

“You know me,” his eyes are still glued to you, an intense stare, even as he replies. There’s so little space between you now, you manage to notice the wrinkles in his flannel shirt. You choose to ignore the fact it’s green. “Ain’t no good at stayin’ away from the things I hate.”

“Wasn’t what you were saying at the staff party last year, Mr. Blubber-face. Took two whiskeys to get you crying ‘bout how you were gonna miss the cruising life.”

Another midori sour lands your way, yet you don’t even manage a single sip of it before he’s opening his mouth.

“Well look at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,” his eyes still pierce into your own and, this time, it is you he’s talking to.

You’d have half the mind to throw your drink on him, if it weren’t for the fact you’re too busy taking a stabilizing gulp out of it, a sweetness to counter-attack his sour persona.

“Excuse me?!” You final sputter out, face burning too hot and pride too scorned to begin to feel even more out of place.

He seems unfazed by your outrage, turning away from you to acknowledge his friend behind the bar at last. “Do me a favour, Luke, don’t give her too much to drink.” Condescending tone perfectly intact, Signore Miller doubles down on your initial impression of him: an absolute asshole. “Last thing I need is to spend all day draggin’ around some prissy hungover diva.”

The man- Luke- scoffs back a laugh, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Quit teasin’ the poor girl, ‘fore she runs for the hills and ruins your five-star rating.”

An uncomfortable feeling creeps down your spine. It’s cold and alarming, and has your straightening your back, sitting a little tenser in your seat, realization rising in you like the dawn.

It can’t be.

He can’t be-

He’s stepping all in your space, face leaning down till his mouth is at the level of your ear. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even come close to it, yet there’s goosebumps littering your arms and hairs standing at the back of your neck.

Like touching a live wire, his proximity feels electric.

“Best be on that deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’ll be dockin’ without ya.”

“Wait, you’re-”

“Joel, tourguide. At your service.” He’s pulled back, just to thrust his hand in your face. By the time you reach to shake it, he’s retracting it, that grating quirk in his lips moving higher up his cheek. “Oh, and do yourself a favour. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. Santorini ain’t the place for dainty heels like those.”

You knock back the rest of your drink moments after he leaves, only to find Luke’s already placed a fourth glass at your side.

“Our little secret,” he faux-whispers, pressing a finger to his pursed lips. “Besides, you look like you could use it.”

Signore Miller.

Joel, tourguide.

Joel Miller.

He’s already making your trip unbearable, and it’s hardly begun.

+ extra hyde. sorry if that was a little boring it was a necessary part to get the ball moving, i promise chapter two gets right into it. again, updates to this fic happen every other friday! i'm bad at describing spaces, so if anyone is curious to know what reader's suite looks like, here are some reference pics:

taglist. @auteurdelabre