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#and i can see it from my window when im in class
dearlyjun · 2 months
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5% tint ☆ c. yeonjun
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☆ PAIRING: sugardaddy!yeonjun x collegestudent!reader (f)
☆ GENRE: smut (18+ readers only! dont make me block you)
☆ SUMMARY: you didn't think that doing well on an exam would mean that you would be fucked in the front seat of a porsche; good thing your sugar daddy has 5% tint.
☆ WORD COUNT: 1.2K
☆ WARNINGS: gendered terms are used (girl), semi public sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, lots of praise from yeonjun, yeonjun drives a porsche (I think its a valid warning), yeonjun is wearing rings, making out, creampie kink perhaps?, dirty talk, obviously car sex!! lmk if i forgot anything its almost 1am and im an old lady.
☆ AUTHORS NOTE: so heres part of the concept that I literally could not stop yapping about if I tried. combining my interests here: a hot man taking care of me and a porsche of my dreams. I am actually considering making this a series, with a backstory and everythingg so lmk your thots :)
a big thank you to @silvergyus @nightlyawnzz @hearts4huening for being my beta readers for this, and I may use your services in the future.
CLICK HERE TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST!
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walking to the front of your lecture hall, you collected the results from your latest exam. After finding your name in the pile of papers, you could barely contain your excitement when you saw the boldly printed 100% on the front.
Yeonjun would be so happy.
You quickly walked back to collect your things, before pulling out your phone to text him since he was picking you up from class.
you: going to be walking out in a few. I have good results!!
yeonjun: ahh my smart girl. I'm waiting for you out front.
Soon after you walked out through the double doors of the building that you were in, spotting Yeonjun’s gray Porsche parked up front.
Yeonjun had a pretty dark window tint, so you couldn’t see inside that well. You opened the door, and slid into the passenger seat; Yeonjun beaming.
“There’s my girl.” He had the biggest smile on his face. “Look at you, dressed all cute.” He was referencing your plaid skirt and big crewneck sweatshirt that was actually his.
“Did you just come from the office or something?” You asked him, leaning in to kiss him. “You look so nice.” You smoothed your hand over his button down dress shirt, making him smirk.
“Now let me see this test, huh?”
“Okay.” You quickly dug the scantron out of your folder that you had. Handing it over to Yeonjun, leaning over his center console as he examined it.
He was smirking.
“Yeah, one hundred percent.” You spoke with a huge smile on your face.
“Ah, see I knew you’d do well.” Yeonjun put his hand onto your jaw to kiss you.
You hummed against his mouth, pulling him closer by his shirt. “I missed you last night, daddy.” You kissed him again.
Yeonjun smirked against your lips before pulling away slightly. “Yeah? You know I want you to focus on your school too.”
“I know, but sometimes it’s easier to study when I’m sitting on your lap. You know?” You reached down to feel Yeonjun’s cock, which to your surprise was half erect.
“With my cock inside of you? Princess, you know you can’t focus.”
You remembered the time you swore that you would sit still and study on Yeonjun’s lap while he worked. You didn’t last five minutes before you were fucking yourself on his cock.
You pouted as Yeonjun moved to kiss you towards your neck. “But I’m such a good girl for you, Daddy.”
Yeonjun practically choked back a moan; if his cock wasn’t hard before, it definitely was now. “And I always reward you, don’t I?”
He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, then went to unbuckle his belt to lower his pants. You let out an audible noise when he finally lowered his underwear, leaky, pretty cock out on full display.
“Go ahead and sit on it, pretty girl.” Yeonjun spoke, shuddering slightly when he swiped the tip with his thumb.
You felt a sudden tinge of shyness when you took off your shoes. Yeonjun could practically read your mind.
“The tints are too dark; no one can see you.”
“Okay, help me.” You answered, slightly laughing at the fact that you were going to climb over the console of a car that cost as much as your parents' house.
“I got you.” Yeonjun held onto you. Before you sat down on him, he pulled the fabric of your underwear out of the way.
“Oh my- fuck, you’re so wet.” Yeonjun gasped. “I’ll slip right fucking in.”
You lowered yourself onto him, and it was painfully slow; making you feel every inch of his cock.
Yeonjun was seconds away from ruining his leather with his fingernails with the way that he was gripping onto the passenger seat.
“Daddy…your cock. Fuck.” You sighed, dropping your head into his neck; taking a breath of his sweet cologne. He was fully inside of you, nuzzled up into that spot that makes your toes curl.
“Yeah, baby I know.” His hands were roaming your thighs and ass. Your underwear was cutting into you, but you couldn’t care less.
You slowly started to grind onto him, trying to find a rhythm in the limited space that you had. Yeonjun looked ahead, subtly watching if anyone walked by his car.
“You look so pretty, you know.” He spoke into your ear. “My dick inside of you in the front seat of my Porsche.” He suddenly gripped onto your hips, fucking you onto his cock.
“You’re my good girl, you know that?”
You couldn’t even answer, just let out a whimper of a moan.
“Repeat it back to me, baby.” His grip was so tight you thought his rings were going to make marks in your skin.
“I’m your…good girl.” You nearly choked on your words. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
Yeonjun could already tell by the way that you were clenching around him, and he probably wasn’t going to last much longer himself.
Yeonjun turned your face to look at him in one quick movement. “Yeah? I’m so fucking deep in you aren’t I?” His voice was low; you knew what he was doing.
The sounds of your cunt were obscene; Yeonjun loved every second of it. He studied your face as he angled your hips differently, cockhead hitting so deep that your jaw fell slack.
You’ve never looked so pretty to him. Honors student studying biology. Probably going to end up being a doctor. He knew you’d be decorated in cords at your graduation. But now, he was hitting so deep you couldn’t form a coherent sentence if you tried.
Letting out a rather loud whine when your orgasm finally hit you, Yeonjun kissed you, shushing you. After all, his car only had a tint; not soundproofing.
“Cum in me. Please, daddy.” You were nearly delirious, whimpering expletives. Yeonjun knew you were actually being serious, because you always begged him to. “That’s my reward, right?”
And how could he say no? Not when you were whining, begging as you pulled on his necklace to kiss him.
“You can take it all?” He asked. Stupid question. You always could, even if he had to fuck it back into you.
You eagerly nodded, lips jutting out to a pout before you kissed him again.
“God you drive me fucking insane.” Yeonjun’s last words before letting go of his orgasm that he was trying to hang onto. “You feel so fucking good.”
The fact that he was probably making a mess out of his seat was sent to the back of his mind. He’d deal with that later, because the moan that you let out made it all worth it.
“Fuck.” He was panting. “You have to be quiet.” Grinding his hips with yours; his cock was still inside of you making you slightly wince at how messy everything felt.
“Shit.” You muttered, looking down at where the two of your bodies connected.
“Yeah, I made a fuckin mess.” Yeonjun jokes, his hands roaming your thighs. “We should probably go back to my place….” His voice trailed off like it was a question.
“Hmm?” You were confused. “I thought you texted me earlier that you wanted to go to the Prada store, no?”
“Yes…” Yeonjun bit down on his bottom lip, smirking. “But I don’t think I'm finished with you yet.”
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☆ TAGS: @mhasimp666 @yunsbby @sikkkko
(strike through indicates I am unable to tag, please make sure your tagging feature is turned on!)
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spyder-junkie · 9 months
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EARTH-42 MILES MORALES X READER PART 2
part three ??
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4
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Honestly the death of his father traumatized Miles.
It taught him to hold on to the things he loves, things that make him happy, because nothing is forever.
And honestly he was looking for something to fill his father’s void, something to satisfy the itch being prowler couldn’t scratch.
So not even two days later, Miles shows up at you window.
He wanted to scope you out, see if you were something he’s like to spend his time on.
With any person hes ever thought of pursuing, the thought of having to tell them hes Prowler loomed over his shoulder.
But you already knew.
Hes dressed normally this time, and hes come at a reasonable hour.
You smile when you see him, opening the window immediately for him to crawl in.
“I aint’ catch you name.” is the first thing he says, dusting off his jeans.
“Y/n.” You reply, sitting down at your desk.
“What can I help you with, Miles?”
He pauses for a moment, almost forgetting what excuse he came up with.
“Check my wounds for me? You wrapped ‘em so well ian wanna unwrap em.” He says, face calm.
You look at him for a moment before shrugging.
“bien, siéntate.” You mumble, going to grab your first aid kit.
“You speak spanish?” Miles asks, sitting down on your bed and pulling his shirt from his body.
The big gash on his side is covered in bandages, blood stained.
“A little, I take a class at school.” You smile, bending down infront of him. He spreads his knees, letting you settle onto the ground infront of him.
He shuts his eyes tight as you unwrap the bandage.
“Thats a pretty chain.” You mumbled, using a cottonball to dab at the wound.
Miles’ hands come to to touch the chain hes wearing. It was one of the many things he half-hazardly bought with his work money.
“Where’d you get it? Ive been looking for something similar.” You ask.
“I honestly can’t remember.” He mumbles, from his tone you could only assume he was telling the truth.
“Thats okay, anyway Youre all good.” You say just finishing his bandages, standing up and putting your things away.
“Oh.” Miles mumbles, not realizing how little time that would take you.
“Anything else I can help you with, Prowler?” He shivers at the way the name rolls off your tongue.
“Guess not.” He says, standing up and walking towards the window. His hands are in his pockets.
He leaves, climbing back out your window and disappearing past the block.
After two days a package shows up at your door.
When you open it, you realize its a chain, identical to Miles’ and brand new.
You giggle a little while clasping it around your neck.
You dont see Miles again for two weeks.
“You know we can just schedule meet ups instead of you showing up to my window at night.” You say, watching as Miles in his normal clothes climbs out if the darkness and into your room.
He ignores your statement, taking his shoes and jacket off and sitting at your desk. He leans back, legs spread wide and eyes closed.
You shake you head, sitting down on your bed and facing him.
“Whats troubling you?” You ask.
“Nothing important.” He says quickly. He opens his eyes and looks at you.
“Youre wearing the chain.” He mumbles.
“Yeah.” You reach up and touch it. “It’s really nice, I thought you didn’t know where you got it from.”
Miles shrugs
“How much was it? I can pay you back-“
“Eres Bonita, you shouldnt have to pay for your own shit.” He cuts you off.
You pause.
“Thank you.” You smile, looking at his hard expression, he nods.
Its silent for a while, Miles just recollecting with his eyes closed.
“Youve been with the cops yet?” He asks calmly. The question startles you.
“…excuse me?”
“You got my name, you know my face, you could rat me out n’ get that reward money.” He says, opening his eyes to look at you.
“is that…what you want me to do..?” You ask, looking at him in confusion.
“Im asking why you haven’t already.” He stated.
“Oh. because I dont want to.”
Miles furrowed his eyebrows.
“I like you, Miles. Plus you helped me out when I needed you. What you do as the prowler doesn’t really concern me.” You say.
Miles stares at you a bit longer, gears turning in his head.
“You can believe me, Im not lying. Now its late, and I am kind of tired. Stay if you want, but my dad usually pops in at 7 to say hes leaving for work.” You say, moving the covers so you could properly get into bed.
You look over at Miles, whos still sitting quietly at you desk.
You lock eyes with him, holding out your hand.
He stares for a while longer, before slowly getting up and sitting on your bed.
He doesn’t get under the coveres, opting to sit with his back against the headboard. He lets you curl up besides him, laying your head in his lap.
His hand ghosts over your shoulder, rubbing soft circles with his thumb as your eyes close.
“Goodnight Miles.”
“…..goodnight y/n.”
When your father wakes you up the next morning as hes leaving, the bed is empty and Miles is gone.
You rub your eyes a little bit, looking to see if he left anything behind.
On your bedside table there was another note.
“ maybe we should schedule meet ups. xxx-xxx-xxxx -miles”
You smile to yourself, immediately putting his number in your phone.
tags:
@caffeine-mess @arachnenotes @erensbbg @nightshxdex @el-chiste @3alvatore @sh-tposter2021 @miatjie @agstuffsworld @ella34435 @iluvdi0r @pulling-out-my-eyes @vakiui @bigpepperpicker @swaggybae @tsukisaiki @osebb
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arthur-r · 2 years
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call me gregor samsa cause i keep having the type of unsettling dreams to wake me up changed in my bed to a monstrous vermin
#this is vaguely a vent i am so sorry#i know i said a couple weeks ago that when i metemorphosis reference i’m like. fine. but these dreams were genuinely so unsettling#i’m always at my school building i don’t know where to go except my one teachers classroom#and every time im on the way there without fail something terrifying happens#the one i just woke up from there was a kid knocking on the windows and pointing at there was claws emerging out of the ground#like something really scary had got buried and i said out loud in my dream hey listen i’m not gonna open the door cause either this is a bad#prank or this is the start of a terrifying dream. so no thank you. but a different kid opened the door#and the monster turned out to be a wolf but it was focused on me specifically. like i managed to get away but instead of chasing the hordes#of all the other students of my school running away it chased me specifically. like dream monsters always do#i hate having enough self awareness that i knew that monster was going to be the start of a bad dream. but not enough to change anything#anyway my sixth grade teacher was also there. in the hallway when i was on the way to my other teachers classroom#hey here’s a thing that happened: my mom asked if i can stay after every monday in his room. hey here’s another thing that happened:#my parents have been fighting so much that there’s no way i’m not staying after at least that much#and i think that if all i do there is stay after then i’m great and i’m golden. problems arise when i fall asleep in his class#can’t do that if i’m not in his friggin class. and he genuinely is the kindest adult to me ever and so my feelings are forever complicated#but at the end of the day i’m having dreams where monsters chase me toward his classroom. so. let’s see if i get any other adult role models#and then i can make a priority list. anyway i have work today. killing biting. different vent post to make#anyway it should go good actually. there’s just a lot of stuff hanging over my head#but hey i am very long overdue to watch the next episode of married at first sight. so. let me remove myself from this vent and be regular#and i am sorry for venting. this was just a very hard way to wake up#me. my post. mine.#delete later#vent cw#ask to tag for anything else
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pcheyes · 2 months
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the music god from your pre calculus class
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pairing: anton x fem reader
genre: fluff, strangers to friends ??
warnings: none
synopsis: the person who sits in your seat before you always puts music recommendations in the calculator, and you’re dying to know who it is
word count: 638
song suggestions: somethin stupid-frank sinatra
you walked into your pre calculus class and sat down. immediately you notice the calculator.
it isnt a fancy calculator, its just a school provided one, with a creepy eye drawing in the back. but everyday someone in the class before you types a song recommendation.
COME THRU-H.E.R.
everyday you try and get to class early to find the elusive person with the really good music taste, but you never catch them. you ask around for who sits there but they all laugh and walk away. you pull out your phone and go to spotify to add yet another song to your playlist called “randos music recommendations”. the playlist ranged from rnb, classical, jazz, to kpop. you continue the class trying to take notes but your mind wanders so you listen to his song from yesterday
FEATHER-SABRINA CARPENTER
‘who’s this person who leaves these songs?’
‘are they hot?’
‘what if im hallucinating all these songs?’
the bell rings and you walk to your next class, listening to the new song. 
⊹☾⋆⁺₊🎧✩°。
today you were determined.
and you had a plan
you would fake sick to get a pass to the nurses office before your calculus class, and you would creep towards the room and look in to see who sits there. the time came to fake cramps to go to the nurses office and when you did you made a beeline to the calculus class. theres a window peaking into the class so you decided to watch from there. you scope the classroom to find your seat and the mysterious music god who blesses you every day.
and when you do.
oh god you almost slipped from the stool you were standing on because he was beautiful. he had his headphones on and was working on the problem. the class period was ending so he started typing his song recommendation for the day. his friends came over and started talking to him. 
“dude are you ever gonna face her? these song thingies were sweet at first but its getting sad. you always relace your shoes and stretch so you can get out before she comes. i’ve been saying i dont know you for a solid week now” his friend said as he scoffed “sohee what the heck!” the headphone boy said (you had named him that once you saw his headphones) “what ever. i need a headstart, i think i heard her friends say shes sprinting to calc today. i cant take any chances.” he starts stretching and relacing his shoes. the bell rings and he runs out the class. you grab your bag and run after him. he ends off at the orchestra hall and you yank him by his backpack. he yelps and locks eyes with you.
“i finally found you, you music god!” you say out of breath.
he laughs “oh goody!”
“dude who the hell says oh goody” 
“sorry” he says. “look i’m late for my orchestra practice so could you just uh, god you’re really pretty, look at the calculator and call it a day” 
you pull out a market and motion for him to stick out his forearm. he gives it to you and you write your number on his forearm. 
“make sure to send all your song recommendations to me. my ears are blessed after your beautiful songs or something.” his cheeks turn a deep scarlet. “oh uh yeah sure sure i’ll send it to you totally.” you nod and start walking away. suddenly he shouts after you “your hair looks really pretty today! not that it doesnt look pretty every day, i just like the slick back in the front, with the little curls in the front. it frames your face really well. makes you look extra beautiful.” you smile back at him.
“thanks music boy”
authors note: we need to bring back loser anton, he hasnt been his loser self since love 119. but i actually do this everyday in maths class and someone caught me leaving the class late and screamed “ITS THE MUSIC GIRL !!” but thanks to @chlorinecake and @kairoot for the songs !!
taglist: @unikivrse msg or comment to be added
feedback, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated
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riaki · 3 months
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haii >:3 i was wondering of you could write a thing on if reader was a classmatw of gojo when they were in jujutsu tech? ur hsbullt gojo was really well written 💗
sorry if i sound rude, im not familiar with how tumblr works ;(
hey there!! thank u sm for ur ask nonnie ! hope this is good... and don’t worry!!!! ur perfectly fine my love 🤍
classmates | satoru gojo x reader cw: calls u princess, swearing
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1:34PM. 5/21/06 - JUJUTSU TECH GYM - more than friends, less than lovers
"fucking hell, satoru!" you rub your head slowly, gritting your teeth as pain hammers the side of your skull; feels like a bruise is going to form, and you’re pretty sure you have basketball line marks on your face.
satoru jogs over to you, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking on the gym floor. there's that pesky grin on his lips again, and his eyes shine, a vibrant glow of youth. he’s not apologetic at all, you think with gritted teeth. he slows to a stop a few yards away from you, a panting, sweaty mess, yet you find yourself irritably drawn to him either way. he shoots you a quick wink, fanning himself with his shirt in a way that lets the dip of his hip expose itself to the musty air of the gym. a droplet of sweat slides down his skin, and your face burns.
"yo! pass me that ball, [name]." he waves an eager hand towards you, and you roll your eyes, tossing the basketball in his direction. it lands square on his chest with a thump, eliciting a little ‘oof’ from his lips and pressing the cotton of his shirt against his damp skin. and it sticks, defining his muscles in patches of wet cloth. the summer heat must really be getting to you, because the sound of his voice has your thoughts running far, far away from you.
you’re yanked back into reality when a little huff escapes his glossy lips, wiping his forehead and messing up his soft white hair, stray strands clinging together over his eyes. shoko made away with his sunglasses, which means you’ve got a front seat view of those gorgeous, yet equally uncanny irises. "hey, you've got a solid throw. you should give it a shot, yeah? why not join me 'n suguru for a round—"
“hell no.”
he just laughs at that, haughty and everything you should really learn to hate as he turns on his heel and heads back toward the center of the court, where suguru is waiting with an irked expression on his face.
“suit yourself, princess.” he tosses a wave in your direction of his shoulder, and you raise a hand to your chest, feeling your heart slam against your ribcage.
9:02AM. 11/06/07 - JUJUTSU TECH CLASSROOM - best friends
“so.”
gojo glances at you, as if surprised you broke the silence. you can see your own reflection in the lens of his shades, hiding his gaze from the world. sunlight filters in through the windows; it’s early, a break between classes. it shouldn’t be stuffy in the classroom with the windows open, but it still feels suffocating.
you stare at him, and he stares back from his seat atop your desk. his lips are curved down in that usual unamused look he’s always sporting, but there seems to be weight in his shoulders; a ghost tugging his muscles down, stiffening the muscles in his neck to the point where you wish you could just offer him a massage. but you’re not sure if he’d let you get close enough to ever do that.
“what?” he snaps, glaring at you as he sticks his bottom lip out. at least, you think he’s glaring— it’s been harder to tell lately, what’s on his mind. not that you were ever able to read him easily before, though. he likes to hide.
you kick the leg of the desk he’s sitting on with a foot, sighing and humming to yourself for a moment or two. you don’t see it, but gojo’s expression softens slightly and he looks back up at the ceiling again, callused fingers curling around the edge of the desk. the pale color of his skin makes the veins on his hands more prominent; a subtle, muted blue that makes you want to run a hand over his arm.
the two of you had stopped by a store that morning. you’d bought a cup of coffee and two onigiri for yourselves, but it seems like he’s already finished his. you know right now is the prime time for his appetite to flare up— with adolescence and all, but he doesn’t seem to be eating much. or at least, not from what you can tell.
“here, have this.”
gojo glances down at you once more, letting himself observe you with his full vision; not one that’s always hidden behind a layer of thick black stained glass, meant to absorb the pain and the headaches for him. you, who’s so gentle and soft with him— surely you wouldn’t cause him any sort of aching, if not for the one inside the cavity of his chest. it takes him a moment to realize you’re holding out something to him— your onigiri, half eaten. there’s a shriveled little plum showing, burrowed between the layers of sticky rice and dry seaweed wrappings.
he’s uncharacteristically silent as he grabs it from you, the crinkle of the plastic wrapping the only noise in the world as he stares at it for a moment before starting to eat. his cheek puffs when he starts chewing; the bob of his adam’s apple in his throat when he swallows makes it hard for you to stifle a smile. even with the weight of all he’s carrying, gojo still manages to look like a child every now and then. you can’t help but think he’s grown up too fast.
you let a moment of silence pass, stealing a long glance at him as he busies himself with his half of the rice ball, wolfing it down.
“i know i cant offer much to you, satoru…” you started quietly; tenderly, if he listened closely. the way you say his name makes his throat constrict in a way he’s not familiar with.
“…but if you ever need something— anything— i’ll be here. plus, i never finish my onigiri anyway. so you can have the half i don’t eat,” you laughed, closing your eyes and listening to the morning breeze outside. gojo takes the opportunity to observe you; the soft curve of your cheeks, the way your lashes curl, the soft fade of your full lips at the edges and the hair that frames your face.
you can feel his eyes on you, but you let him get away with it. it feels like an infinite eternity goes by before his voice finally cuts through the thick air.
“…have you been resting? the bags under your eyes are darker than usual.” he pokes at you, shifting again, but you seem to revel in the comfortable familiarity of his banter; something that makes his heart ache in a way only you elicit from him. the way you pull at his heart strings is so natural and easy that it’s unnatural to ignore.
“probably more than you have,” you teased. gojo sniffles, and you chalk it up to the seasonal illnesses.
2:46AM. 12/07/08 - JUJUTSU TECH DORMS - ?
it’s half past two in the morning when you get gojo’s text. or, more accurately, the one you forced him to send when he returned from his mission.
m done. u can come pver
he looks a little too much like a zombie when you knock on the door of his dorm and it swings open for you, revealing him in all his tired glory. the bags under his eyes are redder and darker than usual, and his hair is tussled and messy. it’s obvious he hasn’t bothered to clean himself up. his white tee is stained with something damp; his tears, but you don’t dwell on it. there’s a bandaid on the bottom of his jaw; you can see a hint of angry red scrapes peeking out from beneath the beige material.
“you look like shit.”
“are you gonna come in or not?”
you oblige and step inside, the plastic bag in your hand rustling with each movement. it’s a bit loud, and you just pray you don’t get caught sneaking into gojo’s room this late at night. at least you know which boards creak.
he closes the door behind you, crossing his arms over his chest and observing you. you look the same as you always do, but the way your hair falls over your face makes him want to brush it back, like some unresolved impulse. he doesn’t do anything about it; hanging around you for so long has taught him how to keep himself in control. for as long as he can manage, anyway.
he speaks up first, voice hoarse and low with lack of use. “what’s in the bag?” he makes it sound like it’s something illegal. and at this point, you’re not sure if the feeling that pushes you to do things for him should be considered so, because sometimes it feels like it.
“a birthday cake. or— it’s a fruit tart i stayed up to make.” you said, placing the bag on his cluttered desk, pushing away photo frames and bloody tissues and pencils shaven down to eraser stubs to make room for the box. satoru meanders over to you, peering over your shoulder with one hand on the desk to support himself. you can feel his breath on your neck, hot even in the darkness. it makes your hands clammy.
moonlight spills in from the windows next to his bed, but it’s not enough, so you turn on the lamp and open the box. the tart’s been through quite a bit— jostled in transport, marred in the making— but the sweet smell of fruit and cream makes his mouth water nonetheless.
“wow, that’s nice of you. weirdly so, actually. are you really [name]?” you can hear the grin in satoru’s voice, and you know he can hear the exasperation in your voice when you reply, using the plastic utensils you packed to cut a slice for him. the red strawberry juice stains the cream as your knife slices through, a rivulet of vermillion.
“shut up and be grateful. you get the slice with kiwi and the rotten blueberries just for that,” you huff, indignantly in a way that reminds satoru of a rather petulant housecat. he takes the tart from you, cold fingers ghosting over yours as the golden brown crust crumbles in his palm.
ignoring the sour berries, the taste is like a bite of heaven, but not the distant kind that’s hidden behind a veil of clouds. the kind that’s only found within the quaint, humble warmth of a homely kitchen, made with love by one’s own hand. your hand. the knowledge tastes all the sweeter on his tongue.
he’s snapped from his dazed pastry-savoring stupor when you speak up again, enjoying a slice of your own.
“happy birthday, gojo.” he stiffens, but he’s not quite sure why. if you notice his change in demeanor, you don’t say anything about it.
“congrats to another year,” you smiled, lifting up your half-eaten tart, not unlike the onigiri you’d shared with him a year ago. except this time he reciprocates, and you share a toast of berries and cream in the darkness of his dorm, at 3am on a quiet sunday.
the dorms are silent. the only sound is the wind outside, throwing leaves and dust at the window panes as it sings a tune in ode to winter. come tomorrow, it’ll likely be silenced by a coating of thick, white snow; unmoving, burying the secrets of the earth beneath the glittering icicles. not unlike the boy next to you, with pretty blue eyes that are constantly focused yet distant all the same, hair the color of clouds and face worn with age unbefitting of a child.
come tomorrow, the snow will fall and snuff out the life of the flowers and plants. but in this tranquil bubble of time, satoru is as free as a dove outside of its silver cage.
he reaches over, pulling you in by the sleeve of your night shirt and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. it happens in the blink of an eye; a moment of impulse, where for once, he allows himself to breathe; to let down the walls he literally holds up around him, to let his fingers curl into the fabric of your clothes and breathe in your scent, taste the heat on your skin and the buttery sweet crumbs dotting the curve of your lips; the dips in the corners of your mouth that make you always look so pretty when you smile.
when he pulls away, he refuses to meet your gaze, instead staring down at the only remaining clue of the tart in his palm— a single, rotten blueberry, squishy and soft. the silence rings in his ear as his face becomes hot.
“what was that for?” you ask quietly, staring angrily— in embarrassment, into nothing.
“there were crumbs on your mouth,” he explains.
nothing more, nothing less.
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my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !
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IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹
ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.
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pairing. jonathan breech x reader
summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?
warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 
word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)
a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO
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i. 
There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 
The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?
He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 
You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 
Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 
“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”
You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 
He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 
The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 
Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 
At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?
Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 
But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 
That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 
“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”
Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 
You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”
“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”
When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 
“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 
The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.
“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.
You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 
“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.
“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 
The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.
“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.
“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.
“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”
You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.
“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”
You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 
It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 
He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 
At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.
Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 
“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 
Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 
“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”
You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.
“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 
You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 
He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”
“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 
“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 
Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 
The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.
ii.
Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 
You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 
You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.
You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 
Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 
But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 
“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”
 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.
“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 
You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 
You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 
Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 
“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 
He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  
Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.
But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 
“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 
You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 
Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 
But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 
You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 
So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 
He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.
This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”
His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 
“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”
Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 
It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 
“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.
“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 
“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 
Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 
Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 
It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 
You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.
So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 
When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.
You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 
Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 
It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.
Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“
But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 
In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 
Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?
If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?
It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  
“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”
He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 
“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 
Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”
“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”
“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”
“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 
At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”
“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.
“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.
“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”
“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.
He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”
The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.
“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”
“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”
“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.
“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”
“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”
“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“
It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 
(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)
“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”
“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”
Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”
“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 
“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”
He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”
“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 
Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 
“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”
You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 
Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?
You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 
Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”
“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”
“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 
That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.
You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 
“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”
You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”
“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.
“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 
“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 
When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 
He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 
That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.
“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”
Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 
You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 
“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 
“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.
“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 
Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 
You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 
However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 
Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 
You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 
“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”
You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 
The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 
Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 
“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.
With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”
Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 
After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 
He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”
“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 
Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 
“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  
Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 
At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?
“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”
Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 
“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”
He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 
“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”
“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 
You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”
Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 
At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 
“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 
“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 
Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 
You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 
“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 
Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 
“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 
You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 
Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 
Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 
Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 
There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 
When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.
“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 
You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.
“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”
You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 
At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.
You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 
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starrshaddow · 3 months
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part 2 of that university mizu i wrote
So you have her hoodie right?
Its so big on you btw (reaches your thighs) but it's also very comfy.
You're on your way home, on the bus. She waved at you goodbye from outside the window. Of course you waved back. Without her hoodie, she's just wearing a plain tee shirt.
It's not even cold in the bus.
Hell, its not even that cold outside too.
So u cant help but smile at her caring gesture.
Your hand goes up to your lips to suppress the big smile on your face.
then you realize her hoodie smells like her too.
Now her perfume is stuck on you too.
You could still smell her perfume even after you've taken off her hoodie
___
You texted her that you'll return it tomorrow. You both have your respective classes. she has morning class while you have afternoon classes.
Lmk if your class is done, im waiting outside ur building :))
That was your mesage an hour ago. She didnt respond.
You constantly looked at the time and checked her schedule, double thinking whether or not this is her actual building.
Ding!
I'm omw
it wasnt too long until she walked out of the building with her bag slung over her shoulder. You smile.
Then you notice there was someone else with her.
Whoever he was, he was creating years amount of stress on mizu's face
"Why'd you keep telling me to go away? Not like i'm going to scare her off! Or maybe you're scared. You scared she'd ditch you for me once she sees me? What? You scared?"
"shut up." mizu said through gritted teeth
Then her serious and annoyed expression quickly shifted to a more softer and gentler when she sees you.
Her brow relaxes and she stops walking fast, trying to escape her chatterbox of a 'friend'.
You smile at her and you wave.
You look at the man beside her a polite smile and an acknowledging nod.
You walk to Mizu to give her a paperbag
"thanks"
She looked confused as she peaked inside the paperbag
"its- uh, your hoodie," you point yourself, "the one you let me borrow? Remember? Yesterday?"
She huffed a laugh at your stammering
"i was hoping you're not going to return it."
Huh?
She gave you back the paperbag
"keep it."
You look at it in uncertainty, you glance at the man beside her who also seems kinda surprised, then to mizu who looks at you encouragingly.
Take it.
Is what she seems to say.
So you did, but unable to look her for long in the eye from being flustered.
"Thanks?" you laughed. "Do you want to have breakfast?"
"It's eleven."
You rolled your eyes
"then brunch."
Then you remembered her friend,
"oh,- uh, he can come with if he wants to! What's your name, by the way?"
"Taigen!-" "Absolutely not."
Taigen looked at Mizu like she just told him to go to hell. (she kind of did, in her mizu way)
even you were taken back by her cold COLD COLD voice.
"he's busy." mizu said with finality.
Taigen frowned
"What's with you? Can't i atleast meet your new friend? Its not everyday you get a new friend! Dude, come on!"
Mizu turns to him with a sharp glare behind her glasses.
Taigen huffs and walks away.
"Whatever. Fucking rude." then he smiles at you, a very good smile that probably has the intent in looking handsome. "My names Taigen by the way, if you ever get done with Mizu's bitchiness my number is-"
Mizu just pushed him away by his face and went to you, grabbed you by the hand and speed walked out of there (it was hard to keep up, she walks fast).
"he's something."
"something to get rid of, more of." she responded quickly, it made you laugh.
That was when you started asking her if she have other people in the uni she's close with. She said yes and told you about akemi and ringo.... and taigen.
"out of all of them, i like being with you the most."
GIRL COME ON
SHE'S SUPER INTO YOU BUT YOU DONT WANT TO JUMP INTO CONCLUSIONS
THIS UNI READER AND MIZU IS MAKING ME PULL OUT MY HAIR
Mizu: i am literally in love with you
Reader: oh haha i love my friends too
___
Mizu started introducing you to her friends one by one after that. She wasnt surprised to see you and ringo get along since you both share a very calm and kind vibe.
Akemi, you were a bit hesitant at first. I think you felt somewhat insecure? She just looks so pretty, and...
"Oh, this is (Y/n)? It's nice to finally meet you!"
But when she spoke to you and you start talking to her, she's a very interesting person. She's kind, have that fierceness in her, but honest and polite. She's cool, and you got along well with her.
Then there's taigen.
You didnt hate him, but he does get overwhelming at times. He does say funny comments.
You thought him and mizu's interaction was the best it can be but man, is seeing him, mizu, and akemi banter is the best.
It's like a sitcom. Insults thrown here and there which usually ends with taigen with his ego or face bruised.
___
the most memorable thing you two had was during a party
Its so full of people, like touching shoulders at how many there were and you were both just there to pop in and say hi to akemi, wish her a happy birthday. Stay a few hours and leave to hang out somewhere.
You two love doing that. going in a very extroverted place just to say you went only to leave early to do whatever introverted stuff you two want to do (like stop by the grocery because you needed to restock, or stop by the park on mizu's way home because there are cats there)
anyways, so there were so many people right?? And they were havng fun, its loud, they're dancing. and you're starting to feel bothered by them. You and mizu are holding hands to get through the people. You both want to go home but you still have to find akemi.
She stops to make sure you're close behind her, and just as you were about to catch up to her, the crows moves like a tidal wave you end up being caught in it like a fish caught in the currents.
You get shoved so hard that you let go of mizu's hand and end up stumbling forward.
Youre pressed up to someone
and youre too embarassed and too scared to look.
Then you smell their perfume
Mizu.
Your heart thumps.
And you stopped breathing when she shifts, so your head is tucked under her jaw. Her hand finding its way around your waist
it was like she was shielding you away from the people, a crowd that you hate so much.
She's warm. super warm
Or maybe its just you and your lesbian disaster tendencies?
The fact that your height difference was even made more obvious in this situation wasnt helping
Then the crowd shifts and finally there's space again.
And even when there was space, she didnt pull away.
So you did.
You pulled away because you didnt want to make her uncomfortable, not knowing she cherished every single second of it.
That was the first time you two even made physical contact. Like straight up somewhat intimate physical contact that goes more than hand holding and arm touches.
None of you mentioned it on the way home.
But you were both thinking about it.
(i bet mizu felt giddy over it but her face remained stoic lmao)
___
i think mizu thinks you dont like her back the same way she likes you. (come on, she might as well marry you at this point)
So i think what she did was she wanted to enjoy your presence and convesations and decided she'll tell you when she can see that you feel the same way. if you still dont reciprocate her feelings then she'll definitely court you (in a non obvious way) until you do
___
when she came over to your apartment it was when you definitely trust her lotsa to be there.
You guys watched movies in a projector. Overtime it made mizu sleepy and she drifted off.
You were so invested in the movie you just noticed it when you heard her low soft breathing. (she's quiet during the movie, she made little comments and remarks like "why would she go there? Is she stupid?")
SHES SO CUTE WHEN SHES ASLEEP OKAY
She looks so unguarded.
So you took your phone and snapped a pic. You even replaced her contacts picture to it.
Her hair was down today (rare times). You think it looks great on her too.
when she woke up, she was super embarassed and apologetic
"no, its fine! Dont worry about it." then you showed her her picture. "you look really cute by the way."
Mizu didnt know how to react??? But she did march towards you to grab your phone but you easily held it away and dodged her.
She gave up
so she stood there and looked you directly in the eyes. Face half amused and adoring
"you're such a fucking brat."
Then she left and went back to your couch. Her long hair swaying behind her.
i'd be lying if i said that statement lived rent free in your mind
That was the first time you heard her curse
___
if she went in your home, you did too in her dorm. it was during a school break. Her roommate was away visiting her family.
Turns out she lived closer to the uni than you. It's just a few minutes walk away.
it made you feel warm knowing she had to walk maybe ten minutes? just to wait for the bus with you, and walk another ten to go back here again.
She never mentioned it too
Mizu's a real clean freak kind of person, she wants everything to be organized. But you also learned she cant cook. She even burned a pasta, how do you burn a pasta?!
"i didnt know i had to boil water first."
"well what did you do first?"
She was silent then she turned away from you
"...i placed the pasta in a pan with oil."
You dont know what to say anymore
I think youre the one to teach her (other than ringo) how to cook.
Also when you both were cutting vegetables, mizu held her knife wrong so you'll correct her and teach her how.
"here, let me show you."
You held her and positioned the knife properly on her hand. While you explained and taught her how to easily slice a cabbage, you missed how she cheekily smiled.
We all know how great mizu is with a knife.
She just wanted a reason to hold your hand.
"ringo, i dont think i'll be going to your cooking lessons next week."
"what? why? Is my teaching skills not good?" ringo asked worriedly
"no, you're great, ringo. I just..." she smiled, "want to learn from someone else."
___
I think the gang had enough of you two pining each other like a bunch of idiots, so they all had the plan of getting you both drunk after exams under the excuse of 'celebrating'.
But it didnt work
Because you were incredibly responsible and drink slowly (two hours have passed and you're still drinking from the same glass)
While mizu didnt drink at all (she knows what they're doing and she doesnt like it because she wants you or her to confess during the right time and place while being sober. hell no is she going to drunkleny confess to you at the sidewalk).
The gang (mostly taigen) tried to force either of you to drink but it didnt work.
Akemi nudged taigen from under the table. And that was their cue to go to Plan B.
Plan B? Taigen starts hitting on you (was supposed to be inconspicuously but he's bad at being inconspicuous)
compliments you, jokes that made you laugh, and jabs of insults to mizu.
anyways, i think mizu got annoyed and went up to go to the bathroom.
You notice and excuse yourself from the group. You go after her.
She was cleaning her glasses with the end of her shirt when you got there.
You see the slight furrow in her brow and the tightness on her jaw.
You smile comfortingly at her.
"Wanna ditch this place with me?"
"You can stay. You look like you're enjoying yourself, anyways."
She doesn't return your smile like she usually do. She wasn't joking.
your smile falters and you slowly approach her.
"What do you mean? Of course i am, they're our friends."
I think mizu's upset because she's starting to think you really dont like her at all. Or maybe you just don't like a 'her' in general. You don't giggle the same way as you did to taigen, nor do your eyes shine when he compliments you.
She wants to leave and think.
Mizu sighs and turns to you
"i'm going. Tell them that for me."
"what?" you grab her hand when she walks past you. "Mizu, what- where are you doing? What's wrong?"
Should she say it?
Say how much she likes you that it's absolutely breaking seeing you not realize it?
She wanted to scoff.
Hell no. She's not going to admit just because fucking Taigen started hitting on you.
Then she looks at you, and just like that all her frustrations and annoyance washes away.
You looked genuinely upset and worried for her.
Your eyes are sad, and you're looking up to her like she just told you she's leaving forever.
Oh
She sees it now.
That all this time you have been looking at her differently, but she wasn't able to see it because she sees you all the time.
You look at her with so much longing and care that it made her feel weak.
So she holds your hand that's gripping her wrist and offers you a gentle smile.
"I'm going to tell them we're going. How's that?"
There it is.
Your heartfelt smile.
"Okay."
373 notes · View notes
imaslutforwritingshit · 5 months
Text
Things Ethan Landry would text- (Fem Friend Reader) PART 3
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Warnings- mentions of smut, knifeplay, sexting, fearplay, confessions to murder.
If you guys like this, I’ll make an extended version, where I write a story in Y/n’s pov that happens after this texting story:)
The Ballad Of Terror
Y/n: hey loser
Ethan: Loser? that’s new.
Y/n: but true
Ethan: no good night text, bunny?
Y/n: ugh stop calling me that. I promise I don’t jump that weird.
Ethan: in PE class you look like a rodent
Y/n: shut up
Y/n: I want something else first before you get your good night text
Ethan: let me guess. You need homework answers?
Y/n: I don’t get anything in science. I don’t even know what a molecule is.
Ethan: luckily I’m smart.
Y/n: luckily.
Ethan: click to view
Y/n: thank u <3
Ethan: np.
Ethan: hey, how are you and David doing together?
Y/n: why?
Ethan: I’m just curious
Y/n: maybe being curious isn’t always the right thing to be
Ethan: I’m your friend who wants you to be happy.
Y/n: I am happy
Ethan: with David?
Y/n: why are you asking that like david can’t make me happy?
Ethan: because I don’t think he could
Y/n: he does.
Ethan: oh, yeah?
Y/n: yes.
Ethan: as in, present tense?
Y/n omg yes
Y/n: why do you care so much?
Ethan: you broke up with him last night.
Y/n: how did you know that?
Y/n: Ethan??
Y/n: who told you
Ethan: no one told me.
Y/n: then why the fuck do you know?
Ethan: I watched you get that text. You cried over your bedside table.
Ethan: don’t leave me on read
Ethan: cmon
Y/n: how do you know
Ethan: I watched you through the window.
Y/n: you’re my friend
Y/n: this is scaring me
Ethan: Don’t be scared. Remember when you told me that you loved the real me?
Y/n: yes.
Ethan: this is the real me.
Y/n: a stalker?
Ethan: For you,
Ethan: Yes.
Y/n: if you were watching me, what was I wearing?
Ethan: That Ivy League shirt I bought for you in 2018.
Y/n: what pants, then ??
Ethan: oh, that’s the best part.
Y/n: please
Ethan: you weren’t wearing any
Ethan: you hiked your thighs to your chest
Ethan: you were wearing black panties
Y/n: you’re a fucking creep
Ethan: don’t be like that.
Y/n: how long has this been going on?
Ethan: How long have I been in love with you?
Ethan: or watching you sleep
Ethan: ?
Y/n: i should call the police. do you stalk other girls?
Ethan: you’re the only one for me
Ethan: nobody makes me feel the way you make me feel
Ethan: All those girls meant nothing to me. They couldn’t replace you.
Y/n: what girls?
Y/n: you’re a manwhore now?
Ethan: don’t be stupid. I didn’t fuck anyone
Ethan: I killed them
Y/n: im calling the police
Ethan: I disconnected the system from your number
Ethan: you can’t call anyone for help
Y/n: what do you want from me?
Ethan: Don’t you want to know?
Ethan: Why I did it?
Y/n: no
Ethan: I want to hurt you. Is that bad?
Ethan: it just turns me on so much
Ethan: to imagine you begging for me
Ethan: begging me not to slice you open
Ethan: fuck your brains out until your screaming my name
Ethan: i want to use you
Ethan: and you and I both know you would enjoy it
Y/n: you’re ghostface
Ethan: oh
Ethan: what gave it away ?
Y/n: you piece of shit.
Ethan: I don’t think you should insult me right now
Y/n: why? you gonna kill me??
Ethan: don’t tempt me.
Y/n: but apparently I already am. I’m basically asking for a knife to my throat, aren’t I?
Y/n: to watch your cock enter me as you choke me
Y/n: god, it would turn me on so much!!!
Ethan: I don’t take sarcasm too well
Ethan: if your asking for it, I’ll give it to you.
Y/n: im blocking you
Ethan: you can’t hide
Y/n: I’ll lock my doors. Get my parents to call the cops when they come back.
Ethan: your parents aren’t home?
Ethan: That changes things.
Y/n: I locked everything
Y/n: leave me alone
Ethan: why did you assume I was outside your house?
Y/n: please leave me alone
Ethan: let’s play a game of hide and seek, y/n.
Ethan: you run
Ethan: you hide
Ethan: and we’ll see if I can catch you.
Ethan: and if I do…
Ethan: god, I love making you my victim.
Y/n: Ethan please
Ethan: 3
Ethan: 2
Ethan: 1
Ethan: time to run, bunny.
🩷
511 notes · View notes
pleasingforharry · 1 year
Text
Quiet!YN Gets Jealous
college!harry x quiet!yn
SUMMARY: Based on this Ask -  Hey! Can we have more of college harry? Im literally obsessed with him😮‍💨 maybe something about y/n getting jealous with angst or she does something that pisses h off but they make up? Anything tbh!
WORD COUNT: 12.4k
WARNINGS: Angst and smut
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it’s back. did some changes here and there. hope you enjoy it (again)
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Harry liked Y/N a lot. She knew that. And even though being in a relationship didn’t stop girls from trying to seduce him, Harry still continued to look the other way when they approached him. He only wanted Y/N. She knew that.
So, why the fuck was she so jealous?
Harry was popular, and even now that he was with someone, that didn’t change his social status. Everyone wanted to be around him because he was just a great person overall. But Harry made it known that certain parts of himself were only reserved for his girlfriend. And Y/N knew that.
So, why the fuck was she so jealous?
They’ve had many short but heated arguments about it. How every time Harry wasn’t with Y/N, he was accompanied by some girl who had attached herself to his side. And how Harry always brushed it off because to him, it didn’t mean anything. He loved Y/N and couldn’t get her off his mind. So, girls could continue to try, however, nothing was going to change.
But to Y/N, Harry was okay with girls having their way with him. She felt as if she was sharing her boyfriend when she wasn’t around.
Every time she would bring it up, Harry would kiss her long and lovingly, letting her know that it was nothing she needed to worry about.
So, why the fuck was she so jealous?
And those thoughts led to the couple's most recent argument. Y/N wanted to surprise Harry at his frat house with ice cream from their favorite spot, More Scoops, after her classes. She hadn't told him that her last class had been canceled, which met she would have extra hours with him. She was overjoyed about it and wanted to see him as soon as possible.
She asked her platonic uncle, Coach James, who was also Harry’s soccer coach, to pick her up and drive her there because the walk would have taken up valuable time.
“I’ve never seen you so eager to get to some boy’s house and eat ice cream with him, kiddo. I feel like I should meet him formally, huh?” Coach James chuckled as he held the bag of ice cream for Y/N. She slid out his truck and turned to give him an annoyed look.
“You see him all the time at practice, Uncle James,” Y/N took the bag from him and shut the door as he rolled the passenger window down.
“I know, but I just always wanted to say that,” He exclaimed. “Have fun, kiddo. See you later.”
“Thanks again,” She waved as he drove off.
Y/N made her way up to the frat house and knocked on the door. She was surprised to see that some random guy had opened it for her.
“And who are you, beautiful?” He smirked, moving out of the way to let her in. Y/N remained frozen in place, not wanting to give him the opportunity to check her out as she passed by.
But Niall was quick to intervene and save her. “Marsh, do something better with your life. Goodness,” he scoffed as he smacked him in the back of the head.
“Damn, I was just being nice,” Marsh groaned before stalking away, grumbling under his breath. Y/N internally relaxed and smiled, relieved. Niall let her in and shut the door behind them. 
“Hey, what are you doing here? Isn’t Harry supposed to get you from class later?” 
"Yeah, but my last one got canceled, so I came to surprise him," she nodded as she proudly showed him the ice cream bag.
“He’ll love it,” Niall laughed, gesturing for a high-five. “And we’ve got a busy house today, so yell if another version of Marsh bothers you. I’ll come save you again,” He winked at her. Y/N smirked and thanked Niall before skipping to Harry’s room.
He wasn’t wrong when he said it was busy because there were people everywhere. There was no party going on, but each roommate had about a thousand friends, and headquarters happened to be the house her boyfriend lived at.
It was definitely an adjustment.
Y/N finally made it to Harry’s room, but before she knocked, she heard voices on the other side.
“Yeah, practice was a fucking nightmare yesterday. My hamstrings are killing me.”
“Really? Want me to massage them for you?”
“Ha ha, yeah right.”
“No, seriously. I kinda wanna know what soccer thighs feel like. They look so tight and firm, but soft at the same time.”
“Something like that.”
“So, may I?”
Before she could listen to any more, Y/N swung the door open, her gaze darting to her boyfriend and the last person she wanted to see with him. Peyton.
Out of all the girls that Harry knew, Peyton was the closest to him. They'd been friends since freshman year, and she's always had a crush on Harry. He was aware of it because she made it abundantly clear, but he never felt the same way. She was like a sister to him, and he preferred her as a best friend than his girlfriend.
Peyton was annoyed at Harry for it, but she kept trying and wouldn't give up on them. Yes, Harry knew that she still liked him and should have communicated that there was a line that couldn't be crossed, but she was his best friend. It was difficult to keep her at arm's length when he never had to do so before.
Harry was laid out on his bed, and Peyton was in his swivel chair, but rolled by his side. Y/N was slightly relieved that there was some kind of distance between them.
“Hey, baby. What are you doing here?” Harry asked. He sat up from his bed and motioned her over with open arms. “I’m supposed to get you from class in like two hours.” He was a little taken back that she was in his room and not in class, but nevertheless ecstatic to see her.
“Canceled,” was all she said, not moving from her spot as she continued her stare down with Peyton, who had a short smirk on her face. “Hello.”
“Hey, Y/N. Haven’t seen you in a minute,” she spoke sweetly. “H and I were just talking about you.”
Harry rolled his eyes as he knew what Peyton was implying but executing in a taunting way. “Valentine’s day is coming up, so I was thinking about date ideas,” He corrected her, leaning over to push her shoulder, which she chuckled at. “Don’t be an asshole.”
Y/N nodded and fiddled with the ties of the plastic bag. She didn’t know what to say as she still wanted an explanation for what was about to happen if she hadn’t walked in.
“I heard you guys out there,” she mumbled, now uncomfortable with eye contact and glancing down at her twitching feet. Peyton sniffled a laugh and looked over at Harry. He knew what she was trying to accuse him of and that an argument was slowly stirring.
“Okay? So, now you know I need my baby to come and soothe my aching legs,” He jokingly whined, hoping to avoid it. “Come.”
“Why? You were about to let Peyton do it for me,” She shrugged. “I’ll get out of your way. Have fun.” She turned on her heel and stepped towards the door.
“Y/N, wait,” He stopped her. “We all know that wasn’t going to happen.” She scowled as she peered over her shoulder at Harry.
“Did she know that, though?” She motioned to Peyton. The girl was spinning in his chair, letting the couple duke it out. She only listened in smug amusement. Y/N made it too easy.
“Yes, because you are my girlfriend and she isn’t.”
“Shame,” Peyton muttered under her breath. Before Y/N could snap a remark at her, Harry got to it first.
“Get out, Peyton,” He pointed to the door.
She shot her hands up in surrender. “I’m joking, H. Swear.”
“I don’t care, don’t say shit like that. Get out.”
“You knew I was joking, right, Y/N?” She desperately sought to her for help.
“Don’t talk to her; you’ve already upset her. I will physically throw you out if you don’t leave now,” Harry barked. Peyton sighed and stood up.
She and Y/N exchanged dark looks that said a thousand words. As it was just Peyton, Y/N had no intention of backing down from her glare. She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Ice cream?” She lifted the bag in between them.
“No thanks,” Peyton scoffed before walking out and slamming the door as a last statement.
When the couple was finally alone, Harry held his breath to cautiously watch his girlfriend. Her shoulders dropped as she realized how tense they were. Without looking at Harry, she moved to his mini fridge and stocked away the ice cream. She suddenly wasn’t in the mood for it anymore.
“Why’d you get ice cream? Special occasion?” Harry spoke first.
“Not really, but I killed my speech in Public Speaking and felt great. My last class got canceled so I thought ‘what better way to spend those two hours than with my boyfriend and ice cream’. Tried to get here as fast as I could to surprise you, and you know the rest,” Y/N explained, sitting across the room from him, on top of his desk. Her arms crossed as she stared at him.
Harry nodded, “Well, first off, I’m proud of you, baby. Congrats on a great speech.”
“Thank you,” She brushed him off quick.
“And thank you for coming to surprise me. I’m so happy you’re here.”
Are you? She wanted to comment, but bit back her tongue.
Harry tapped his thighs as Y/N blinked at him. He knew what she wanted to discuss, but he didn’t want talk about it. He attempted to divert the subject by asking about the ice cream she bought.
“What flavors did you get us?” He motioned to the fridge aside her.
Y/N just shook her head and laughed. “Can we just talk about it because I’m really concerned?”
“Why? I told you nothing was going to happen,” He shrugged. “Now come here and kiss me. I’m really concerned about my lack of kisses today,” He quipped.
Despite her intent to keep her strict demeanor, Y/N really missed him and was just glad to be with him. Her eyes rolled as she pushed off his desk and walked over to him. As soon as he could reach her, he snatched his girlfriend into his arms with a wide smile on his lips.
“My baby!” He cooed and threw her behind him on his bed, before quickly climbing on top of her.
“Harry!” She squealed out. He wasted no time in attacking her face with kisses. Some were wet and slobbery, traveling from her forehead to her cheeks to her lips to her chin and to her neck. “You’re so gross,” She groaned, trying to wipe away his saliva.
“Are you getting rid of my love?” He gasped. “Y/N L/N, what the hell is wrong with you?” Y/N laughed and held his cheeks before enveloping him in a long passionate kiss. He moaned within it and slyly rolled his hips against her in arousal.
When she pulled away, she smirked, “Forgiven?”
“Definitely,” He nodded, and they both laughed.
-
Y/N let the subject slide for a while, not wanting to bring it up as they were loving on each other for hours. She felt too good to just suddenly ruin the moment, but wasn’t going to ignore how Peyton was a constant problem, along with Harry’s other mild friendships with the girls on campus.
The couple was finally eating the ice cream she brought over, sitting on his bean bag chair and having pillow talk. Harry had Y/N straddling his lap as he kissed her between every few mouthfuls of ice cream. He leaned further into the bean bag chair, taking in the view in front of him.
She was in his shirt after being stripped naked—and well taken care of—a while ago and her nipples puckered from the cold taste of her treat. She had finished her cup and twisted to the side to throw it in the basket beside his desk.
She surprisingly made the shot and Harry cheered dramatically, using that as another excuse to kiss her everywhere. “You’re a future basketball star, baby. I know it,” He exclaimed.
“I made one easy shot, dove,” She laughed, now able to wrap her arms around his neck.
“Still, I think you as a basketball player would be hot as fuck,” He groaned at the thought, bucking his hips up into her. She giggled and brought their lips close but not into a kiss.
“You think everything I do is hot as fuck. You have a constant hard on,” She teased him.
“It’s called a love boner, smartass,” He laid a hard slap to her rear. “And yes, I do think so. Call me obsessed.”
Y/N shared a long loving stare down with Harry. Her gaze followed the length of his face before returning to his eyes. He was hers, but it didn't always seem that way.
The events of earlier, and times just like those, circled back to her mind, causing a noticeable frown on her face. Harry watched and one of his own fell on his lips. He ran his hands up her back, under his shirt, to get her attention. “Baby, what’s wrong? What are you thinking about?”
She shook her head.
“Come on, tell me. I can see it’s bothering you,” He pushed it.
She sighed and looked away as she didn’t want to see his reaction. “Peyton.” That was all she needed to say to sum up everything that was stuck in her head. It wasn’t just Peyton, but every girl that wanted him.
“Y/N,” He groaned, bringing her closer and kissing her cheek. “I’m sorry baby, but what do you want me to say about that? You know I can’t control them. I can only control myself, and I feel like it’s obvious that I’m doing just fine at it.” Y/N exhaled a sigh. Her hands were placed between them, and her fingers twitched nervously.
He released one of his hands from under her shirt to round to her front and up her face. He caressed her cheek while his thumb rubbed along her lips. Y/N smile sincerely for a moment, knowing he was trying to help her through her nerves so she could speak.
“Harry, this is a constant issue, and I just feel like I’m missing something,” She faltered. “There are always girls here at the house, which you can’t help so I try not to worry about that. But specifically Peyton, she’s always in your room. And I’m just worried about what goes on when I’m not here.”
Harry paused his finger. “Are you implying that you don’t trust me, Y/N?” He lifted a challenging brow at her. Y/N suddenly wanted to shrink up into a ball, simply from his expression. He was starting to get pissed. Trust was always a word that lingered over their heads.
Y/N simply shrugged and glanced away from his intense stare.
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, I do, but—“
“Why is there a but?” He interrupted her. “Why can’t you just trust that nothing will ever happen between me and any of them?” He brought his other hand to grab her face and force her to look at him. She had no choice but to stare back. “I don’t think you’ve realized that anytime I’ve been asked to fuck them or kiss them or do anything with them, none of those things have actually ever happened. Maybe because I don’t fucking let them, Y/N. I don’t want them.”
Y/N believed him. She really did. But she was dripping with insecurities. Everything she wanted, those girls had. And Harry had access to them. She became an overthinker that it made her forget everything about simple trust.
“So, if I never walked in, you wouldn’t have let Peyton massage you? Even though she’s your best friend and you guys used to do that kind of stuff all the time?” She asked. Harry immediately shook his head.
“Nothing was going to happen, baby. If you would’ve listened for a little longer and let me answer her, I would have said no and explained the boundaries we needed to set." He responded, irritated that he had to explain himself. Or that she had to pose the question at all. He was officially pissed.
“But why does she think she could do that? Why is her comfort level that high with you still?” Y/N shot at him. “Maybe you’re not making it known to every girl here how serious your relationship is. I just wonder if you have doubts about us or if you really want a full-on relationship with me. I’m sorry, dove, but it’s just what I think about.”
Harry paused, his face becoming unreadable. Y/N watched as it contorted to confusion, hurt, worry, sadness, then straight anger. Betrayal. “What the fuck did you just say?” He seethed, gently removing her off of him so he could stand up. Y/N followed, hugging herself, as he walked across the room.
“I’m not saying you are a bad boyfriend or anything, I just think that you sometimes miss the freedom you had before me,” Y/N shrugged.
What Y/N watched made her want to shove every single word she said back down her throat and to the depths of hell. She regretted everything.
Harry’s hands clenched and he sucked in a long breath. His eyes went dark and lost all the green that used to look at her with acres of love. That sight was gone and probably for a long time.
One of his hands dug into the side of his hip as it didn’t know where else to go. He turned away from Y/N, looking anywhere but her. He wanted to throw something or yell out a dictionary of curse words to let out the stinging feeling of anger boiling inside of him. But, he didn’t want to react like that in front of Y/N, though. As much as he was filled with betrayal and wanted her to see that, he would never act out with her around. So, she needed to go.
“Get out,” Harry ordered, his voice stern, trying to hide the rasp in his throat. It made her eyes widen.
“Wait, I didn’t—”
“Baby, I’m trying...” He sighed and shook his head, “I will only say it nicely one more time. Please, get out of my room,” His hand twitched as it pointed towards the door. Y/N waited a moment, her hands grasping each other. Harry’s eyes didn’t soften like she thought would happen if she waited. He was telling her to leave. He didn’t want her there anymore. Maybe a little space is what they needed for now.
“Okay. I’m sorry, I’ll go,” She whispered as she scurried away from him. But before she completely left, she heard the words she thought would never leave his mouth. “Y/N, we need to break up.”
Her whole body froze as her heart dropped to her trembling feet. They somehow brought her to Harry as she held his shoulders to get his attention.
“Harry? What?” She wavered. “What are you saying? Are you... wait I swear, I didn’t mean it.”
He closed his eyes and grabbed her hands from his shoulders to lace them with his own. He squeezed her hands softly. “Y/N, I don’t know. I think I overestimated myself. I’ll never be able to prove that all I want is you,” he huffed, still shaking. “I am so tired of trying to convince you that I can be trusted. You aren’t going to chance your views on me, so why am I continuing to waste my time?”
“Dove—”
“I’m done fighting in a battle I’ll never win at. I’m tired, baby. I can’t do it anymore,” He sighed, rolling his head in different directions. He slipped his hands away from her to turn his back to her. Without saying another word, he pointed to the door.
Y/N stood there, unable to process what he said to her. She suddenly dropped to her knees, and her head fell into her hands. She wasn’t crying, though. Nothing was coming out. She was stuck in a shock.
Harry glanced behind him and saw her quivering body on the floor as if she was dry heaving. She didn’t realize he moved until she felt him reach under her arms. He helped her back to her feet and used a single finger to lift her chin.
Her eyes were glossy as she sniffled and panted uncontrollably. “Dove, I’m sorry. Please, don’t say that. I trust you, I really do.”
"But, baby, you don't. I'm certain you don't. And that's fine, but I genuinely think this is something you need to resolve with someone else because I’m at a lost." His tone was monotonous. He moved his finger to her hair so he could brush it behind her ear. "I can't help you anymore. I tried, but I failed."
“You didn’t fail, Harry. I promise that you didn’t,” She shook her head, ignoring him repeatedly mumbling but I did.
They stood there for another solid minute, bickering back and forth whether he failed her or not. Harry grew tired.
“Y/N, I need you to leave now, okay? I just don’t want to be near you, right now, baby. I’m sorry,” Harry spoke, running his hand down her arm. 
“Are we really done?” She dared to ask. “Please don’t say yes.”
Harry rolled his lips inwards and looked up. Y/N began to shake again as she covered her eyes with her hands. 
“I’m sorry that there are girls who won’t stop approaching me, but I have only so much control over that. I don’t know how to change their comfort level with me, because they blatantly ignore what I say. But I can swear to you, and you can even ask them yourself, that nothing has ever happened. I wouldn’t let it, and I’m sorry that it isn’t enough to convince you.”
“It is, I believe you. I do. I’m sorry, Harry,” Y/N tried to muster up a smile.
He only shook his head. “Y/N, I love you, I really do. I don’t regret a second of what we had, but baby, right now, I don’t want this. You can’t trust me, and I know that isn’t entirely your fault. But I don’t know... I just feel hate. It’s not fair, and I don’t understand why it’s towards you, but it’s there.”
“W-wh-Harry what?”
“I hate both of us. I hate myself for not doing what you needed me to do. But I hate you for not listening to me, Y/N. And right now, I need you to leave.”
I hate you.
-
Y/N didn’t want to show up at Harry’s soccer practices to take photos as the team’s photographer anymore. She wanted to avoid him at all cost, because if she saw him, she’d lose it. But Coach James would know something was up and blame it on Harry, so she went anyways.
I hate you.
That day when she left Harry’s room, she didn’t cry, only mumbled questions of why. She asked why’s for everything. Why did she say those things? Why couldn’t she trust him? Why was she so insecure? Why did she hurt him? Why did she never stop and actually listen to him?
They were constant. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t function. She couldn’t. Harry really made up the happiness in her life. And now it was all gone.
I hate you.
She hated herself too.
The first few practices after their break up, Harry only nodded at Y/N when she arrived. Her eyes would dart anywhere else as she already felt a knot in her throat. She subtly sucked in a slow breath to exhale out and relax her shoulders. For the remainder of the time, Harry kept his attention away from her as he knew he was the reason for her uneasiness. He felt really bad, so the least he could do was not taunt her.
But it was the next practice when Harry finally spoke to her. It was when they had their water break and Y/N was pacing near the path that led back to campus. She was contemplating if she should leave. It was hitting her hard, really hard. So, Harry snuck over to her to help. He still cared for her, that was never going away.
“Hey, b—Y/N,” He caught himself. Her eyes never left her camera as she played with the buttons to control her overwhelming feelings of stress. “Can I talk to you, real quick?”
She was surprised he was speaking to her, and even though it hurt to be around him, she wasn’t going to give up the opportunity to talk as it might be her last. She nodded and moved her eyes to his water bottle by his side. He still used the one with stickers sprinkled around the length of it. And her initial was still there.
“Honestly, I have no idea what I want to say, I just needed to check on you. How’ve you been?” He shifted his weight to his other leg. “Thank you for still being the team’s photographer.”
“It’s fine, and I’m fine. Just been—well, doing a lot of thinking, but when I get down, it’s nothing a little ice cream can’t help with,” She said playfully, but Harry still stared at her worriedly. So, she moved on with a cough. “I’ve gone to the lake behind More Scoops more recently to take pictures. It’s a lovely setting, no matter the hour,” She answered. Harry frowned at that.
“You’ve been doing all of this alone?”
She shrugged, “I don’t have friends. Your friends were my friends, so...”
“Y/N, you can still come to the frat to see Niall and everyone. They miss you, and I’ll stay away so I’m not a distraction. You are their friend without me,” He pushed her shoulder as if he was offended she would believe otherwise. 
“Thank you,” was all she should said for him to drop the topic because she knew she still wasn’t going. Just being at the frat house was going to make her think of Harry, whether he was there or not.
The ex-couple stood together in silence, finally staring at each other. Y/N saw the gentle green in his eyes again. She thought they’d never come back, nor would he let her see them.
She wanted to ask him a thousand questions, mixed with a thousand more sorrys. But it wasn’t an appropriate time as she could tell he still wasn’t ready to forgive her. She still had more thinking and growing to do.
Coach James called the boys over, so Harry motioned behind him, not knowing how to properly depart from her without kissing and exchanging ‘I love you’. So, she helped him out.
“You can go, Harry.”
He opened his mouth to response, but suddenly shut his lips. He only nodded and jogged away.
For every other practice, Harry never spoke to her. He would sometimes glance at her during their breaks, but didn’t approach her like he did that one time. Y/N still had to take pictures of him so Coach James wouldn’t be suspicious, but he already knew something was wrong. Usually, Harry would pay more attention to Y/N than the ball when she came to his practice. And now, he could count on his fingers how many times Harry tried to get her to look at him. Zero.
He became a little ticked off because he believed Harry was the cause for Y/N permanent frown. Every smile was painted over a frown, none of them were genuine anymore.
Coach James waited until after practice to pull Harry to the side and question him. He had his arms crossed and shades over his eyes when Harry came out the locker room.
“Styles, come here,” He yelled for him. The group immaturely teased Harry for being called out, hitting him in the back as he moved through them. He only rolled his eyes and ran to his coach. Y/N had left as soon as he dismissed the boys to the showers, not even exchanging goodbyes. She darted away with her camera hanging sadly around her neck.
“Yeah, coach?” Harry was a little confused because nothing bad or amazing happened during practice.
“What’s going on?” was all he asked, rocking slightly. “I’ll be unbiased.”
Harry blinked in thought, wondering what story he wanted his side on. But it suddenly hit him so he awed with comprehension. Then, he laughed. "That's not possible. You’ll always see her as your niece.”
“Right now, she’s the girl that photographs my team. And you’re one of my players that I’ve seen a noticeable difference with,” He shook his head. “Now, tell me what’s going on because she sure as hell won’t.”
Harry groaned, before turning to face the turf field. As did Coach James, and they stood side by side. He didn’t want to be the first to say anything, but he knew Y/N could keep her mouth shut if she really wanted to.
“She doesn’t trust me, and I didn’t know what else to do to reassure her. I just grew tired of the fighting, and I need to prioritize myself sometimes,” Harry explained, rubbing the back of his neck. Coach James only nodded and looked over at him.
“I see,” He said. “So, you broke up with her?”
“Yes, sir.”
Coach James hummed and brought his attention back to the turf field. “Well, I can’t be mad at you because like you said, you need to prioritize yourself sometimes. And you tried to work through an issue, but in the end, had to step back. So, you aren’t in the wrong.”
Harry knew that, but to hear it from Coach James wasn’t all that comforting. He kind of wanted to hear that he did something wrong so he could finally feel bad about breaking things off with Y/N. But each day, he knew what he did was for the best.
“Okay.”
“You’re free to go. Thank you for telling me. See you tomorrow.”
Harry suddenly frowned at Coach James, parting his lips to speak. He lifted a brow at Harry’s hopeless expression and raised his shades to look at him clearly.
“Why can’t she trust me?” Harry asked, begging to get an answer from someone. “I really tried.”
“I know you did, Harry. You did your best.”
“But why?”
Coach James shrugged, and it only made Harry angry. Why couldn’t he get a fucking answer?
“I told her I hated her,” He admitted. Coach James’ face didn’t change.
“Did you mean it?” He asked instead.
Harry shrugged. “I loved her so much, sir. Even though I continuously explain myself to her, it wasn’t enough. She wouldn’t completely believe me when I told her that all I ever wanted was her. And I hate her for that.”
Coach James shared a few encouraging words to Harry, before excusing him to leave. Harry didn’t feel any better, only confused. And he wondered how Y/N was feeling too.
-
Y/N had finished her classes for the day, so she went to the dining hall for some food. She saw it as an instant mistake when she noticed Harry and his roommates at a near table. But he seemed happy as he laughed loudly with the rest of the group, and that brought a sad smile to her lips. He was okay. At least one of them were.
Niall happened to catch Y/N walking around in the corner of his eye and waved at her. The rest of their eyes turned to her, and she suddenly felt vulnerable. She didn’t want them to see her because like she predicted, would get his attention.
Harry frowned in confusion as the boys sitting across from him were looking in another direction. He shifted in his seat to follow their line of vision, but when he realized who it was, he only gave her a brief glance before turning back around.
I hate you.
Y/N’s lips began to quiver, so she shortly waved back and made a beeline to the other side of the dining hall. It had been a long time since she was there alone because she never ate without Harry. He always enjoyed being with her, and Y/N enjoyed it even more. God, she missed him.
She had heard footsteps coming up behind her, and she assumed it was someone going to the bathroom as she sat near the doors, but that person was there for her. Niall.
He sat across from her and smiled. “Hey, Y/N. Mind if I join you?” He asked.
“What about—”
“Don’t worry about them,” He said. “They’ll think I’m shitting and eventually leave.” Y/N actually laughed for the first time that week. Niall reached his hand out for her, and she sadly accepted it. “Can’t let you eat alone, now could I?”
“Thank you, Niall.”
There was a moment of silence as Niall sighed. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his friends, then looked back at Y/N. “He wants to be here with you. He hates when you’re alone. So, I’m just doing him a favor,” He shrugged it off. “But you’re also better to eat with than those idiots. Who gets pizza with broccoli on top?”
“Isaiah,” they both answered together, before laughing. Y/N tilted her chin down and rolled her lips inwards to contain her smile.
Harry glanced in the direction Niall had left to go to the bathroom, and where he secretly watched Y/N go to sit alone. But it had been almost twenty minutes and Niall hadn’t returned nor did Y/N disperse from there to leave.
“You guys ready to go?” Sage asked, getting up from his chair with his tray. The rest of the boys nodded and joined him. Harry followed behind, shuffling extra steps in search for Niall... and Y/N.
But before he walked any farther to the other area of the hall, Niall appeared with stretched arms. “Hey, fellas.”
“Oh fuck no, were you in the bathroom that whole time?” Flynn gasped as Niall took stalking steps towards him with his hands out, as if he didn’t wash his hands.
“Sure was!” He smirked, before chasing all of them out the dining hall. Harry watched with a shake of his head. Before he followed them out, he searched a little longer for one more person. But she was already gone.
As much as Niall didn’t want to, he had let Y/N leave, wiping tears on her sleeves as she begged to be alone.
-
Y/N paused, her hand resting against the frat house's door. She shouldn’t have come, but there she was. Two days had passed since Niall's brief pep talk, which had left her wanting to collect her thoughts. And now she was back at the taunting frat house. She knew Harry wouldn’t want to see her, but she had to try.
Some random guy had let her in, but wasn’t nasty like Marsh. He was friendly and told her that Harry was in his room, as he had been all day.
She was taking her time down the hallway, shaking her shoulders to let the nerves out. The thought of being rejected as soon as he saw her was lingering in the back of her mind, but she pushed through and continued to walk.
Y/N reached Harry’s room and instantly grew sick when another voice accompanied him behind the door. Her shoulders slumped and her legs were ready to pivot away, but her voice did otherwise. “Harry? It’s Y/N.”
The noises behind his door suddenly silenced, and Y/N became exceedingly nervous. Heavy pads of feet, which she immediately recognized as Harry’s, reached her and then the door swung open. And so did Y/N’s eyes.
He was there. His hands over his head as he held the doorframe above them, stretching the length of his naked torso. He wore his signature navy colored sweats—they had a matching pair—that hung low on his hips to reveal his v-line.
If Y/N wasn’t worried about who had seen the sight that used to only belong to her, she’d be drooling.
Harry sighed as he watched her shyly examine his body. When her eyes traveled back up to his and she realized he had caught her, she turned her head towards the stairs down the hall. “Hi,” she mumbled.
“What do you want, Y/N?” He huffed.
“Are you busy?” She whispered, motioning behind him. His naked chest wasn’t helping the anxious knot in her stomach. All of the boys were together playing videogames in the living room, but he was upstairs with someone else in his room. It wasn’t a good sign.
Harry glanced behind him before looking back at Y/N. With her eyes looking down, she didn’t see the smirk spreading on his face. “Maybe, depends on what you want.”
She nodded and sucked in a brave breath. Just say it. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay?”
“And I—” she fondled with the stitches along her jeans, “Um... I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean what I said.”
Harry continued to eye Y/N intensely that she was burning on the inside. She felt her pits begin to sweat, and the thickness of the air wasn’t helping her breathe any better.
“Yes, you did, Y/N.”
“No, I didn’t. I shouldn’t have said that. I trust you, Harry.”
He rolled his eyes and took a step towards her so he could shut the door behind him. “You’re only saying that because you want me to forgive you. And honestly, Y/N, I’m still not ready to.” Her throat closed up and her eyes warned to water. She dug her nails into her palm to control herself. “You never trusted me and we argued about that constantly. I’m lost and I’m confused. You confuse me. And I’ll never understand why you never wanted to believe me.”
“That’s not true, I did believe you,” She sniffled so low that she could barely hear herself.
Harry chuckled, “Did you? So, were you not there for half of our arguments? How naïve do you think I am, Y/N?”
She rolled her lips inwards and shook her head. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. It was inevitable as her vision became a blur. She didn’t trust her voice to hide how close she was to breaking down.
This was a bad idea. She needed to leave.
“Y/N, you assume that I want every girl that even looks at me. I always have to defend myself because you jump right to conclusions.”
“No, I—”
“Shut up! Let me talk!” He snapped at her. Y/N did just that, but it was too late. Harry was over the conversation. “Never mind, you are still as stubborn as always. I’m done. I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you. Just leave.”
She wanted to fight for him. She wanted to stay and talk things out. But the look of hatred that stuck on his face as he glared at her was too much to handle.
Her breathing became shaky as she nodded and whispered an okay. She made her way to the stairs, feeling his eyes hard on her back.
Before she could make it to the end of the hall, Harry called out for her. She touched the wall to steady herself and looked back.
“Yes?” She asked with a hint of hope as she stared at his genuine smile.
Before she was completely crushed.
“There is a girl in my room, and I would tell you what we’re doing in here, but it’s not like you’d believe me, right?” Y/N’s eyes widened. “Like I said, I’m tired of explaining myself to someone who will never listen.”
The door was shut to his room before she could react. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until her throat begged for air.
Y/N raced down the stairs, ignoring the boys’ calls of her name, and out the front door. She ran as fast as she could to anywhere but that stupid fucking frat house. Her legs wouldn’t slow down, and she didn’t want to.
Her heart was heavy. So heavy. She didn’t know what do to or where to go. If she went back to her dorm, she knew the boys would find her there, and for the first time in a long one, she didn’t want to be found. She wanted to be alone. And quiet.
-
Y/N scooped her spoon full of ice cream and let the cold taste numb her throbbing heart. She was at a lake nearby the campus. It was a good hiding spot because no one knew she went there besides Harry. And she was for sure he wasn’t looking for her. He was busy.
She lifted up her phone for the tenth time to skim the messages across her screen.
niall: where are you y/n? i’m at your dorm
niall : i’m worried about you
niall: he didn’t mean it
niall: y/n it’s okay
niall: just let me know you’re alright
No.
Y/N set her phone back down on the grass and sighed at the sky. It had been almost two hours and the day was soon to end. Y/N had no intention of leaving, hoping that the day could take her with it to yesterday. She didn’t want to move on with everything else. She wanted to pause in that moment.
Alone. With ice cream. And the painted sky. She grabbed her phone to take a picture and smiled at the results. It was beautiful, why would she go home when she could be here?
While still in her hand, her phone began to vibrate. It was the hundredth time, and Y/N was getting pretty aggravated, She knew it was Niall without even looking at the contact name.
“Hello?” She asked with a rasp in her voice from all the crying she did earlier.
“Y/N? Oh my god, where the fuck are you? I’ve—”
“Niall, please. Just leave me alone.”
“No, you need to tell me where you are, right fucking now. I’m serious, Y/N. I swear on everything—”
“Behind More Scoops there is a trail that leads to a lake,” was all she said before hanging up her phone and dropping it back to her side.
She really didn’t want to see anybody, but Niall wouldn’t leave her alone.
It only took him seven minutes to race to where she was. He was panting loudly as he plopped down next to her. He fell back and yelled.
Y/N sniffled a laugh and glanced over at him. “You okay?”
“You’re the actual worst. I’ve been so worried and here you are—eating ice cream by a lake,” He snapped, hitting her in the thigh with every word. She laughed again and hit him back.
“I needed to get away,” She shrugged.
“I know you did, but you didn’t need to be alone,” He snapped back. “You never had to be. This whole time, we’ve all been trying to comfort you, but you push us away. Stop doing this alone when we’re here.”
“I like being alone.”
“Well, I don’t,” Niall argued back. “Fuck Y/N, what happened today?”
She shook her head, not wanting to relive that moment again. Niall silently understood and didn’t push it for a few minutes.
“He needs you, Y/N. I don’t know what that idiot needs you to say to him, but please keep trying.”
“I did.”
“I know, but don’t give up on him because he hasn’t given up on you. He’s on the verge of forgiving you, I can tell. I know both of you want to be together, so save each other,” Niall sat back up to look at her seriously. “Save him like you did the first time. He needs you more than ever.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
Niall sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, listen to me,” He grabbed her hands to hold in between the both of them. “I don’t want the Harry ‘before you’ back. Yes, I missed him at first, but after I met the Harry ‘during you’, I never want the old one back. That is the best version of Harry there is, Y/N. Not the one before or after you, the one during you.”
“It’s too late, Niall,” Y/N looked away towards the water shimmering in the lake. “I messed up bad.”
“It’s not, though. You are doing everything just right. It’s working. I talked to him after you left and I could see it in his eyes. He fucking misses you. He knows you’re sorry and wants to trust him. He’s just being a stubborn fucker, so I need you to pull him out of it. Just one more time, Y/N. I know he’ll break,” Niall pushed her shoulder.
She gave him a hard glare, before hitting him. “How are you so sure? He would’ve have hurt me like he did earlier if he wanted me.”
“Are you willing to finally trust him?” Niall asked.
“Of course, I am. I always did, I was just insecure. But he’s right, I had no reason to because nothing ever happened. I’m just an idiot.”
Niall shook his head. “First off, you’re not an idiot because he should’ve taken your words into consideration if he cares so much about you. If you wanted those girls at arms-length with him, he should’ve found a way. So, stop beating yourself up so much, okay?” Y/N finally smiled. 
“Thank you, Niall.” A weight had been dropped. Niall got it.
“Now, if you want to really trust him and to finally get over your insecurities, then mean it. Let him know what needs to change and compromise. Get it through his thick fucking skull that you guys can work this out. “
Y/N sniffled and covered her eyes to cry in her hands. Niall reached over to rub circled around her back. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Don’t apologize, you’re hurting. Let that out, it’ll help.” Y/N nodded and leaned into him. “He’s going to listen this time, Y/N. He wants to listen. Trust me. He’s hosting a party at the frat right now. He hasn’t done that in a long time. We need your help.”
“I’m scared, Niall. He hates me.”
“Not as much as he loves you. God, Y/N, Harry is so fucking in love with you. He needs you bad.”
Y/N opened her eyes and looked up. She gazed at the dusked sky. “I need him too.”
-
Y/N was at a frat party. She never attended those. Especially without her roommate by her side, but she was so desperate to find Harry that she pushed through.
The house was loud and reeked of alcohol and sweaty bodies dancing against each other. Y/N needed to find Harry and fast.
Her low voice tried to excuse her way through the crowd, but no one even acknowledged her presence; a good and bad thing.
As the host, she knew Harry wouldn’t be locked up in his room, so that made it a little more difficult to find him. She asked around at first, but no one seemed to know where he could be.
She had made it to the backyard when she finally found him.
He was against the wall of the house, talking to an unfamiliar girl. Y/N was relieved from the distance between them, and that Harry was shooing her, every time she tried to reach for him. He was facing Y/N, so she could see the disinterest in his eyes, and she hoped that would help her get him alone.
She pushed through more people who seemed to be deliberately making it difficult to reach him, which furthered her determination.
“Harry!” She yelled, but the speaker hanging above him deafened her voice. She groaned and hurried her feet as she watched the girl motion her hand down his chest and to forbidden territory.
What felt like forever, Y/N finally reached the two, and when Harry noticed her furiously approaching them, his eyes widened. “Y/N?!” He gawked. Y/N clenched her teeth as she shoved the girl’s shoulder to get her attention.
“What the fuck?” The girl gasped as she whipped around to face Y/N. There wasn’t a noticeable height difference, so the girl’s met eye level. “Who do you think you are, bitch?” 
Y/N knew she couldn’t take this girl as she had no fighting experience, but in the moment she didn’t care. She only took bold steps towards the girl so their chests touched.
“Stay away from him,” she growled darkly, trying her best to keep up her brave persona. But she was dying on the inside. Why the hell did she do that?
“Excuse me? Who even are—”
“Stop!” Harry moved in the way to break up something that was bound to happen. He grabbed the girl’s arm to yank her back so he could step in between them. Y/N felt a pang of pride as Harry stood in front of her with his back to the girl. “Y/N, what the fuck are you doing here?”
The girl huffed loudly, “Do you know her?”
“Yes, and we’re leaving,” Harry looked at Y/N as he spoke to the girl. He pointed to the house and Y/N nodded, before walking away.
She felt Harry close behind her as he muttered under his breath. She was a little ashamed of her actions, causing a scene like that when the girl technically did nothing wrong. But winning Harry in the end made it feel okay.
“Do you want to explain why you’re here and what the fuck happened back there?” Harry asked as they walked down the hallway to his room. Y/N’s shoulders tensed from his fatherly tone, so she shook her head. “Well, you’re going to tell me anyways, so figure the answer out.”
Y/N paused at the entrance of his room, remembering what happened the last time she was there. She suddenly grew hot as a layer of sweat formed along her forehead. The hurtful throb of her heart was back, and she needed out. Anywhere, but there.
“Hey, you okay?” Harry asked, moving to stand in front of her. He heard how hard she was breathing so he took another step closer to get her attention. “What? What’s wrong? Look at me, baby.”
Darting her eyes up at him, she shook her head rapidly. Finally face to face with him again, Y/N wanted to break down. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Harry, I’m so fucking sorry. I—I’m sorry for not trusting you because I had no reason not to. This is all my fault. You can’t control every single girl that likes you, and I should’ve—”
“Wait, you’re talking so fast, calm down,” Harry laughed, but Y/N shot him a dark look that he instantly stopped. “I’m sorry, go on.”
Y/N sighed as she remembered to slow her words down. She was still heavily shaking. “I want to be with you forever, Harry. My life before you is nothing compared to what it was when I was with you. That feeling I get every time I’m around you is so euphoric that I feel so selfish for only wanting to have it for myself.”
Harry only blinked at her. So, she kept going.
“I’m so fucking stupid, I wish I never said those things. I swear I didn’t mean it, you’re an amazing boyfriend and I know you only wanted me. You were doing everything just fine, it’s all me. Everything is my fault.”
Y/N started to hyperventilate, overwhelmed with her spilling words. Harry became concerned as her eyes filled with tears and her voice grew raspy. He reached out for her, but as much as she yearned for his missed touched, she put her hand out to stop him.
“No, I’m fine. Let me finish.”
“Y/N—”
“Harry, I miss you so much. And I don’t deserve you back, but I’m begging you to forgive me. If you want to start off slow and maybe just be friends, I’m so down for that. It’s completely fine. You need to trust me again. I get it.”
He sighed, “Y/N, I’ve always trusted you, and I still do.”
She only groaned and covered her eyes. “Don’t say that, I feel like even more shit.”
“I’m sorry.”
She dropped her arms and looked back at Harry. His arms were crossed, still willing to listen to her, and she was going to use the opportunity to the fullest.
“I’m insecure, okay? I know that, and I’ll work on it. I just... I love you so much, and I’m possessive, and I don’t know how to control myself, so I take it out on you,” Y/N finally admitted out loud, surprising both herself and Harry. “It was a horrible thing to do, but I promise, I’ll talk to you. I’ll communicate, and I—I don’t even know. Just... I’ll do better. I’m gonna do so much better. I’m truly sorry, Harry.”
He tilted his head to the side as he stared at her. His tongue rolled over his teeth, and Y/N was dying in anticipation.
“This whole thing... this is the most I’ve ever heard you apologize. You never do that,” He mentioned.
That wasn’t what she expected him to say, but she accepted it. “I know, I’m gonna work on that, okay?” He nodded and swayed. “I’m going to do better, please don’t give up on me, Harry. Fight for me again, I won’t let you down.”
The words he had said to her continued to cause constant pangs of hurt in her heart. “Please don’t hate me, Harry.”
His eyes suddenly softened as his lips parted. “Fuck Y/N.”
“If you really don’t want to forgive me, then I’ll learn to accept that. But, I’m begging you to not hate me.” Before she could say anymore, Y/N’s hand covered her eyes to hide the tears that spilled out the corners.
Harry took another step so that their chests finally touched. He held Y/N’s jaw and that was enough for her to break down completely. She continued to apologize and Harry simple smiled at her. God, he fucking loves this girl.
“Y/N?”
“I’ll do better, Harry. I’m sorry, I really am,” she cried, looking back at him.
“Will you let me speak?”
She shook her head and continued to cry. “I don’t want to know your answer. I can’t do this. Just know, I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Y/N escaped his hold, before racing towards the stairs. She needed fresh air so she could breathe properly. Her head was spinning and she could drop at any moment.
But what she didn’t expect was a familiar call of her name. Harry ran quicker than Y/N and grabbed her waist, pulling her into his warm chest that she missed all too much. His lips reached her ear as he laughed.
“I’m the athlete here, baby. You can’t outrun me,” he joked, pinching her sides.
“I need to go. I shouldn’t have come,” she shook her head, trying to wiggle out of his grasp.
“No, we’re going to talk about this. You said it yourself that we are going to start talking.”
“I can’t tonight, Harry. This is too much.”
“You’re being stubborn, Y/N. It’s annoying me.”
Y/N turned in his hold with her doe eyes, looking up at him. His thumb brushed her lips as he smiled at her.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“I know that, baby. You told me that already,” he chuckled, before leading her down the stairwell. She expected him to take her back to his room.
“Wait, where are we going?” She asked as he wrapped an arm around her while he pushed through the crowd.
They made it to the front door when he decided to answer. “You’re overwhelmed, it’s a hectic and loud party, so we’re going to your dorm.”
“Oh,” She nodded. 
There wasn’t much exchanged during the ride. Harry had grabbed Y/N’s hand sometime during the drive and rested their laced fingers on her thigh. His thumb brushed the back of her hand as he hummed under his breath.
Every time he glanced at Y/N, her eyes were trained on the passenger window. He could feel how stiff her hand was, and it had a slight shake. She was so nervous, so Harry brought them to his lips.
“It’s okay, baby,” He whispered in the silent car, before pressing a long kiss to the back of her hand. “We’re going to be okay.”
Y/N sniffled, still not looking his way. But from the dark sky and the luminated lights of the buildings they passed by, he could see her reflection. And the most hopeful smile sat on her lips. Harry kissed her hand once more, before bringing them back to her lap.
When they made it to Y/N’s dorm, Harry led the way with their hands still together. She allowed him to drag her to her suite, before shutting the door behind them. His hand slipped from hers so he could approach her desk, examining the space he hadn’t been at for a while.
“Sorry, it’s messy. Didn’t think you’d stop by,” She tried to chuckle, but it sounded like a rough sigh. Harry only shrugged as he walked to stand in front of her with wandering eyes. They finally fell on her, and she felt on display. Even though she was completely clothed, she crossed her arms over herself to hide whatever he was looking at.
“I missed it here,” Harry said. “You moved our picture,” He motioned to her desk, noticing the missing frame as soon as he walked in. 
Y/N’s eyes widened. “I did, I’m sorry. I just thought that—”
“Stop apologizing. You don’t have to explain yourself,” Harry interrupted her, swiftly pinching her side. Y/N squealed, before frowning at him. “I just happened to see that it was gone. I don’t have to know why you took it down if you don’t want to me to.”
“I’m sorry,” She repeated for the thousandth time. Harry rolled his eyes, which made her want to repeat her words again. So, she moved on and asked a question. “Can we be friends?” 
Harry cocked a brow up at her. “Friends?”
“I mean, I don’t know if you want... well, a relationship with me again. But I’d really like to be your friend again,” She swayed nervously in her spot.
Harry snorted while running his hands down her arms. “That’s considerate of you.”
“I just want to try again, Harry. I feel really bad for hurting you.”
“I’d like that too, because I, too, am sorry for hurting you,” His hands found hers again. “I’m trying to understand how to firmly create a distance. I just don’t want to come off as an asshole, ya know?”
Y/N nodded, “Everyone loves you. It’s not your fault.”
“It is, though. But I’m going to work on that,” He brought her knuckles up to his lips and continuously switched to kiss both.
Y/N hesitated to ask her next question, but she was desperate to know. “Do you still hate me?” She asked cautiously.
“Will you learn to trust me?” He lifted a brow at her. Her eyes instantly widened as she rapidly nodded. Harry laughed and reached for her cheeks to stop her. “Then, no I don’t. And I’m sorry I said that to you.”
A pile of relief spread across her as all the stress shed off her skin. She wanted to cry. And she did. She had a full on melt down.
Harry continued to hold her cheeks while he wiped her eyes as tears wouldn’t stop streaming down. She repeatedly apologized for being a mess, and Harry only nodded with a loving smile as he looked down at her lovingly.
“You’re so sensitive, baby,” he chuckled. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she sniffled as Harry’s thumb closed her eye to wipe another tear. “I can’t stop. I don’t know what’s happening.”
Harry caught Y/N completely off guard by kissing her nose before nudging his against hers as a ‘butterfly kiss’. Her eyes were widened as she stared back at him, bewildered by his bold move.
It only made her lip quiver again.
“Y/N—“
“Shut up, stop. You’re making it worse,” she complained through more sniffles. “I need to leave.”
“We’re at your dorm, Y/N,” he laughed heartily. “And I’m trying to calm you down so you’ll stop crying. I don’t like seeing you cry. Even though you still look very pretty.”
Y/N was overwhelmed, and downright confused. Did he love her again? He was being very affectionate after wanting nothing to do with her not too long ago. It made Y/N think that he wasn’t affected by her anymore. He didn’t feel anything towards her as he touched and caressed her.
His feelings were somewhere else.
“What are you thinking about now?” Harry asked. Her tears finally stopped, but the sadden look across her face worried him that more were soon to come.
“Is there someone else?” She dared to ask.
Harry’s hands continued to hold her cheeks as his thumb trailed along his favorite features of her face. “What do you mean?”
“Another girlfriend,” she gulped. Harry lifted a brow at her, and her hands came up in surrender. “Oh shit, I didn’t even consider that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw myself back at you like this.”
“Y/N,” He laughed.
“No, It’s completely fine, if so, Harry. I’m happy for you,” She lied right to his face with a forced smile. But he could see right through her.
Harry slowly smirked and dropped his hands from her face to cross his arms over his chest.
“Are you?”
“Yes, of course. She’s lucky to have you,” She nodded. “I really fumbled, haven't I?” She tried to joke, but it only made her lips quiver again. Harry nodded, trying his best not to laugh in her face. She was so cute.
“You did. I was an amazing boyfriend, Y/N.”
She didn’t response at first, only fiddling with her fingers. She wasn’t expecting to be in a new situation. Harry was now taken. And not by her.
“Well, congratulations,” She said, stringing with lies. “Uhh, can I just ask for a favor? You can honestly just ignore me and do it anyways because I have no—“
“Y/N, just say it.”
“It’s just that I’m there all the time, so I don’t know... it might be a little awkward. Not that it matters because you can do whatever—”
“Goodness, woman. Speak,” Harry planted his hands on her shoulders and shook them. “Spill it.”
“More Scoops. Will it be okay if you don’t go take her there? Like on a date? It’s just that it used to be our—the spot we went to.” She somehow got out, looking anywhere but at him.
“Y/N—“ Harry was done messing with her.
She assumed he spoke her name in offense and gasped. “Oh fuck, that was such a stupid question to ask. God, Y/N,” she scolded herself, slapping her hand over her forehead. “Oh my god, please pretend I didn’t say that. Of course you can get ice cream with her. What the fuck is happening to me? I need to go.”
Harry stopped her immediately, leaning down so they were eye level. “Baby?”
“Yes?”
“Stop trying to run away,” He smiled at her.
“I’m embarrassed, I’m sorry I said that. Just forget it, okay?” She pleaded. Harry grabbed her jaw to turn her head towards him so their eyes had to meet.
He wiggled his brows at her, “Guess what, baby?”
“What?”
“There isn’t another girl. Never has been, lovie,” He admitted, standing back up straight.
“But you said—“
“Wanted to hurt you a little. I apologize.”
Y/N blinked, before nodding slowly. “But the other day in your room. That girl.”
Harry instantly cringed and shook his head. “Yeah, that was weird of me. We were working on an assignment together, and I ordered pizza, which I somehow got on my shirt. I was in the midst of changing into a new shirt when you arrived. It was just horrible timing, and literally nothing else happen,” He explained. “Again, I just wanted to hurt you, but I went a little far. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, it’s okay. I deserved that. And you succeeded. Congratulations.” Y/N stuck her hand out for Harry to shake. He threw his head back to laugh, making Y/N frown.
“Stop validating what I did, Y/N. You can be mad.”
“No, I can’t. You are single, and it’s none of my business what you do in your room. If anything happened, you aren’t in the wrong at all. Don’t worry about me,” Y/N rambled, hating each word she spoke.
Harry placed his hands on his hips. “Well, good thing we don’t have to be worried about an if because there wasn’t one at all. Wasn’t thinking about her like that. I never did, never will. I don’t want any girl on this fucking campus, lovie. Are you finally understanding me?”
“Oh, that’s cool. The single life is nice, I guess. No need to settle down, I get it,” she rocked back at forth. Harry sniffled a laugh at her oblivion.
“Let me change my statement. “I don’t want any other girl on this campus. Know why?”
“Why?”
Harry grabbed Y/N’s cheeks and leaned close enough where their lips barely touched. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Because I’m really into this stubborn, insensitive, arrogant—“
“What?!”
“But amazing smartass. And to add to my luck, she also happens to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She’s all I want.”
Y/N eyes lit up. “Really? Am I forgiven?”
“Of course you are, baby,” He shrugged. “I just need you to learn to trust me, is all.”
“I’m sorry, Harry.”
“I know you are.”
Y/N hesitated her next question. “Do you still love me?” He smiled widely and wiggled his nose against hers.
“Never stopped, Y/N. I can’t stop. I’m obsessed with you.”
She sighed. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Maybe so, but fuck it. I love you, baby.”
“Can I hug you?” She asked shyly. Harry chuckled and easily lifted her up in his arms. Y/N immediately relaxed in his grasp and wrapped herself around him. “I’m going to be a better girlfriend. I mean, well, if you’ll have me. You don’t have to. We can take this slow. It’s up to—“
“Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“I’m gonna kiss you now, and when I do, we are going to go right back to the way we were. Okay?” Harry smirked.
“But did you hear me? I’m gonna do better. For you, and for myself. I trust you, Harry. I do,” She said, tangling her fingers in his hair.
“Good. And I believe you, baby.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How many more times are you gonna say it? I’ve already forgiven you.”
“Are you sure you want to? I don’t want you to hold in any anger you have against me. Just get it out, I can take it,” She sighed.
“You’re adorable.”
“Ew, no I’m not. Loser,” Y/N blurted, before her hand immediately covered her mouth. Harry knew how much she hated being called adorable. It was always used in a teasing way back in grade school. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“There’s my baby. I missed her.”
Harry brought her close to capture her lips with his. They both sighed within it and Harry moved to her bed to lay her down. He settled himself between her legs and caressed her face. He stared down at her with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.
Y/N looked back up at him and shyly smiled.
“I love you so much, Y/N L/N.” Before he could let her answer, Harry brought their lips back together for a long, very long kiss.
Eventually, their make out session caused their clothes to strip off their bodies. Harry’s hands touched Y/N everywhere as he was desperate to make up all the wasted time he could've had her skin against his fingertips.
When Y/N’s lips grew tired, Harry situated her to lay down on her side, in front of him. The covers were rested loosely against their hips, their entire top half exposed to the cold. “I got you, baby,” He whispered in her ear as she subconsciously pushed her ass against his hardened cock. The plush of Harry’s lips earlier had caused arousal between her legs.
His hips sharply bucked back in response, a deep moan graveling from his throat. One of his hands grabbed Y/N’s top leg to lift and push to her chest, keeping her still, while the other traveled between them to get a hold of his cock. Sensitive to the touch, he moaned against Y/N’s ear and thrusted in his hand.
Harry lifted his head to see Y/N’s eyes tightly shut and lips parted as she anticipated what was coming. She was spread open and dripping for him. “Ready, baby?” He asked, kissing her cheek. Y/N nodded and opened her eyes to look down as both of them watched Harry line himself up. He pressed his tip to her entrance, before letting go to turn Y/N’s head in his direction. Her eyes met his and he smiled while slowly pushing into her. 
Y/N immediately gasped, wanting to look at where she was being filled up. But she couldn’t move her attention away from Harry’s face. Her arm reached behind her to find his hair, her fingers pulling at his curls.
Harry moaned loudly, catching himself by biting his lip and hiding his face in the crook of Y/N’s neck.
“Fuck, you feel so good around me, lovie,” He groaned, starting at a slow pace. Y/N head pushed back into the pillow, her eyes rolling in pleasure.
“Harry please,” She whimpered. His hand was still holding her leg up so he had more space to thrust into her. His cock disappeared into her, before slowly sliding out and pounding back into her—allowing her to feel each stretch his cock did to her walls.
His free hand eventually found her breasts that were jumping wildly. He grasp one of them and squeezed before doing it to the other.
Y/N wanted to cry. From the relief, from the pleasure, from the love. She felt his love again. Nothing was hateful as he pushed his cock into her and moaned her name in her ear. When he whispered, “You’re the only one I want to feel around me like this forever,” her eyes welled up.
She tightened her grip in his hair, afraid that he might disappear if she wasn’t holding onto him.
Harry’s head lifted again to watch Y/N. He stared down at her with his jaw agape and releasing raspy moans. She couldn’t speak as his thick and lengthy size reached her stomach. And with his slow pace, he would push into her and keep himself deep inside her for a few seconds. She could feel everything, and it was so good.
“You’re clenching so hard, baby. Look at your leg, lovie. Look at it shaking. Does it feel good? My cock so deep inside of you?” Harry pressed his lips to her ear so she felt his hot groaning breath.
Y/N glanced down at her shaking leg that Harry continued to hold up. It was trying to close as he kept her spread. “Harry,” She whined for him again.
“It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you, baby. I always will.”
She suddenly felt a tear form in her eye. “I’m sorry,” She whispered, closing her lids shut. Harry noticed her wavering voice and slowed himself down to focus on her.
“Y/N, it’s okay. We’re okay, right? I love you, baby. Don’t cry,” He said, before leaning down to kiss all along her face. Y/N nodded and sniffled. “Open up, let me see your pretty eyes, baby. Let me know you’re okay.”
She slowly opened her eyes at looked over at him. He was smiling between every kiss to her face. Harry knew what would help her, and as he changed the angle of his thrust, he hit a certain spot.
Y/N gasped as she grabbed onto Harry. “Oh my... fuck Harry.”
“I know, right on your sweet spot, huh baby?” He chuckled as her hips moved on their own. His pace grew faster as he could sense both of their releases. Her walls were tight around him and became slicker with every thrust.
“I’m close,” She said between a loud moan. She laid her hand on top of Harry’s, which rested on her breasts.
“Yeah? You’re gonna be a good girl and come on my cock?” He asked with a slight growl. Y/N nodded. “You’re so good to me, baby. I need to feel you come so bad. I’m gonna be right behind you. Can’t hold it any longer when you feel this good around me.”
Just from his words, Y/N was able to come. Her head threw back as she moaned through her orgasm. Harry continued to pound into her, chasing his own. He brought his mouth back to her ear so she could hear every noise that left his throat. 
“Fuck, I’m coming, Y/N. Fuck, fuck, oh fuck!”
Releasing deep inside her, both Harry and Y/N moaned from the pleasure. They were panting loudly as they came down from their highs. Harry found her lips again to embrace her in another long kiss.
He eventually had to let her go so she could use the bathroom, and he could clean up. But when they were back on her bed, changed into pajamas and seconds away from sleep, Harry held Y/N against him.
“I’d like to ask you officially to be my girlfriend again, even though I don’t have any Ring Pops,” He said, referring to how they started dating the first time when Y/N exchanged Ring Pop rings with him. She laughed softly and nodded. 
“I would love to.”
-
3K notes · View notes
teamatsumu · 6 months
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kinktober 2023 -> day 12
public play - tendou satori x reader
word count: 607
kinktober masterlist
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You’d always known Tendou was a freak in bed. Even before you two had begun dating, you had an inkling. With how unorthodox he was, anyone would’ve guessed he was less than vanilla under the sheets. What shocked them was when he got together with you.
You knew how you looked to the people of your university. Prim, proper, never a hair out of place, well-ironed clothes and clean smile, always early for class and always on top of your grades. What can you say? You were efficient.
So how had you ended up here? Dating the Guess Monster of all people? You heard the whispers follow you when Tendou walked you to class, the same class he had the gall to be skipping. You knew they wondered, and you knew that they had no idea just how similar you and Tendou actually were.
“I wish they could see you now, honey.” Tendou cooed in your ear as your body squirmed and jerked. His lean, surprisingly sturdy figure held you in place against the wall, long thin fingers wiggling inside you so carelessly that you were worried he would rip you apart. He hummed to himself right afterward in contemplation. “Well, they could very well see you. All they have to do is really look.”
And he was right, standing under the shadow of the staircase, it wouldn’t take much for the bustling crowd of students rushing through the halls to take a little breath and slow down, realizing that the huddle under the stairs was you pressed into the wall while your tall boyfriend fingered you fast and rough, his hand disappearing under the hem of your skirt.
You bit into Tendou’s shoulder to try and stifle your moans, bucking your hips into him more and more. You wanted to cum so bad, all rational thought had flown out the window long ago. You didn’t care who saw you at this point, the voices and chatter of the people long drowned out by the roaring in your ears. Tendou chuckled.
“Dirty little thing,” he had a teasing lilt to his voice. “You love this, don’t you? Getting fingered in public. Crying all over my hand. And you’re soaking, too. Way more than usual. Should I do this more often?”
You were panting at this point, breathing hard to try and compensate for your lack of moans. You were close, and Tendou could tell, from the slow stiffening of your body to how you pushed yourself closer to him, your movements getting more desperate.
“Or maybe I should drag you out there in front of everybody,” he mused, knowing what his dirty ramblings did to you, knowing they would push you closer to the end. “I should lay you out on the floor and fuck you right there, so a crowd can gather and watch you cry and cum over my cock. That what you want? Everyone to see how big of a whore you are?”
And his words worked, because the next moment you were cumming, your juices running down his hand and his wrist, his fingers moving faster and faster to prolong your orgasm as much as he could, ignoring how hard his own cock was, straining against his pants. This was enough for now, getting off on the thought of taking you in front of all these idiots who thought he didn’t deserve you. They would understand then, as they watched you cry and moan about how good his fingers felt, why you were with him. That would shut them up real quick.
And Tendou was just freaky enough to actually pull that stunt someday.
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Taglist:
@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles
A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!
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rrxnjun · 8 months
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dancing in my backseat ✲ l. donghyuck
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pairing. film student! donghyuck x film student! fem! reader starring. uchinaga aeri genre. college au, acquaintances to lovers. fluff, comedy, suggestive warnings. mentions of alcohol and weed, swearing, sexual innuendos word count. 24k (24.047) a/n. please dont hate me for the fact that this does not have any expected smut in it i tried and it felt too awkward i just COULDN'T. also this fic doesn't fit the image of it i had in my head at all but i actually kind of prefer this version over the prev idea i had anyway <;3
playlist. marvelous - wallows / crash my car - coin / test drive - ariana grande / streets - doja cat / no manners - superm / feather - sabrina carpenter / AEAO - dynamicduo / wet tongue - thomas headon / car crash - eaj / delicious - the boyz / but i like you - boynextdoor
there are only a few things in which men value their social status; one of them being the number of girls in their bed, the next one their rank in league of legends, and lastly, their cars— or— where you would never fuck a guy without a driver's licence.
✲ PART 3 OF THE SIMPLIFY ROMANCE SERIES ✲
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If anyone asked you about your relationship with Lee Donghyuck, you’d scoff at them and simply state that the resident gemini was your moral enemy. Was that true? No. No, of course it wasn’t– there was nothing this man has done in his life to get on your bad side, and you truly don’t feel any hatred towards him, but at the end of the day, it’s always easier to say this than to explain the exact feelings you have towards the male without sounding at least a bit overly-dramatic.
See, you don’t hate Lee Donghyuck; you don’t think he’s your enemy either– you just find him absolutely, excruciatingly annoying.
And it’s not his personality, no– although you do admit that the way he carries himself and has such high mind about himself is quite alarming– the way your toes curl and the hair on your body stands up, all alert in sheer ick and disgust, has nothing to do with his ego and everything to do with your experience with the man. 
The first time you find Lee Donghyuck intensely annoying is when you get a text one day (having acquired his phone number from one of the class group chats, since the two of you major in the same program), at 9 in the morning, approximately 15 minutes before you have to leave your apartment to get to your fist class of the day. The man picked the wrong time to bother you, since it was Monday, of all days– the beginning of the week always manages to rile you up just because it exists in the first place– and you could give him the benefit of the doubt and say that it wasn’t his fault at all and you woke up grumpy already, but the events that happened after made you so deeply disturbed and annoyed to your core that there truly wasn’t any other word left in your vocabulary to describe Lee Donghyuck than the adjective already mentioned – annoying.
lee donghyuck (film theory class) – hi im in a crisis lee donghyuck (film theory class) – can u pls throw some toilet paper lee donghyuck (film theory class) – we ran out and my roommate already left for class lee donghyuck (film theory class) – pleaaaaase
Staring at the texts appearing on your phone screen in a hurry, you stop in your tracks and furrow your brows at the contact name in confusion. The truth is, you haven’t spoken to Lee Donghyuck that many times– you just know that he’s friends with your friend Lee Yangyang from high school and you two meet occasionally at the said friend’s gatherings. Plus, you had a discussion or two about the beauty of Quentin Tarantino movies when you met at orientation in freshman year, and that's also when you learned that he’s your neighbor; in fact, the window to his flat's bathroom and his very own bedroom face yours. But that’s about as far as it goes when it comes to your closeness. You’re not familiar enough with him to text each other or to think of each other in a time of need, so to have his first texts to you be about him being out of toilet paper is a thing to really dwell on to fully understand the extent of the bad impression this man had on you.
you – what the fuck
lee donghyuck (film theory class) – just open the window and throw me some lee donghyuck (film theory class) – i am good at catching
you – im in a hurry rn. gotta get to class
lee donghyuck (film theory class) – SO DO I why else do u think id be up this early lee donghyuck (film theory class) – so PLEASE throw me the damn toilet paper so im not late today
Shaking your head in disbelief at the conversation you’re currently having, too confused and tired to deal with it so early in the morning, you walk up to your room and look out of the window. Right opposite of you, not being further than 10 meters, if you’re being absolutely exact, is Lee Donghyuck’s head popping out from the bottom rim of his bathroom window, seemingly still sitting on the toilet. The look in his eyes is desperate as he clasps his hands together and mouths “Please!” at you, his face forming into a truly humiliating scowl that makes you wonder if he's truly done with what he'd been doing on the toilet only a few minutes prior. 
Sighing, you turn on your feet and escape your room– not noticing the absolutely disturbed and mortified face Donghyuck’s pulling behind your back, thinking you abandoned him and took off for class– and you truly can’t believe yourself when you walk into your own bathroom and take the half-used roll of toilet paper off the stand, murmuring a silent “Fucking hell” under your nose as you walk back to your bedroom and open up your window wide. Donghyuck’s eyes light up now, as if he was a kid under a Christmas tree about to receive a gift from Santa.
“If it falls to the street, I’m not getting it!” you yell after the boy, seeing as he eagerly nods and ushers you with a wave of his hands.
“Just throw it and I’ll be sure to catch it!” he nods, waiting for you to start your career in the new twist on baseball– a sport you’d call a toilet roll throw against the street. His eyes seem focused, knowing this is his only opportunity at wiping his ass this morning (why neither of you thought of suggesting to use the shower instead, you don't know to this day– perhaps it was too early in the morning for such complex strategies), when you surprisingly do your best at aiming for his window– thank god you both live on the same floor– and throw the roll across the alleyway, the paper unwinding only slightly before it lands on the floor of Lee Donghyuck’s pearl white bathroom.
“Thank you so much, you are my savior!” he yells, his head disappearing from the window, leaving you alone in your room to watch the commotion. When nothing happens for a while, you only shake your head in disbelief once again, deciding your job here is over and you can finally take off for your dreaded lecture.
“I’ll get going!” you scream into the void, scratching the back of your neck, aimlessly. 
“Mhm! See you later!” 
Nodding to yourself, you sigh, closing the window and doing a double take as you’re about to leave your flat for class, hopefully still on time. In disbelief, feeling the second-hand embarrassment seeping to your bones, you put on your shoes at the entrance and swear to yourself that you’re never gonna answer any of Lee Donghyuck’s texts ever again.
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The previous scene already established that you’re no stranger to second hand embarrassment. I’m sure all of you have experienced it before– seeing someone desperately flirt with your friend, knowing that they’re not interested… Watching a drama and being absolutely grossed out with the script, wondering how the actors got convinced to take on the role… Hearing someone say an absurd answer in class… There are many, for sure, and the list could just keep going. You saw it with your own eyes as well, when your friend Choi Beomgyu tried hard to impress a girl at the skate park and managed to fall off his skateboard mid-trick, tearing his jeans in the crotch area in the process. Or when your roommate Aeri got tipsy at the club and who she thought was a very fine gentleman to flirt with was actually her ex boyfriend. The list goes on and on.
What about first hand embarrassment, though? You’re sure you experienced it before as well, but if anyone asked you, you’d tell them you don’t remember any embarrassing stories. If it’s because you just don’t want anyone knowing about the shame in your bones or if you really hated those experiences so much you chose to bury them and extract them out of your memory, you won’t tell. You just won’t let the shame haunt you for any longer than it has to, that’s for sure. 
So when you walk home from the hairdresser one afternoon and you’re met with your roommate Aeri looking at you with lips pressed together, yet the corners tugging upwards in what you assume (and fully know) is her trying to hold back an amused laugh, you admit that your suspicions were indeed correct when you saw yourself in the mirror at the salon and you’re going to have to live through another embarrassing moment. One that will take days and weeks to outlive as well, since your hair doesn’t grow back overnight– and when you look into the mirror again, you’re terrified.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing, it’s just… you look… well, you know, it’s just…” she mumbles, before she finally breaks into a loud laugh, standing behind you and examining the state of your hair in the mirror of your entrance hall with you, hands coming up to play with your strands and hold them up and down, brushing your bangs out of your face and ruffling the top– trying everything possible to find a single good hairdo with the haircut you have going on right now. “Oh babygirl… what did the do to your beautiful hair…” she mourns, the tone of her voice still amused, but now also kind of considerate.
“I told her I only wanted a trim,” you say, voice weak in what you realize is you holding back your tears and suppressing a mental breakdown, “how the fuck am I supposed to show my face to the world tomorrow?” 
Your roommate sighs at you, spinning you around so you no longer can see the disaster on your head, a pout forming on her face as she lightly shoves you deeper into the apartment. “At a second glance, it’s really not that bad, you know–”
“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” you cut her off, annoyed at her soft eyes.
“I don’t?” she looks at you, shocked irises hardening when she realizes you no longer need her sympathetic words. “Okay, thank god. Man, she fucked you uuup, leave a bad review like, right now. I’d cry myself to sleep if I got a haircut like that–”
“I take it back, I liked your lies better,” you roll your eyes at her, walking over to the kitchen to fix yourself a glass of water to calm down your racing heart. The mental breakdown is still right around the corner and you realize you have to do everything in your power to stop it, because you already have a fucked up haircut– you can’t afford to show up to class tomorrow with puffy eyes and stress-induced pimples as well. Gulping down the cold liquid, you decide to hop into the shower (and avoid looking in the mirror at all costs, which is kind of difficult, since there's three of them just on your way to the bathroom). 
Meeting the encouraging eyes of your roommate once you come out of the shower, hair tied up in a towel so you don't have to think about it any longer, Aeri's words reach your ears in the living room. “Come on, I’m sure we can manage to do something with this tomorrow morning,” she smiles, “at least you have a pretty face. You can pull off everything!”
And the truth is, even though Aeri is nice, she’s not always right. You’re met with the fact the next morning as you watch your reflection in the mirror before you both leave for your shared Film theory class, standing next to each other defeated; one breathtakingly beautiful and one looking like the main character from Chicken little. You'd be fine with it if it was only you who was aware of your disastrous image, you would be able to deal with the shame and insecurity silently– but that's not what happens as you’re only reminded by the fact that other people, sadly, do perceive you, against your biggest wishes, throughout the whole day.
You’re reminded by the fact that your haircut is fucked up when Ji Changmin, the guy you share an Animation class with, sees you in the corridor and does the yikes face at you and his friend Sunwoo hides his face from you as they turn the corner. You’re reminded by the fact again when you see Jisu, the ever-so-sweet girl that majors in Finance, the girl that’s friends with everyone in this school, look at you with a considerate look, patting your shoulder when she passes you by before you enter your Film theory classroom. 
And most importantly, you’re reminded by the fact when you finally sit down– at the very back of the classroom, which is both valid and understandable, considering your current state– and you’re met with a thud of a backpack to your left, a figure sitting down on the usually vacant spot. Clenching your jaw and looking up to see its owner, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing that’s about to come, you meet eyes with a tall, sleek man, shirt tucked into his black jeans and a sigh of relief escaping his throat as he sits down on the uncomfortable chair. Lee Donghyuck waves at you in greeting when he notices you there, running his hand through his neatly styled hair.
“Hi there,” he breathes out, “can’t believe I made it on time. My alarm didn’t go off and my roommate couldn’t be arsed to wake me, even though our morning lectures start at the same time, so I had to run and my usual seat is taken already… hope you don’t mind me sitting here– woah.”
And here it is again– the feeling of absolute humiliation as the man scans you up and down, eyes bearing into yours with an unreadable look on his face. Is this how he felt when he texted you to throw toilet paper through his bathroom window? Or was he immune to the shame? 
“Did you get a new haircut?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you in question.
“Shut the fuck up,” you sigh, already annoyed with his antics– because frankly, you know what will come next. 
“That’s an interesting answer to a yes or no question,” he muses, chuckling to himself, “I’ll take it as a yes, though, but it seems like you’re not satisfied with the new look…”
“Woah. You should work with the FBI or something,” you mumble, averting your gaze from him and looking straight in front of you, praying for the class to start fast so you don’t have to interact with your neighbor any longer and listen to him make fun of you for your new look.
“Why? It doesn’t look bad at all,” he says, the tone of his voice fakely considerate, making you want to punch him in the gut, “It’s interesting. I like it. It shows off your eyes and your forehead more, since your bangs are way shorter now,” he says, putting emphasis on the fact that your bangs truly are half their original length– which wasn't your original plan at all– only riling you up more.
“Only thing left to add is that I have a massive forehead, isn’t it?” you ironically smile at him, and the male takes your word for it as his eyes focus on the exposed part of your skin, furrowed eyebrows and all, as he examines your features.
“Not massive, but it’s a little… like, I wouldn’t say–”
“Just don’t say anything, okay?” you sigh, cutting him off and folding your arms at your chest in a poor attempt at defending yourself.
“Geez, why are you so snappy? I was complimenting you, y'know,” he says, and if you were more stupid, you’d even believe him– the tone of his voice still sounds genuine, but that’s just the way your neighbor likes to deceive people, and you know that; you’ve seen it happen multiple times before. “It adds character.”
The comment makes you roll your eyes, all words taken off your tongue– you simply think there’s no use defending your atrocious haircut now (not that you tried defending it before, even you aren't that oblivious). Your gaze is focused anywhere but at your seatmate, counting down the minutes until the class starts and you're taken out of your misery for at least an hour and a half. Your Film theory professor is almost never late and now is the only day you’re content and happy about the fact, because it means you won’t have to listen to Lee Donghyuck for more than approximately 2 more minutes until the small, hunched over frame of your professor strides through the door. 
Still, you feel his burning gaze to the side of your face, and despite your best intentions, you snap your head towards him and bite at the annoying gemini.
“Take a picture, it will last longer,” you spit, scoffing at the male.
“Can I really?” he asks, and before you have a chance to disagree, his phone is shoved into your point of view and the shutter comes off, making you lounge after the man in a poor attempt at taking his phone away and deleting the first picture of your new hair ever taken. (Well, except for the one you took crying last night, with a peace sign and your tongue darted to the side against your mirror. You don’t need any more traces of your current haircut than that one.)
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lee donghyuck (film theory class) – hi neigbor whatchu doin lee donghyuck (film theory class) – u have a car right
Squinting at the next text conversation with Lee Donghyuck, the first one since he asked you for toilet paper 3 weeks ago, you feel nothing more than pure confusion at the strange questions the man asks you in the middle of the night. It’s Friday evening and your roommate went out with a guy named Eric she met four weeks ago in the gym, and even though you were slightly concerned when she texted you to say she was staying over at his house for the first time, you only showed her support as you went to lay down with no other plans for your evening. Falling asleep to your midnight playlist playing in the background (thanking God for the smart feature that makes the music shut off after 30 minutes), it's completely understandable and predictable that the noise of an incoming text annoys you when you hear it only a few minutes after 2 in the morning. The fact that it’s your neighbor texting you, out of all people, only makes the fury in you bigger as you click your tongue and shoot him a quick text back.
you – what do u want
lee donghyuck (film theory class) – neighbor!!!!! lee donghyuck (film theory class) – you do have a car 
Staring at the text that just appeared on your screen, you sigh and decide to spill the truth, preparing for whatever request that’s about to come after you admit to the fact that you do, indeed, have a perfectly functioning vehicle parked behind the building.
you – yes 
lee donghyuck (film theory class) – perfect lee donghyuck (film theory class) – do u hav sm time on ur hands
you – im sleeping
lee donghyuck (film theory class) – veryfunny youre replying rn tho lee donghyuck (film theory class) – come on itsa simple request
Breaking your back just to decipher the words through the amount of typos Lee Donghyuck’s making, your annoyance only grows bigger. Has he always been a bad texter? You don’t remember him struggling as much when he was sitting on the toilet three weeks ago– his texts were absolutely clear and with 0 mistakes back then. Maybe he was in a more desperate situation back then, after all…
you – what do u want hyuck its late
lee donghyuck (film theory class) – can u drive me home
And here it goes– in the back of your mind, you somehow knew it was coming. There were only a few reasons why someone would ask if you owned a car, and judging by the fact that it was now 2 in the morning on a Friday night, your neighbor wasn’t trying to sell you a new vehicle just in case you didn't have one yourself. Getting a drive home would be the only logical request from someone asking if you owned a car– it would only be more logical if the person asking you was your friend, and not an acquaintance at best.
Staring at the screen of your phone, counting down from 10 to not snap at the ridiculous request, you watch as the device lights up with an incoming call. You don’t even have to look at the caller ID to know who’s calling, and despite your best assumptions, you pick up with no more thought given, waiting for the person on the other side of the line to speak first.
“Y/N,” he says, voice breathless. 
“Lee Donghyuck.”
“Can you please drive me home?” he asks, tone of voice lazy and tired, something about the dragging of his words hinting you that there’s more to the request than you’re grasping right now.
“Are you drunk?” you ask, right off the bat, to clear out any confusion. 
There’s a short silence on the other side of the line, one that hints that you’re completely right in your assumptions, but you still want to hear it from the guilty man himself. “Maybe a little,” he admits, snickering, “I was over at Yangyang’s and then he kicked me out and I… my legs hurt too much to walk home.”
Sighing loudly at the man’s antics, you shake your head in disbelief and clear your throat. “I don’t see how that’s my problem?”
“Oh, come oonnn,” he drags out, “it’s not that far.”
“Yeah, so I don’t see how you can’t walk back, then?” you mutter, rolling your eyes at the demanding tone in your neighbor’s voice. If it was anyone else, maybe, just maybe, you’d be on your way already. You never decline your friend’s requests for favors, since you know they’d do the same if you asked, but you don’t really see how Lee Donghyuck, a man you’re not even close to in the first place, could repay the favor. What on Earth was he thinking in the first place when he called you? Were you his last option? Is he out of his mind?
“Because my legs hurt, if you were paying attention, you’d know that I told you before–”
“I don’t really care,” you mutter, “this is not my problem, I’m ending the call now, goodbye!”
“Y/N!”
The tone of his voice is desperate. Laced in agony, even. Still, you don’t care as you cut off the line and close your laptop that's been your source of music during the late night, settling deeper into your sheets. This is not your circus, not your monkeys, and frankly, you don’t really care what happens to Lee Donghyuck on his way home from Yangyang’s house, no matter how drunk or high he is right now. The man has done nothing but annoy you in your short, 23 year old life, and you’re not going to change out of your pajamas just to drive a few miles to get your dumb neighbor back home.
You’re not going to lose your beauty sleep for this. No, not at all.
Still, your eyes only close when you see the light in Lee Donghyuck’s room go on and the shadow of his slouched figure safely hits his bedsheets, another smaller frame coming to close his door and shut the blinds off, turning the light back off. 
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The next Monday, you find yourself sitting in your Film theory class alongside your roommate Aeri that’s currently snoozing in the middle of the lecture. You can’t really blame her, since she only got home from her romantic retreat (read as: hanging out at Eric Sohn’s house the whole weekend and having sex possibly on every surface of his little flat downtown) on Sunday evening, and you can only imagine that she didn’t have much sleep during her stay there. 
And the class was boring, to add another reason for your roommate's nap. It’s not like you weren’t interested in the theory behind every movie, like the topic itself wasn’t interesting– you quite enjoyed wondering about all the special details in each movie that complete the story and make the atmosphere pop just in the right way– but the professor currently standing at the very bottom of the auditorium is old enough to be there when the Lumiére brothers showed the first ever movie to the public back in the 19th century, and his age only matches with the monotonous style of his teaching. Which means that his voice is mellow, but close enough to a lullaby, and with the amount of issues you have when paying attention in general, the lack of focus caused by this only feeds your distraction during the lectures, resulting in you not really being the top of the class in this specific subject.
So when you hear the professor mutter something under his nose about a project in pairs you’ll have to submit until the end of the semester, you feel your heart drop down to your stomach, all alert. Suddenly, you’re 100% present, brain racking about all the possible solutions and ways you could go around this just so you could pass the subject this year. 
Because frankly speaking, at the moment, you’re failing the class. And if you don’t manage to get a good grade on this final project, you’re going to have to retake the class next year– and trust me, another year listening to the monotonous lectures won’t make you pass easier, since you can only imagine the boredom will only grow once you’re in this class the second year in a row and you'd already heard all of the lectures once before.
“What was that?” Aeri mumbles under her nose when she notices you staring at the front of the classroom with wide eyes, an expression close to one you'd wear after seeing a ghost (with the age of your professor, you might as well have). She often tells you you look like a deer in the headlights when you get shocked or stressed-out, and you can’t say that comment doesn’t make you insecure. Still, you can’t quite control it when you sigh and turn to your roommate with a distressed look on your face.
“We have a final assignment to do,” you mumble, “in pairs.”
“Amazing, we’re doing it together, then,” she yawns, stretching a little before slumping over the desk again, ready for round two of her nap. 
“Fuck no,” you quickly dart, looking at her with furrowed brows.
“What do you mean, no?” 
Sighing, watching as she opens her eyes and looks at you with an offended expression on her face, you shake your head in disapproval and lower your voice, careful to explain yourself. “Look, girl, I love you, you know that,” you assure, “but we are both failing this fucking class. And I can’t afford to do badly just because the both of us suck, because I am not retaking this atrocious class ever again, so I suggest that the both of us find someone with good grades to leech from and get this over with.”
Aeri squints at you, seemingly lost in thought– more so contemplating your master plan– before she leans back in her chair and cautiously looks around the room. “You have a point there.”
“See? It’s nothing personal,” you chuckle, seeing as your roommate nods to herself.
“Okay, I’ll flutter my eyelashes at Shotaro,” she turns to you, eyes bright with the newly made plan, “we’re both Japanese, so he’s not legally allowed to turn me down.”
Rolling your eyes at her comment, you only nod in approval to her idea. Shotaro was one of the best in this class, so you can imagine that working with him would satisfy your professor enough to let Aeri pass the class this year. The only thing left to do was find the culprit to your own plan– you needed to team up with someone good enough to at least make you get a D on your final. And since half of the class was just as good as you in this particular subject, there weren’t many candidates left.
Eyes scanning the crowd (thank god you chose to sit in the back again), your gaze lands on a particular man sitting a few rows under you, a little bit to your right. Helplessly searching through the flood of your classmates currently occupying the auditorium, you sigh to yourself in realization, already dreading what’s about to come when the class is dismissed and you hurriedly walk over to the only person that can help you now, before he escapes the university grounds and you’re going to have to shamefully text him or ring his doorbell this afternoon.
“Donghyuck! Wait!” you yell after him, legs taking you closer to the man in question, now standing still in the middle of the moving crowd, watching you in curiosity.
“What’s up, neighbor?” he asks with a lazy smile, the tug at his lips only making your blood boil and your insides tighten into a bundle of nerves. Everything about him was ticking you off, the slouch in his shoulders making you want to stand behind him and fix his bad posture and slap the back of his head so you no longer have to look at him standing like a hermit crab, the glint in his eyes making you want to curl your fingers into a fist and slam your hand against a wall. The seemingly strong emotions of annoyance run through your veins whenever you interact with Lee Donghyuck, it seems, but the senile voice of your professor keeps repeating itself somewhere in the back of your head throughout the whole interaction, and so you choose to take a deep breath in and out before you smile at the man and prepare your best speech– you can't afford to be picky with this any longer.
“Who are you doing the project with?” you ask innocently at first, trying to get some info out of him.
He offers you a suspicious look, but replies nonetheless. “I’m not sure yet,” he sighs, “I was thinking of chasing down Haknyeon, but you stopped me in my tracks…” he shakes his head at you, teasing. 
“Hmm, I see,” you mumble, more for the effect than for anything else, “well, what if we do it together?”
There aren’t many instances in which you could catch Lee Donghyuck completely silent. Now is one of them, though, as he watches you with wide, surprised eyes, furrowed brows and his plump lips slightly agape, breathing in a few times before he shakes his head as if to reset the system, snickering to himself. “Us two?”
“Yeah, why not?” you peep, shrugging.
“Look, respectfully,” Donghyuck starts, and you brace yourself for the impact, “your grades in this class aren’t as good as mine, and even though I’d love to do it with you, I don’t wanna be the one doing all the work and–”
“I’ll help!” you snap, maybe too urgently for your own liking. “I promise. I’ll do everything in my power, I just really need your help with this,” you plea, looking at him with what you pray are your best puppy eyes, seeing as the man in front of you chuckles at the expression and averts his gaze from you for a heartbeat, signaling that you were most likely unsuccessful at the attempt.
“Sorry, Y/N,” he shrugs, shaking his head at you, even going as far as taking one step away from you, “see, if you hadn't declined my call on Friday, maybe I’d take this offer as a way to repay the favor, but you know…”
“I threw you toilet paper before, Donghyuck, you can’t be shitting me right now–” you feel your blood boil at the note, the ever so familiar annoyance seeping back into your bones.
“That was nothing–”
“You seemed pretty desperate back then.”
“That was the past, sweetheart,” he chuckles, taking another step away from you, somehow overthrowing your annoyance with pure, embarrassing desperation as you chase after him and stop him with a swift motion of your hand, catching him by his wrist. He stares at you with a shiteating grin on his face, one he always uses to get a reaction from you, and somehow, you know this is all a game for him, a stupid tug of war, but you can’t help it– you are in a desperate situation. So if you need to say please to the man and humiliate yourself in front of him just to pass this class, then so be it.
“Please, Hyuck? Just this once, I swear I’ll make it up to you. Literally, say anything, I’m gonna do it, I just really need to pass this class,” you mumble, a pout forming at your lips as you clasp your hands together– much like he did back when you two communicated through the window of his bathroom– and you swear you can see the gears in his brain turning when he calculates his next move and tells you his answer.
“Anything?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” you nod, hoping that Lee Donghyuck still has some dignity in him and wouldn’t ask for anything that would make you uncomfortable. He’s annoying, sure, but he’s not a dick, after all.
“Okay, then,” he nods, tone of voice airy, underlined with laughter, “be my personal driver for the entirety of the project, then. I’ll do it if you drive me places,” he grins, and that’s when your composure falls.
“Absolutely not.”
“Well then, say goodbye to the grade!”
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Putting your arm around the passenger’s seat headrest, twisting your whole body as you look back and reverse the car into the parking spot in front of the mall, you see the figure next to you still in its place, eyes alert and staring at you. “If you’re so terrified of me driving, why did you want me to do this in the first place?” you sigh, finally turning back to the front and turning the engine off once you're standing straight between the lines, satisfied with your job.
“That’s- that’s not it,” he clears his throat and gulps nervously, shaking his head. “Anyways, let’s go,” Donghyuck says, slapping his thighs like parents do when it’s time to leave a family gathering, grinning at you widely as he waits for you to get out of the vehicle.
“What do you mean, let’s go? I drove you here, I can go now,” you glare, not satisfied with the way your Wednesday afternoon was going. You only agreed to the deal on Monday, and Donghyuck already made you drive him home after class twice and also asked you to drive him to the school this morning. Having him constantly leeching around you and making you drive him places wasn’t exactly fun, since he always asked weird questions and made fun of your bored face at every red light, so you really, desperately, needed him to be gone already so you could head home and scream into your pillow to unwind the nerves. 
“Well, how am I supposed to get back when I’m done shopping?” he innocently asks, pouting at you. “My hands are gonna be full with bags and you’re gonna have to come pick me up, because that’s the deal, and I can’t afford to wait with my hands full until you get back here, so you might as well stay and come with me, so it’s convenient.”
“Nothing about this is convenient for me,” you mumble, but comply with his orders nonetheless. “Why don’t you get a car? Or take a bus back?”
“Buses smell and I don’t have a license,” he mutters, “besides, I have you now to be my personal taxi driver, so I don't need a car,” he shrugs, walking alongside you to the mall. 
His confession startles you, makes you halt in your step as the boy looks at you with defeated eyes, already knowing what’s next. This scenario has happened to him multiple times before– he’s best friends with Huang Renjun and Liu Yangyang, he’s in for a teasing at every single action of his that goes just slightly wrong– but to hear it from you will surely feel more humbling to the man. Closing his eyes as if to not see the grin overtaking your features, he sighs. “What?”
“You don’t have a license?” you tease, snickering. “For real?”
“No.”
“Why? You failed the test?” you ask again, catching up to the male and falling in with his quick pace, enjoying the fact that you now have the upper hand on him for once.
“Never really tried getting it in the first place,” he mumbles, shrugging. 
“Why?”
“I dunno,” he shamefully ducks his head, “it seems scary,” he adds, making you snort out at his confession.
“Fucking hell dude,” you laugh out now, swatting his shoulder in a teasing manner, “that’s so embarrassing, it’s not even really that difficult in the first place–”
“I don’t know what’s more embarrassing,” he cuts you off, tone of voice laced with frustration as he realizes you are a bit too amused at him admitting to one of his fears, “is it me not having a license or you driving me around because you're failing a class… Hm?” he asks, locking eyes with you, lips pressed shut into a straight line, and suddenly, your composures exchange. He won. Again.
“Anyways, let’s get going!” he smiles, dismissing the previous discussion as he tugs you by your hand into one of the stores right in the middle of the mall.
You should’ve already predicted that shopping with Lee Donghyuck would be exhausting. Not only did he demand to know your opinion on every single thing he tried on, he also wanted you to pick up something for him to try– as if driving him here wasn’t too much work for you as it was. All you wanted to do was walk back to your car and get away from him as soon as possible, but with the way he teasingly poked your sides every time you weren’t paying attention and turned to your phone to entertain yourself with some mindless scrolling on social media, you weren’t able to escape even mentally, no matter how hard you tried. 
“Why don’t you try something on?” 
“I’m not in the mood,” you glare, walking out of the last store in the whole entire mall, the sky behind the glass doors already dark from how late it’s gotten. You’re pretty sure it’s gonna close soon, but checking the time on your phone, you’re relieved to learn that you still have enough time to get boba from the stand at the entrance of the mall. You deserve a little treat after involuntarily hanging out with Lee Donghyuck the whole day, after all. Call it your girl dinner, or something.
“Taro milk tea with coconut jelly, please,” you smile at the tired barista behind the counter, noticing the way Donghyuck stands next to you and looks at the menu. You expect him to order a drink for himself as well, and surely, he doesn’t disappoint as he smiles at the girl, the tone of his voice sweet and considerate– so far away from the way he speaks to you on a daily basis– as he asks for his own drink.
“Will you pay together or separately?” she asks.
“Separate–”
“Together,” your companion cuts you off, grinning at you when you glare at the man, sighing at his antics.
“Come on, I already drive you everywhere, do you think gas is cheap? Now you want me to pay for your boba as well?” you whine, reaching for your wallet as you frown at the male, his confused eyes bearing into yours when he slightly nudges you from his way, offering the girl behind the counter his card instead. The action shuts you up, making the gears in your brain turn faster as you watch him in the action, and it doesn't fully register yet, but you're left feeling a bit taken aback and sheepish when the cashier hands him the receipt.
“I was gonna buy it for you as a thank you for the nice day, but now you’re making me look like I felt pressured to,” he sighs, shaking his head at your little tantrum. His actions still don’t register in your brain, though, his words resonating all the way through your ears to your Wernicke’s area and right back, hanging everywhere in the air of the mall, shock making your body still. Then, it hits you.
“Ah,” you gasp, feeling the tips of your ears burning with shame at the fact that you managed to ruin his nice gesture, your eyes scanning the space in a poor attempt to not look at him or the cashier still watching your exchange.
“Get your drink and let’s go,” he nudges you instead, rolling his eyes for good measure as he walks out of the mall, nearing your car in the parking lot.
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“Look at this, look! Isn’t it funny?” Donghyuck hovers over you with his phone in his hand, giggling to himself as he tries to make you look at the screen. You don’t really know why he’s trying to get a laugh out of you, honestly, but he’s currently doing everything but that as you’re sat in his living room, legs plopped up onto the sofa and crossed in front of you, waiting patiently– but also kind of boiling on the inside out of frustration– for him to pay attention to you.
“Hyuck, I didn’t come here to watch Tiktoks with you,” you say, eyes sharp, tone of your voice cutting like razors– efficiently making him look up from his screen and meet your gaze with an amused grin, “I’m not really sure if you forgot, but I came to discuss the project,” you mutter, sighing.
“Jeez,” you see him roll his eyes, the energy around him still not shifting as he maintains his casual and unfocused composure, but you know that on the inside, he's enjoying the view– your angry face seems to be his most favorite thing to stare at recently, “didn’t know you lack a sense of humor.”
“What?” you look at him, confused, quite frankly, before you shake your head in disbelief at the comment. “You know what, just put the phone away for 5 seconds and finally talk to me about the project, smart boy, or else I’m not wasting my time here any longer and I’m leaving.”
“You’re acting as if you’re the one putting in work,” he mumbles, snickering.
“I will be putting in work when you tell me what to do!”
At your sentence, Donghyuck finally puts his phone back at the coffee table and shifts a little in his seat, facing you and scratching the back of his head, seemingly lost in thought. You let him, convinced that if you speak up and cut off his train of thought, the poor boy wouldn’t be able to get back to it again, waiting for him to be done with his brain weaving so you can pick up on them and ride them out, seeming at least decently smart (or not completely stupid). When he finally speaks up, he licks his lips and shrugs.
“We just gotta pick a theme and do our best portraying it with no words in a 3 minute clip, right?” he asks you in reassurance, as if you were the most reliable source of information when it comes to this class and its assignments.
“Yeah,” still, you agree.
“Well, then we just gotta pick a theme and the rest will be easy,” he nods to himself, reaching back for his phone, which you swiftly take from his hold and hide behind your body. 
“Hey–”
“We’re not done talking about this! I’m not letting you use your phone, because you’re just gonna scroll on Tiktok instead of thinking about this,” you squint at him, twisting and turning in your seat as his hands try to sneak around your sitting figure and take the device out of your grasp. 
He seems determined as his arm lands on your elbow, a victorious grin smoothly swiped off his face when you sit on his phone and flash him a wide grin. “I’ll give it back when we have the theme down!”
“That’s an invasion of my privacy,” Donghyuck mumbles, and you roll your eyes at him, pointing a finger to his shoulder.
“That’s not what an invasion of privacy means, but whatever floats your boat…” you mumble, watching him sit back in his seat, defeated as his shoulders slouch and his gaze is glued to the wall in front of him. You’re not sure what’s so interesting about the white paint, but at least there’s not the noise of his phone filling your ears right now– you’re more than okay with silence, since you don't get to hear it often when Donghyuck is present. You would like it better if he spoke up and talked to you about the assignment, but if you had to choose between him being annoying and him being quiet, you think everyone knows which one of the two you’d prefer.
“So?” you test the waters after a while, seeing if your project partner decides to finally comply with your request and discuss the important matters.
“So? Do you got any ideas?” he teases, watching you with challenging eyes.
Clearing your throat, caught off guard at the request– you assumed he’d tell you exactly what to do and you just have to do it and follow his lead, essentially not putting in much effort and still being sure of passing the class– but it seems like Lee Donghyuck won’t let you off that easily. You should've expected it. Being difficult is his favorite hobby, after all.
“Well, you’re the smart one here, so…” you shrug, trying the method that always works on men– and that is praising them.
“So you’re saying you’re stupid?”
“If it works in my favor during this conversation, then sure,” you nod, smiling at him in irony. Hyuck gives you a defeated sigh, shaking his head at you before he clicks his tongue at you and finally gives in.
“Okay, so, I was thinking we should pick a theme that fits the current social struggles, but after hearing this, I don't think feminism is our best choice,” he mutters.
“Like you’d know anything about feminism–”
“What do you have me for?” Donghyuck sharply glares at you, clicking his tongue at you in pure offense. “I am a fan of Little women, I'll have you know, of course I’m a feminist.”
“Well, you must be a fake fan, since everything about this deal is just me majorly girlbossing,” you point out, trying really hard to prove your point.
“Are you even being serious right now–”
“Anyways,” you cut him off, “what were you thinking?”
The man sighs and shakes his head at you in disbelief, but still speaks up again nonetheless. “I was thinking, well, maybe we could pick something that would really play into the old man’s feelings, you know, so we get him all sentimental and moved to tears…” he starts off, tone of voice now completely serious, making him sound kind of smart– startling you in the process, “that leaves us with a few possible options. We could do something with the 18 hundreds, or… fishing? I heard he’s into fishing. Or we could do something more abstract and shoot something about youth, since he’s very old and this could get him nostalgic. Or!” he suddenly perks up in his seat, eyes wide and a disturbing grin sitting at his lips, “we could include nudity! He’s a man, after all… wanna shoot porn? We don’t need words for porn.”
In absolute disbelief, you stare at the man with eyes wide open, blinking a few times and taking a few seconds to yourself to process the monologue you just listened to. You knew he was absolutely insufferable, but you didn’t know he was this much of a dumb freak. 
Taking your silence for disgust, Donghyuck just nods to himself and purses his lips.
“Youth it is, then… I mean, nudity would be difficult to present in front of the class for sure–” he admits, pouting.
“Yeah, like that’s the only problem with that idea…”
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Afternoon classes aren’t your favorite ones of the week and although you absolutely despise waking up early and having to commute to university while you’re still half-asleep and absolutely irritated, there’s nothing that infuriates you more than knowing you could be done with the day already, sitting at home and watching your favorite TV show, only if it wasn’t for the responsibility of having to stay at campus and sit through another hour and a half lecture on a Thursday afternoon, way too late for your brain to be working in those hours.
This is one of the only classes you don’t share with your roommate Aeri– which makes the lecture that more excruciating, since you don’t have anyone with you that you could gossip with about your classmates or friends from back home when it gets too boring and you can't bear sitting in silence and forcing yourself to focus anymore– but there is one person from your circle that you do share this class with, and yes, you already guessed it; it’s Lee Donghyuck.
You don’t know when you’ve gotten so close to the point where he sits in the vacant seat right next to you almost immediately, followed by his friend Ju Haknyeon who you’ve never even spoken to before, but he still does so nonetheless, every Thursday, just so he could annoy you with his only half-funny remarks to every other sentence that comes out of your Animation class professor’s mouth. 
“What are you doing this weekend?” you hear Haknyeon ask the devil sitting on your left, and trust me, you don’t really like listening to other people’s conversations (that’s a lie, you live for gossip. You just wish you knew the least amount of information about Lee Donghyuck as possible, because sometimes you learn fun facts you wish never joined your brain), but you can’t really help it this time, can you? Haknyeon doesn’t know what whispering is, and you’re convinced Donghyuck would love everyone to hear him talk and give him attention anyway. 
“Not really sure,” Donghyuck replies, “Renjun bailed on me, said he’s going to the shelter with his girlfriend again, so I was thinking, right? You know, I’d looove to go on a road trip, and it’s crazy, you know, because–”
The words coming out of his mouth instantly make you alert, snapping your head around to make eye contact with the man that’s already staring at you with a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing you’re listening to them talk. “Lee Donghyuck, I am not going on a road trip with you–”
“See, Y/N here is my personal driver for the semester, so she can’t really say no–” Donghyuck continues, enjoying the way your face distorts into a pained scowl, your hand coming up into your hair to tug at the roots in frustration.
“If you make me do this, I’m going to open your door while we’re going 120km/h on a crowded highway and throw you out so you die under the wheels of someone else and I don't face the consequences,” you propose, shaking your head in disbelief, your voice shushed due to you still not wanting to be heard by the whole classroom, but still loud enough for both of the boys to chuckle.
“Come on, I bet you’d have fun. I have the best playlists for road trips, you know,” Hyuck teases, poking you with the tip of his pen, to which you click your tongue and move a bit further away from the male. 
“The last time I drove you somewhere that was more than a 10 minute drive, you had Céline Dion on loop, so I don’t know just how believable this claim is.”
“That’s disrespectful to the legend Céline Dion is, dear Y/N, and I’d take it back before her ghost comes to haunt you at night.”
“Is she even dead in the first place?” you squint at him, at disbelief of his words.
“She’s not,” Haknyeon chimes in from the side, shaking his head at the both of you before he chuckles, “you two argue like a married couple.”
“I would rather die than to marry him–”
“See, Hak, Y/N just hasn’t realized she’s in love with me yet,” Hyuck adds, clicking his tongue at his seatmate, “but she’s gonna realize it somewhere during our 5 hour long road trip, I’m sure. Just wait, it’s gonna happen soon.”
The class gets dismissed somewhere in the middle of the argument, and as you’re gathering your things to go, you hear the two of them talk among themselves, not really including you in their conversation anymore (which you’re glad for, frankly). 
“Are you going home after class?” Haknyeon asks.
“No,” Donghyuck shakes his head in disapproval, and there it is– the shit-eating grin appears on his face when he initiates eye contact with you and snickers, “Y/N and I are actually getting fried chicken at this place downtown, since I got coupons– well, Renjun got coupons for free chicken from his uncle last week, but he doesn’t like chicken that much, so I stole them from him–”
“Huh?” you scowl at him, wondering if you heard right. “I’m not getting chicken with you.”
“Of course you are,” Hyuck announces, “the coupons expire tomorrow, so we gotta do it today. I know you’re not busy, come on.”
“I’d rather choke than to spend any more time with you than I already have today, Donghyuck. Go with Haknyeon,” you say, pointing to the clueless senior staring at the both of you in wonder.
“Yeah, go with me, man,” he shakes his head, “I like chicken.”
“Unfortunately, this offer only applies to people that have a working car that could drive me there, so in case you wanna get your shiny BMW fixed in the next 24 hours, I can save the coupons for you,” Hyuck chimes, smiling innocently at his friend.
“What are you even talking about?” you mutter, tone of voice pained.
“Look, do you wanna get out of the road trip on Saturday, or not?” he stares at you, his gaze flaming as you sigh more for him to hear than to get out your frustration– you learned long ago that it does nothing to calm you down, worse, it makes you even more infuriated.
“Woah, Donghyuck!” you exclaim, fake excitement written all over your features. “Chicken actually sounds so good right now!”
That’s how you appear in one of the fried chicken places downtown, your car parked in their tiny parking lot, with Donghyuck excitedly skipping towards the restaurant with the bunch of coupons in his hands. You don’t really know why he insists on spending time with you– he could get a bus here or drive with one of his other friends that own a car, and you’re certain you are not the only one on his list– so the whole interaction makes you slightly confused. Still, you enjoy the free meal– like any other broke college student would– and when Donghyuck eats, his mouth is usually shut, so you don’t find that many negatives in this whole thing, after all.
“What are you thinking of doing for the project, by the way?” you ask, wiping your greasy fingers on one of the napkins Hyuck had offered to you just a few seconds prior after noticing your dismay at the state of your hands. You don’t like it when you get dirty with food, but you’d rather not eat at all than to eat fried chicken with a fork, so you guess this is the price you have to pay.
“You keep talking about the project,” he shakes his head, chuckling, “don’t worry about it. I have it covered.”
“What do you mean, you have it covered? This is supposed to be teamwork. Just because I drive you around, it doesn’t mean I won’t put my hand in– you’ll complain too much if I don’t,” you mutter after you swallow, rolling your eyes at him. He keeps saying the same thing each time you ask him– you’re suspecting that he has zero idea at all, and he’s just bluffing to make you feel more comfortable. Hell, you might even fail while working with Donghyuck and your whole plan is going to be ruined, for all you know.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, grinning, “we got the theme, so half the work is already done. We’ll just have to take one day to shoot some scenes on a field or something, and then I can edit it and put some sad music over it, and we’re sold. Trust me, I am a straight A student, I know what I'm doing.”
“You are not a straight A student, Lee Donghyuck,” you glare at him, not believing a single word that's just came out of his mouth.
“Okay well,” he shrugs, taking a sip of his coca-cola that he got for free with the order, “maybe I’m not. But you can count on me with this, hon.”
Sighing to yourself, you shake your head at him. “Don’t ever call me that ever again.”
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“Hyuck,” you call for the male, nestling a little in your seat and scratching the back of your neck in frustration.
“Hm?”
“You said we were going to work on the project today, am I correct?” you ask, watching as the male walks up to you from the kitchen area of the room, a bowl full of popcorn in his hand as he plops on the sofa next to you (on the only area that allows you to lay down comfortably and still face the TV, also known as the spot you’ve already laid on, making the two of you almost uncomfortably close in the small space), a bottle of coke situated under his right shoulder.
“Correct,” he nods, reaching for the TV remote he spent approximately 15 minutes searching for in between the cushions of the sofa when you arrived, screaming at his poor roommate for losing it again as the shorter boy just grimaced at you and escaped the flat to hang out with someone you heard him call RJ! y/n.
Humming to yourself, you nod. “Okay, then… why the living fuck are we watching Hunger games right now?” you ask, tone of voice laced in frustration.
Donghyuck doesn’t reply to you for a while as he fumbles with the TV remote (and frankly, you don’t really know why he’s so focused, it doesn’t take much to just press play), but when he looks back at you and sees your gaze impatiently glued to his forehead, he shrugs. “We gotta find some inspiration first, you know,” he innocently states, “Hunger games is a movie about youth if I’ve ever seen one.”
“We’ve both already seen Hunger games, Hyuck,” you whine, but take a hand-full of popcorn out of the bowl that’s currently sitting in his lap. 
“How do you know that I have seen it already?”
“You just said so, you dumb fuck,” you mutter as you roll your eyes, watching the opening credits start. You can do nothing else than settle deeper into the sofa and watch the painfully long movie with your annoying neighbor now, and you despise the fact.
Well, you could do something else. There are many things, to be exact– you could either protest so much that Donghyuck finally gives in and turns the movie off, focusing his efforts into actually working on your project. If that doesn’t work, you can fight him for the remote, but you can’t really know if that wouldn’t make him pettily give you the silent treatment, which is exactly the opposite of what you’d like to be doing right now. Or you could just give up– seeing that you’re not gonna get much work done today– and stand up and go home. It’s not like you live that far away anyways… 
But still, you stay and watch the movie with him. You’ve seen it at least three times already, having watched it recently with Aeri when the movie had its second wave of fame on Tiktok, so you’re pretty sure that if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to recite the script alongside the actors, word-for-word, 100% correct and exact, right on time. You stay and watch Hunger games with Lee Donghyuck– why exactly, you still don’t know– and you find yourself enjoying the experience. It’s not as boring when you hear your neighbor annoyingly comment on each and every little thing that happens in the movie, his nasal voice cracking jokes and jumping into the conversations as if he was a part of the cinematic universe. Somewhere along the way, you join in with him, laughing and giggling when your roleplay gets too silly, and before you know it, the movie is about to end and you’re finally going to be free to work on the project with him.
Donghyuck gets unusually quiet towards the last part of the movie. You turn your head to him, ready to crack jokes at the tears you’re expecting to see in his eyes because of the emotional outro– Katnis and Peeta’s berry scene got you the first and the second time you watched the movie, the third time not so much, since Aeri kept pausing the movie for pee breaks, ruining the full effect– only to witness the man’s head falling to your shoulder the exact second you try to lock your gaze with him; your neighbor having passed out somewhere in the middle of the movie. You foolishly jump just the slightest bit at the contact, opening your mouth to say something to him that could wake him up, your instincts telling you to move away from the already uncomfortable closeness of your bodies and give yourself more space.
But as your lips part and you’re about to protest, you notice his own lips apart in a small pout, his cheeks appearing softer now that one of them is smashed against your shoulder, his long eyelashes fanning over the bones of his cheeks. The blue hue of the TV paints his cheeks rosier in the dim light, making you notice the moles on his face for the first time– leading you to count them and mentally create constellations between them as your gaze focuses from all the different places of his face to another. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shut your mouth and awkwardly make yourself look away from your annoying neighbor, cracking the knuckles of your hands that have been resting in your lap; but when the credits of the movie roll and you have nowhere else to focus your gaze on, you find yourself scanning the man up and down again, orbs catching every detail of his suddenly so pure being.
He is wearing gray sweatpants, the fabric hanging low on his waist, a plain black tee adorning his upper figure. He doesn’t often look this casual when he comes to class, opting to wear jeans or pants more formal, so you foolishly admire the cozy fit he has going on, not quite used to seeing Donghyuck looking this homey. His clasped hands resting in his lap catch your attention next, the soft skin adorning his slender fingers looking way too inviting right now as you subconsciously want to glaze your fingertips against the surface of his palm, just to see if your suspicions are right and his skin is just as gentle as it seems to be to the eye, and you almost do it– for scientific reasons, of course– before you catch yourself and almost mentally slap yourself for being so foolish.
What the hell is going on with you right now? You should wake him up now– the movie is already over, there’s no use in you staying over any longer if he’s asleep and won’t work on the project with you anymore– but you find yourself freezing each time your eyes focus on the creature sleeping against your shoulder, so soft and comfortable it makes your insides squeeze in warmth. It’s a strange sensation, and even a stranger one to feel for a person that annoys you the most in this world, and you can't bring yourself to do anything else than to overthink the simple fact. 
He can sleep for a few more minutes. You don’t mind. He must be tired, you think– he deserves 10 more minutes, maybe even 15– you won’t disturb him. The silence is strangely comforting, after all.
He can sleep for a few more minutes, you think– but the exact moment those thoughts roam around your head again, the front door to Donghyuck’s apartment opens and his roommate stands still in the doorframe of his living room, gazing at you with suspicion in his gaze. You quickly jump away from your project partner when eye contact with Huang Renjun is made, feeling the tips of your ears heating up in shame as you scatter to your feet and scramble for your things. You feel like you were just caught red-handed, doing something you shouldn’t have been doing, and you can’t bear the thought any longer. You need to get out.
A dissatisfied noise leaves Hyuck’s mouth as he wakes up to the impact of your movement, squinted eyes watching you as Renjun just laughs at your antics, shaking his head as if to tell you that he knows something you don’t. You don’t wanna hear it.
“Where are you going?” Donghyuck asks, voice laced with sleep. 
“Home,” you snap, running your hand through your hair as you move through the door frame that separates the living room from their entrance hall. “We can’t work on the project if you’re asleep, so I might as well just go and not waste my time here any longer!” you offer him, making sure to save your face by putting just enough pretended frustration into the comment as you put on your shoes and don't look back at him– however inviting the mental image of him seems in your brain– before you shut the door after yourself and leave.
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dongfuck – drive me to mcdonalds
you – well hello to you too you – no.
dongfuck – >:( dongfuck – please
you – its 2am dude
dongfuck – your point..?
Sighing, scrambling for your things as quietly as possible to not wake up your sleep deprived flatmate, you get dressed in comfortable sweatpants, throwing a hoodie on to shield yourself from the chilly air. The walk down the stairs doesn’t take you more than a few minutes before you’re standing in the parking lot of your apartment complex, already seeing Donghyuck’s figure leaning on the side of your car, almost looking like he owns it– he does act like it lately, to be fair. 
“I knew you’d come,” he snickers as you roll your eyes at him, pressing the button on your car key to unlock the doors, watching as the man swiftly opens the driver’s side for you and then jogs towards the passenger’s side to get in, an excited stride in his step.
“I’m only here because I haven’t eaten dinner and chicken nuggets sound absolutely amazing right now,” you mutter, “don’t get too ahead of yourself. None of this is for you,” you grin, fastening your seatbelt and adjusting the rearview mirror just the slightest before turning on the engine and driving off the parking lot.
Donghyuck only shakes his head at you, a bright grin playing with his features. “Of course,” he hums, “wouldn’t want me to think that you actually want to hang out for once.”
“Of course,” you nod, “because that would be a lie. My goal is chicken nuggets, nothing else. And if I manage to get them out of you for free, that’s even better.”
“Who said I’m paying?”
“The gas station clerk did when I last went to get gas, actually! He told me I’m using twice as much gas lately because I’m driving a certain dumbass around, and I’m paying for all of the gas myself, can you believe it?” you shake your head, teasing him as you turn right on the main road, already seeing the McDonald’s in the distance. 
“That’s a strange way to talk to a customer,” Donghyuck squints his eyes at you, watching as you slow down when getting into the food chain’s parking lot, ready to drive up to the drive-through window and order your late night snacks.
“At least he’s looking out for me,” you shrug, teasing the male. “I better order a hefty meal, since you’re paying and all…” you mumble, looking over the poster to your left, tapping your chin, trying to look lost in thought. 
Hearing the man next to you scoff– already satisfied with how frustrated you’ve managed to make him– you pretend to look over the most expensive parts of the menu. “I’m starting to regret my decision,” Donghyuck adds, but the tone in his voice is light.
After a few more minutes of picking out your menu, you both order your meals and wait for them at the window. It doesn’t take long, since you’re the only ones in the whole place, and before you know it, Donghyuck is pressing his card into your palm, nudging you to pay for both of your meals. The gesture should be expected– you pretty much plastered him into doing this with how much you teased and complained– but it still shocks you when he does it with no other annoyed comments, watching as you offer it to the cashier and smile at him in thanks, taking the bags of food and driving off into the very back of the whole parking lot, turning the engine off and settling into the dark.
You tug your feet up to your seat, sitting crossed-legged in the small space as you face your companion, watching as he offers you the bag of food and digs into his own fries as well, scanning you from the corner of his eye. Now is the time you finally get to admire his attire for the first time the whole night– you never knew you had a thing for guys in sweatpants and oversized jackets, but the way your breathing almost catches in your throat at the sight of Donghyuck dressed so cozily again should be enough of a warning for you to the future. Forcefully taking your eyes off the male next to you, because you’d rather not think about the way you find yourself eyeing him lately, you eat your chicken nuggets– the ones you’ve dreamed of the whole night– and listen to the sound of your neighbor chewing on his burger. 
Feeling his eyes on you, you glare at him. “What are you staring at?”
“No take a picture, it will last longer this time?” 
“I learned my lesson from the last time,” you laugh, reminded of one of the first interactions you had with the male. “I hope you deleted the pictures, by the way.”
“No, I stare at them every night before I go to sleep,” he says, “so I’ll dream of you,” he sing-songs, laughing at the way your face distorts in discomfort at his words.
“Ah, so annoying,” you roll your eyes at him, but can’t battle the way your heart jumps a little at the sound of a laugh escaping his throat. Your eyes automatically trace his movements, noticing the way the far standing lamp post illuminates his face in just the right way, casting orange shadows over his features, making his eyes glimmer when they catch yours. Clearing your throat after being caught staring at him, you avert your gaze and finish the last of your fries, noticing the male done with his meal as well. 
“Now what?” he asks.
“We go home, what else?” you laugh, shaking your head at his question.
“But I don’t wanna go home yet,” he whines, and you already know what’s coming– pursuing, weird ideas, absurd arguments just to make you stay longer. And you’re immune to them on most days, but it’s too late in the night, so you have to cut yourself some slack. So what if you don’t want to come back yet either? It’s not a crime to want to spend some time with Lee Donghyuck.
“What a shame,” still, you tease, waiting for him to come up with a bright idea that you could use as an excuse to stay out longer.
“Oh come on,” Donghyuck mutters, “you always ruin the fun. Teach me how to drive, what do you say?”
Shocked at his preposition, you turn to him again, wide eyes and mouth agape. “What? Absolutely not.”
“Why? The parking lot’s empty. I can’t possibly be that bad that I crash your car into nothing. Come on!” he pleads, going even as far as pouting at you– not really knowing that the expression has you shamefully stare at his lips for a split second, insides heating up– and realistically, you should have warning signs blinking at you from everywhere in your brain, an alarm going off to tell you that this is not a good idea at all, but you’re too stunned to come up with another plan for the rest of your evening, and, well, you may be getting a little weak for the annoying gemini. He's right, though– what could possibly go wrong? 
So you only sigh in response, opening the door and getting out of your seat, watching as Donghyuck excitedly mirrors your motions and jogs to the driver’s seat, ready to possibly ruin your evening and your car at the same time. When you’re back safe inside of the car, you quickly fasten your seatbelt, a sign of your sense of self preservation still working well, watching Donghyuck move your seat further back so he can comfortably reach the pedals. His focused face is in your full view as he adjusts all the mirrors possible, and only then is when you notice him chewing on the inside of his cheek– in either nerves or concentration, you can’t really tell right now– and the sight makes you halt him in his motions before he manages to start the engine.
“Have you ever done this before?” you ask, watching as he turns to you with wide eyes, shaking his head in disagreement.
“No,” he peeps, laughing to himself, “Yangyang declined me the last time I asked.”
“Yeah, because he has a working brain,” you whisper under your breath, still in disbelief of what you allowed to happen, “so… can you reach the pedals?”
“I can.”
“And you see the whole back window in this mirror, right?” you ask, pointing to the rearview mirror, watching as Donghyuck nods.
“Positive.”
“Great. So… start the engine now, I guess?” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you see him nod and reach for the keys, turning them. The car instantly comes alive right in front of him all while Hyuck seems  absolutely clueless, looking at you with big, adorable eyes, and you take it as your cue to instruct him on his next moves.
“Now press the clutch– the far left pedal– and move the gear stick into the first gear,” you say, watching as the boy slowly does as you say, reaching for the device and moving it to the desired place. “Good. Now, keep pressing the clutch and slowly start pressing the accelerator– the far right pedal– while also slowly letting go of the clutch until you get to the point where the car starts moving on itself. That’s when you don’t let go of the clutch, but keep it at that same exact spot, and put a bit more acceleration until the wheels spin like, once or twice. Only then can you keep your leg off the clutch.” 
“You’re kinda hot when you tell me what to do,” Hyuck mumbles, but the flirting doesn’t quite come through when his face is focused at the road and his composure seems shaken, too stressed out to actually mean the words coming out of his mouth.
“Shut up and do what I said,” you snarl, seeing as the man nods and tries moving with the car. It takes him some time, but it seems that he is a natural– the car moves without the engine dying, and suddenly, you find yourself cheering him on. “Good! Good! You’re moving!”
“Oh. My. God.” 
“Don’t panic!”
“I’m not panicking!” Hyuck hums, nodding to himself as he turns the wheel and makes a circle around the parking lot, grinning to himself with confidence. The car moves painfully slowly, and you, despite your best interest, find yourself enjoying the view– although you should probably be more worried about your own safety than you currently are. That's when you decide to challenge the male further.
“Okay, then we can shift into the second gear, it’s gonna go a little smoother,” you muse, seeing as the male nods.
His eyes stay focused on the road, though, so you take it as your cue to instruct him again. “Press on the clutch then, and move the gear stick straight down.”
“Mhm,” he hums, and presses on the clutch, but the struggle comes next as his hand flies all over the car, not quite used to the placement of the gear stick yet. Stressed, eyes glued to the road in front of him to not run into any possible obstacles in your way, he refuses to look away for even a second, and the whole sight makes your heart race in anxious agony as you reach for his hand and grip it, guiding him towards the stick and placing his palm on top of the device.
Your hold on his hand doesn’t loosen up as you guide his movements further and do it for him, just to make sure the stick really gets to its designated place and doesn't get stuck in neutral, which would make the engine die with the next press of the accelerator. His skin is soft under your touch, just like you imagined it to be, and you find yourself growing hotter the more your skin is in contact with his, the touch so innocent yet still sending you to overdrive.
“Now let go of the clutch,” you order, eyes glued to the side of Donghyuck’s head as he nods, listening to everything you say. The car now goes more smoothly and you watch him take another lap around the parking lot before you realize your hand is still gripping his on the gear stick, the information making you jump slightly in your place, clearing your throat in the awkward, tense atmosphere you managed to create for yourself.
“Okay,” you announce, “the trial is over, it’s time to press the brake– the middle pedal, if you haven't figured that out so far– and get out of my place,” you say, hoping the tone of your voice sounds as light as usual. 
The car comes to a strong halt, since Hyuck doesn’t really know how fast the brakes react yet, and if you weren’t buckled in, it’s certain that you’d go flying in your seat and smash your head against the dashboard. Breathing out when the car stills, you finally feel yourself relax, having been alert this whole time, as you squeeze Donghyuck’s hand for the last time, amidst selfishly, before you let go of it and turn towards the door, opening it and thanking the chilly air of the night for slapping you to your face. You really needed that wake up call.
Do you really need to drive a fucking manual? 
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hyuck – can you drive me to yangyangs at 8
Staring at the text message on your phone, sighing to yourself at the weird discomfort in your stomach when it appears and registers in your brain, the sound catches attention of your roommate Aeri currently getting ready on the floor of your room, pressed almost uncomfortably close to the mirror. She should really wear the glasses she was prescribed.
“Donghyuck again?” she asks, staring at you through the mirror, a mischievous grin sitting on her face as she asks the crucial question.
“How’d you know?” you roll your eyes in irony, walking over to your closet and picking out your tonight’s outfit.
“Well,” she shrugs, “one, he’s like, the only person that ever texts you except for me, and two, you had that disgustingly doe eyed look on your face.”
“I so did not–”
“You so did,” she notes, putting another coat of mascara onto her long eyelashes.
“You know what? I regret telling you about this,” you mourn, scrambling for your things around your room and putting them into your bag, practically already ready to leave the apartment alongside your roommate slash best friend. When you came home last week after the McDonald’s run at 4 in the morning, you decided that sleep really wasn’t worth it anymore– as if you could fall asleep after the hotness in your whole body despite your window being wide open– and so you took a cold shower and decided to stay up in the living room, watching Netflix (more like having the show in the background as you tried hard to not have a mental breakdown at the newly found information about yourself). Aeri found you like that at 6 in the morning when she woke up to get a glass of water, and even though she was sleepy and groggy– which was probably why you decided to spill the beans so quickly– she interrogated you about the weird look on your face and it’s been a running joke between her and herself for the whole week.
“It’s really not my fault that you find our neighbor hot,” she notes, shrugging to herself.
“When did I say that? When did I say that!” 
“Well, you said you came home all flushed and that you imagined making out with him when you dropped him off back home, so that’s basically the same thing.” 
“I did not say I wanted to make out with him!” you defend yourself. You didn’t say it. You thought about it, that’s for sure, but your roommate really doesn’t have to know that. Unless she can read your thoughts, of course.
“Yeah, whatever. You and I both know it’s true.” 
Sighing, deciding that you’re ending the conversation with your roommate as long as the topic is your annoying neighbor, you turn to your phone and finally reply to his text message.
you – can’t
He replies almost instantly, as if he was waiting at his phone for the last 15 minutes, and the predictableness of his message almost makes you chuckle.
hyuck – why
you – cuz im going you – and i wanna drink you – so i cant drive
hyuck – ok that changes things then hyuck – my original mission was to get you to go there with me but this has to do i suppose hyuck – see you there ;)
Yes, you admit that you reread the messages a little too many times for your own liking. Trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words, you swear your brain is running a thousand miles an hour, and realistically, this is the part where you reach for your girl best friend and ask her what exactly is happening in the chat with you and the guy you’re talking to, but after the endless teasing you’ve already heard from her side, you decide against it and just turn off your screen and put the phone into your bag with the rest of your necessities.
“If you mention something about this tonight in front of Donghyuck, I’m locking you out of the apartment.”
“Ay ay, captain!”
The journey to Liu Yangyang’s house isn’t long. He’s the only one that still lives with his parents, but you can’t really blame him– the house is huge, and they are hardly ever home, because they are always on business trips in Taiwan. Half the time, it’s like the guy owns the place, and he also acts like it too, since half of the parties you’re invited to in a year are taking place at his house. 
When you get there, it seems that everyone was already there– at least the usual group, you suppose. You don’t know who else is invited, but when you arrive to Yangyang’s basement– the part of the house where he usually hosts the more chill, laid-back parties, with low music in the background, laughter resonating through the place and alcohol being passed around between people drinking straight out of the bottles– your eyes instantly zero on Donghyuck, dressed in a light bomber jacket and skin tight jeans, you decide that burning your throat with alcohol is the best thing you can do instead of audibly moaning at the sight.
Taking one of the opened bottles of Bacardi off the little camping table situated near the corner of the big room, you take a swig, not really caring about the people who have drank out of it before you– because the pandemic has taught you nothing, it seems– when you finally walk over to the group and say your greetings. Deciding that avoiding the object of your desire for the whole evening is the best plan how to survive without doing something you’re going to regret, you engage in conversation with pretty much everyone else, completely unaware of the way your neighbors eyes are burning a hole through the side of your skull, kind of offended that you haven’t come up to him first, since as far as he’s concerned, out of all the people present in the room, you spend the most time with him in the first place (with the exception of Aeri, of course, but you two live together, so it doesn't really count). In his opinion, you didn’t need to be talking to Na Jaemin right now– you’re not even friends with the man.
But still– drinking beer out of a bottle Lee Jeno passes you somewhere in the middle of the night before he disappears with his best friend to dance with them under the cigarette haze (pretty embarrassingly, you may add) – the only thing resonating through your brain is that you got this, you’re not gonna give him a single glance, you’re not gonna think about how attractive he looks in all black.
You guess that everything about the way this evening has been going is the prime example of every single college kid’s usual Friday. Sitting in a basement of Liu Yangyang’s house, your vision cloudy with a bit of alcohol and also the sweet, piney smoke of the joint that’s been passed around the room only a few minutes prior, music lowly plays in the background, adding a relaxed, yet exciting and bubbling atmosphere to it all– it’s the epitome of the experience you imagine before you go to college when you’re 15 and gazing longingly outside of your window, wondering if life when you’re older will be better and more fun.
And while you don’t necessarily think life is better now– you do have a shitton of assignments to do and stress eating up your insides– you do think it’s kind of fun. Everything is more bearable when you have a group of friends by your side, and while you wouldn’t call every single person in this room right now your closest friend– a friend for life, even– you’d say everything is better than being stuck in your house on a Friday evening, mourning the break up of One Direction one more time as you watch This is us again with spoonfuls of ice cream shoveled into your mouth, figure cuddled up under the blanket with your roommate by your side.
The fun only lasts until a round of Truth or dare takes place, though. You must admit that it’s the fundamental part of the whole hang out, and yes, it’s the thing you always see in the movies. It adds a bit of spice to it all and it’s twice as fun to play when you’re a little intoxicated, but still– you’d like to think you’re too old for the game now, even though your friends believe otherwise and never fail to bring it up again.
This time, it’s Jaemin who brings it up. You shoot daggers to his skull, annoyed eyes and all, but you don’t think he notices as he continues to excitingly sway his arms in the air when he repeats the submission over and over again, finally heard by his roommate Jeno that’s just come back from the weird dancing session with his best friend that he’s very obviously pining over, and grins at his roommate in agreement, starting the game. 
“Not again,” you whine audibly, because frankly, if you wanted to survive the evening with no embarrassment and no weird thoughts about one of the party guests, you don’t think a game of Truth or dare is your best move. Your disgust makes your own roommate– that’s suddenly glued to your side, too tipsy to even walk (you heard her exclaim that her legs are too heavy to be used)– giggle, already familiar with your thoughts on the game. And frankly, that makes you even more terrified– because when Aeri is drunk, she talks even more than she does when she’s sober, and well, there’s no promising that all of the information you’ve ever shared with her will stay truly confidential when she’s under the influence.
“Don’t start again,” she says, shaking her head, “you always say you hate it, but you always end up playing it anyway.”
She’s right. It’s not like anyone is pressuring you, but you kind of feel like the situation calls for you to join in– because what else are you supposed to do, watch them? There’s no fun in watching if you’re not involved, and you’d feel like an intruder if you just watched them do all sorts of dares while not being in on the game. 
“Yeah, because you’d all whine if I didn’t,” you say instead, taking a sip of your drink, letting the bitter taste of beer slide down your throat as she rolls her eyes at you, nudging you in your side with her elbow.
“Just say you end up having fun,” she snickers, “nobody would think that’s weird, you know.”
“Yeah, whatever you say,” you shush her and pet her hair, taking advantage of the fact that you’re very obviously less tipsy than her, as you turn to the middle of the circle and wait for the game to start.
Usually, a couple of rounds pass before your name is called. You enjoy the tension– it feels like you have time to prepare to do whatever task their hazed minds come up with or answer whatever question that’s been burning on their tongue, yet, it also feels like a buildup before the big thing– a strange sense of climax, if you will. 
This time, it’s no different. A couple of minutes pass as you watch Yangyang lick the bottom of Jaemin’s foot– because Jeno always likes to come up with the nastiest, most worrying dares of them all– followed by the sight of Shotaro kissing the forehead of the most attractive guy in the circle (Renjun wasn’t happy with the wet peck left on his skin). The guys almost always pick a dare, and you think that’s an advantage, since before it’s your turn to finally participate in the game, they run out of ideas for dares that are possible to do in the weed-smelling basement of Liu Yangyang’s house and you can safely choose truth instead. It’s not like you’re not brave enough to choose dare– you did so many times before and never once backed away from the task, not even when you were dared to kiss the person on your right (that was the night you learned Kim Sunwoo wasn’t all that, because the drunken peck he pressed to your lips wasn’t all that appealing) – you just simply tried to pick the safest strategy for the game. 
Another kissing dare could suggest that you kiss the person you find the most attractive in the room right now. Or they could ask you for a lap dance on one of the guys. The possibilities are endless, and even though choosing the truth isn’t that much safer, since their questions could vary all the way from ‘What’s the color of your underwear right now?’ to ‘What is your favorite sex position?’, you’re trying to comfort yourself with the fact that you could just lie. You know it’s kind of prohibited, and that it also defeats the whole purpose of the game, but still– you’re not planning on embarrassing yourself tonight, and you were always a pretty good liar when it came to words. Actions? Not that much.
Sinked deep in the stained light orange fabric of the sofa, eyes half-lidded, you await Jaemin’s question as you tell him you did indeed pick the truth. And you were right, there are no protests coming out of the boys’ mouths this time around, seemingly tired of coming up with original ideas for their dares. 
“Come on, man, we don’t have the whole day,” Renjun nudges the boy into his ribs, annoyed with the lack of words from his friend. 
“Actually, we do. I don’t see the issue-”
“Just ask something already!” Shotaro whines from his position on the floor, his back pressed against the side of the sofa.
“Fine,” the man straightens up in his position, as if struck by a newly found sense of clarity, the look on Na Jaemin’s face reeking of insanity, “I've got something.” 
The room cautiously looks at the platinum-haired boy sitting on the floor, his back resting against an armchair in the corner of the room as he blinks a few times, seconds passing, yet there’s still nothing coming out of his mouth. 
“Are you gonna say something, or will you continue to act all dramatic…?” Jeno snickers, making his roommate roll his eyes at the jab, finally breaking the silence.
You’d argue that he just forgot what he wanted to say– with how Jaemin gets when he’s drunk, it wouldn’t be half surprising– but it seems like his roommate knows him better than you do, because the man speaks up fast, and suddenly, you take back all your impatient thoughts that urged him to ask you something already, because the question takes you by surprise and leaves you in shock, staring wide eyed and speechless.
“If you had to have sex with anyone in this room, who would you choose?” 
You no longer wish he took longer to ask you the question. No, you wish he would’ve sent it to you telepathically, so you could prepare your answer beforehand. You’d save yourself a lot of trouble– being met with the gaze of everyone, looking at you as they await your answer is truly not helping you with the difficult task of responding to the truth, when in reality, you don’t think you can manage to even say anything.
Because truthfully, if you were asked this question at any time prior to the weird situation you found yourself in with Donghyuck– who’s, just by the way, still present in the room, but more quiet that usual, which you shamefully notice and worry about on your insides, but don’t mention out loud– you’d think that you wouldn’t have sex with anyone in this room. It may be hard to believe– even though the men in this room aren’t the sexsymbols they often think they are– but that's the sheer reality.
But now? You feel like the truth is written all over your face, you feel like everyone can see right inside of your head and read the words straight out of your brain. It’s embarrassing. You feel ashamed.
Looking around the space, shiteating grins meeting all of their expressions, you shrug and finally get some words out, hoping they satisfy their needs for an answer. 
“No one,” you say, praying you sound confident. 
“Yeah, no-”
“Oh, come on-” 
“That’s a lie-”
Multiple voices cut into your confession, all in disbelief. If this isn’t the proof of their impressively big egos, you don’t know what is. All of them now staring at you with furrowed eyebrows, not believing a single word that’s just came out of your mouth, you start to wonder about how to convince them that you are, indeed, telling the truth, even though you’re obviously aren’t, so you don’t have to take a shot of whatever liquid the host of the party has hidden in the closet of his basement as a punishment.
“I’m serious! I’ve never looked at any of you and thought, ‘yea, I’d let him get it’,” you shrug, taking a nervous sip of the beer in your hold again.  
“Okay, but if you had to? Like, imagine someone is holding your mother captive and telling you they’re gonna kill her if you don’t have sex with anyone in this room. Who are you choosing?” Jeno squints at you, and you’re starting to believe that the man just wants you to pick him. 
“I’d have sex with Aeri,” you muse, pointing a finger to her as she’s leeching to your right shoulder, snickering.
“That’s a cop out!”
“Look, man, I don’t find anyone here hot, okay?” you shake your head at the commotion, grinning to yourself to seem more believable. And with how they roll their eyes and sigh to themselves, you think it’s working. There’s a premature feeling of relief in your insides, thinking that you’ve done it, you haven’t exposed yourself, before you hear your roommate mumble from her slumber, making your heart drop deep down into your own fucking asshole.
“Not even Hyuck?” 
Slowly spinning your head towards her, the tight smile on your face suggesting that you’re going to kill her in under approximately five seconds if she doesn’t take back what she said, you’re painfully aware of the fact that everyone’s staring at you now, grinning to themselves with a look that says they believe that Aeri knows something they don’t– she’s your best friend, after all– and you realize that you’re going to have a hard time getting out of this one. 
You should’ve expected this the moment you saw her drink that much. Maybe you should’ve stayed home today. The information about Lee Donghyuck was still too fresh in her brain to not mention when she has some to drink– you understand, in a way. At least, you’re trying to understand.
“Fuck no,” you grunt out, furrowing your eyebrows in the best acting performance you’ve managed to put on since your theatre kid days. You don’t think you’re convincing anyone, though. You’re not even convinced.
“Was that my name I heard?” 
And again, your heart drops at the familiar tone coming from the place straight opposite of you, the place that’s very obviously in your point of view, yet you’ve been successfully avoiding the whole evening to not seem as obvious to everyone that the very man has been occupying your every thought for the last week or two. You realize this is the first time he’s spoken to you this evening, if you’re not counting the text messages you exchanged before you got here, and something about the fact makes you shiver.
Meeting his eyes, because it’s the natural thing to do when someone speaks to you, you mentally curse and feel your heartbeat quickening at the grin sitting on his face. Eyes roaming his body– all against your will–  you notice the comfortable way he’s sitting on the armchair in front of you, legs parted wide and his thighs on full display, hair a little messy and eyes glossed over and blown out, since he smoked just a few minutes prior to the game, making you realize just how painfully he resembles someone who just had a long make-out session; the thought automatically leading you to think of the fact that you’d like to have a make-out session with him right now, and wow, his thighs do look inviting to sit down on.
“You wish,” you spit instead, still wanting to save the situation. Averting your gaze from him to keep yourself sane, you choose to focus on the floor instead, heat rising to the tips of your ears. 
“I mean, it seems more like you do,” he grins, the whole group snickering at the sudden quarrel in between the two of you. Your conversation suddenly reminds you of the ones you had with him before the two of you started properly talking, and something about the confident smirk on his face makes you remember just how annoying you’ve always found him whenever you encountered him at this very place. You’re back to square one for a minute, with your defensive remarks, similar to the way you used to quarrel with him before, and the familiarity engulfs you like a warm blanket.
“Your confidence amuses me,” you bite back, choosing to look at him as you say it to add more impact to your words; your decision seems to only worsen the things for you, though. The conversation admittedly sounds a little too much like flirting, and the way you notice him clutching the can of beer in his hand only makes you more flushed under his gaze.
“You don’t seem amused.”
“That’s because the idea of having sex with you makes me want to leave this room,” you grunt, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.
“I’ll take you home if you’d like,” he winks at you. Alarm sound goes off in your mind, your hands clammy as you run them through your hair, and suddenly, you’re on fight or flight. And if you can’t escape the situation, you decide to choose the latter– throwing him the most jabbing remark you can think of at this moment, fighting to keep your dignity.
“On a bike, or something?” you snicker. “As if I’d let a guy without a licence fuck me. You know that’s below my standards, Hyuck.”
An amused gasp is heard in the room when this remark leaves your mouth. The main source of the noise is Liu Yangyang, the host himself, since he likes to laugh at times when it’s the least socially acceptable. 
Now, you know that there are only a few things in which men value their social status; one of them being the amount of girls in their bed, the next one their rank in League of Legends, and lastly, their cars. And while Lee Donghyuck is known to be quite the player when it comes to the first thing in the list of social ranking between guys (or at least you’ve heard so from the girls in the locker room in the past years. Not like you were listening to their conversations whenever his name was mentioned… you just have very good hearing) and he was known to be the one that carries the team whenever any game on Yangyang’s PS5 is played in the dimly-lit basement on nights much like this one, there was something always setting him back in the neat ranking, and that something was the state of his car. 
Why? You guessed it– he doesn’t have a car. Or a licence.
To be quite frank, by the expression on Donghyuck’s face– all wide eyes and mouth agape in shock– you hit him right when it hurts, the grin falling off his face when he takes a sip of the beer in his hand, seemingly to chase down the taste of being put in his place and to have something to do to not seem as awkward and embarrassed as he must be feeling right now. 
You feel victorious, in a way– you managed to mask your very obvious sexual frustration caused by the man, while also managing to rile him up with your comment, which is definitely a first in your dynamic– adrenaline rushing through your blood as you look at him with expecting eyes, awaiting his response. The rest of the crowd laughs at your remark, only fueling the joy you feel when he suddenly averts his gaze from you, licking his lips for only a millisecond (yet it doesn’t get unnoticed by your eyes) before he snickers again, shrugging.
“Okay then,” he grunts, pressing the tip of his tongue to the inside of his cheek in annoyance, “you won.”
You know what? Once he admits to it, the feeling of victory quickly fades. Watching his frustrated face, eyebrows furrowed as he looks everywhere but at your face, suddenly, you choose to drown yourself in the rest of the beer in your bottle, relieved when you notice the game progressing without you. 
You won, he says, but you don't feel like you did. Quite the opposite, actually. You feel a tad bit defeated. 
You managed to lie to the crowd, but the very obvious pit in your stomach reminds you that you can’t lie to yourself– and now, bear with me as I say something cheesy, yet true– because even though Lee Donghyuck can’t drive, he’s still very successful at driving you crazy.
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You feel like the universe is punishing you for every little, smallest thing you’ve ever done wrong in your life. You feel like whatever force is there that’s making this world go around, absolutely, completely, wholeheartedly hates, despises you, and won’t have mercy on you as you’re left dealing with the text message shining on your phone screen four days after the party, at 8 in the evening. 
hyuck – drive me to a date hyuck – please ig 
Sighing, one, two, three times, you chew on the bottom of your lip as your eyes scan over the messages, and something about the very few words makes your stomach turn and twist in an emotion you’d describe as a weird mix of disgust and shock as you mentally try to come up with a reply. And it’s hard.
It’s difficult, because you hate it, you hate it, you hate it– the way Lee Donghyuck just managed to score himself a date only four days after your ever so growing sexual frustration has started to see the light of the day, you hate the way he’s asking you to drive him there– as if to show you that he still has it, that you’re wrong, and that even though he has no car and no license to boost in front of other girls, they still want him and you’re about to witness it as you drive him there. 
And you hate it so much you start to think you’re going to chew on your own fist and throw a rock through your own window, but you strive hard not to show it. And is there a better way to seem unaffected in this situation than to comply with him? If you weren’t so jealous about the whole thing, you’d surely just make fun of him and do it, no questions asked– a friendly favor, or something. And so you do it. Like it’s nothing.
you – ok text me when you’re ready 
After a few minutes, you end up sitting in your car, hands on the wheel ready to turn (and run into the nearest car out of pure rage, possibly), waiting for Lee Donghyuck to appear on the passenger’s seat, all dolled up and dumped in cologne, presumably– and that’s exactly what happens when the door swings open and your nose is filled with his usual smell but somehow amplified, and you catch a glimpse of his leather jacket and the shirt tucked into his black jeans. You don’t outright look at him– because you’re still trying really hard not to show all of your inner thoughts on your face– and so you only turn on the engine and hum at him, already making your way out of the parking lot.
“Where are you going, then?” you ask, tone of voice completely unbothered and not too stingy or tight. “And I’m just dropping you off this time, right? Because I won’t sit there and watch you have a date and wait to drop both of you back,” you say, playing with the car radio and trying to find a station that would both satisfy your need to tune out your thoughts with a good song and the need to do something with your fingers to seem occupied.
“Of course not,” he snickers, “wouldn’t do that to poor you. And just go the way I tell you. Now turn left at the end of the street.”
Sighing to yourself at his orders, you do your best at driving your neighbor to his date while trying to ignore just how ridiculous this whole situation is. You should’ve said no back when he first asked you to be his personal driver for the semester– failing Film theory class doesn’t seem like such a bad thing in your eyes now, when you look at the situation in retrospect.
“Can’t believe you have to be dropped off at your own date and you still pull bitches,” you shake your head in disbelief, hoping, praying you seem annoyed because of your duties and not because you’d much rather have him staying in so you could catch a glimpse of him in his window, crouched down in the blue light of his room (yes, he has neon lights in his room. Yes, you teased him about it countless of times before) as he plays League of Legends or stays up on a discord call with his friends, playing Minecraft.
“See? You’re missing out,” he chuckles, shrugging to himself. 
“As if I’d ever go on a date with you,” you huff, moving to turn the volume of the radio higher so you don’t have to make small talk with him anymore, agitated, yet completely ignoring the fact that it was you who brought it up in the first place.
Hyuck moves his slender fingers along the knob of the radio and tunes the volume back down, and you’re eager to repeat your previous steps just to anger him and also so you don’t have to listen to his sneaky, egoistical remarks for any longer, when you hear him tell you the next directions and you realize that you still indeed need to hear Donghyuck’s voice, or else you’re not gonna be able to drop him off at his destination and drive away as fast as humanly possible.
The terrain around you starts to look more stranded. There are more trees than buildings in your sight, lampposts decreasing in amount as you drive further away from the city center, and only when you pass the sign that tells you that you just left the town you speak up again, now truly concerned.
“Where the fuck are you taking your date, man? To the middle of the woods?” you huff. “Is she meeting you there?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he laughs, shaking his head at your furrowed brows. Something about his casual composure makes your nerves tick off and goosebumps appear all over your body, as if you were sensing danger, when you sigh out heavily in frustration and turn to look at him for only a split second, eyes meeting with his. 
“Or are you making me drive to another fucking state, you fucker? I don’t have that much gas right now, you dumb ass–”
“We’re almost there, don’t worry,” he rolls his eyes at you, pointing somewhere into the distance again. “Just turn right there and drive up the hill.”
“Up the fucking hill?” you repeat, concerned.
“I told you to not worry about it,” Hyuck hums, settling deeper into the car seat, letting you battle your own thoughts as you follow his orders and drive up the hill for him, praying no deer decides to jump onto the road and total your car right now. 
“I worry about the girl that agreed to go on a date with you, Donghyuck,” you mutter, “I’ll tell you that, she clearly doesn’t have everything alright in the brain, because this is ridiculous.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he swats your worries away with a swing of his arm, pointing towards a place that extends out of the main road– if you can even call it that, since no cars are passing through the hill ever, much more in these hours of the day– and tells you that you can park the car there. 
And you do as you’re told, despite your never-ending complaining– that’s the dynamic you have with Lee Donghyuck, it seems. 
Stopping the car out of the main road, your car shielded from one side by a row of trees, you step on the break and look at the man to your right in question, the engine still running. “Is this it? Is this the place?”
“Yeah,” he nods, a grin slowly starting to play with his features. Something isn’t right– you feel it in your bones and see it in his eyes, but you can’t quite put your finger on it, still utterly confused and in the dark about everything. “Come on, get out of the car.”
He wastes no time in unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the vehicle, his figure circling the car as he leans on the hood, turned away from you and seemingly waiting for you to follow his actions. Confused, figuring that you can’t do much more about the situation right now– where the fuck is his date? Why are we on the top of a hill? Will his date show up? – all swimming around your brain, you hop out and find his warm being, standing one step ahead of him and staring at him with stern, frustrated eyes.
“Look, isn’t it pretty?” he asks, pointing somewhere behind you. It takes everything in you to turn and gaze at the sight in front of you, your heart still weak and angrily beating against your ribcage, but you do as you’re ordered, eyes bearing into the view. 
The whole town is stretching out right below you. Now that you’ve turned the engine off and your headlights have gone out, you see the lights even better, shielded by a blanket of stars glimmering above the horizon, and you can’t help but gasp out in the beauty of it all. This place makes you want to take a picture, so you can remember how you felt while standing here and admiring the city forever– so you can remember how you felt while standing next to Donghyuck, heart foolishly drumming against your ribcage– and you suddenly realize just how badly you despise the fact that he showed this to you just to send you off while he waits for his date, as if to show you everything you could have if you went out with him, even though the question was never even on the table in the first place.
Clearing your throat, you turn to him, eyes glazing his side profile. “Where’s your date? Is she turning up? I don’t think it’s safe to make her–”
“My date’s already here,” he hums, nodding to himself. 
This does nothing to clear out the fog of confusion from in front of your eyes. “Huh? Where?”
“Here,” he repeats. The word has you wearily looking around yourself, furrowed brows and all– and that only makes the man chuckle at your antics, low voice cutting out of his throat making its way straight to the bottom of your stomach. “There’s no one else here. Just us. And no one else is coming, so will you chill out and enjoy our date, finally?” he asks, locking his gaze with you in a lazy, yet attractive manner that has your hands shaking and your brain instantly panicking.
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you process his words for a few seconds, doing mental acrobatics and racking your brain in thought. Nothing helps. “Our date?”
“Mhm.”
“Yeah, no,” you giggle out in awkwardness, feeling unarmed and like somebody’s just dunk a bucket of hot water over you. Shaking your head, you try hard to mask the way you’re feeling on the inside right now, because what are you even feeling right now? As you do some unreadable gestures with your arms as a way of declining and canceling everything that’s happening right now. “Us? A date? Yeah, not happening–” 
You mumble out, ready to escape the situation as fastly and as efficiently as you can while you try to make your way back inside of the car, not really thinking of the journey home you’re about to have to make with him on the passenger’s seat, when a hand grips your wrist, making you stop in your tracks. You take a few steps away from him nonetheless, and the man soon follows you before your body is swiftly turned against your car, the small of your back coming in contact with the driver’s door. Your breathing is quick when the man hovers above you, and you don’t feel danger– you just feel a bit panicked at the way tonight’s playing out. A date? You wouldn’t have thought of this in your most insane dreams.
“Why are you trying to run away?” he asks, his hand still holding your wrist, his fingers firm, yet gentle on your skin.
“Because– um– because-” you stutter, eyes instantly meeting his– regret pooling in the bottom of your stomach when you realize the proximity of his gaze, something tense bundling up in your insides, “this is ridiculous, Donghyuck, you can’t just–”
“I can’t just?” he tempts you, eyebrows rising to make you continue.
“You can’t just lure me into a date with you, that’s not how this works–”
“Would you go if I asked, then?”
“No, of course not!” you shake your head at him, tone of voice a few octaves higher than usual. Your eyes scan over your companion, his face reflecting the moonlight, and you find yourself counting the moles on his cheeks and noticing his sped-up breathing, automatically matching it despite not realizing it yourself. 
“Why? ‘Cause I don’t have a driving license, or because you’re just scared to admit that you’re attracted to me?” he challenges you, quirking up his brows at you in tension. 
Something about it makes you lose all the air in your lungs. He’s so close now you swear the scent of his cologne has made you drugged up, since you can’t seem to take your eyes off his lips for the next few seconds, completely in trance and electrified, and before you know it, you’re a blubbering mess, too lost in everything that is him to come up with something coherent. “That’s- that’s just not-”
He laughs at you, he snickers, as those words escape your mouth, not even a full sentence. You bet it’s enough of a confirmation for him that you’ve officially lost all control– you can’t seem to get out a teasing remark like you usually can, no smart words calculated and thrown his way to scatter down his ego, and you think he realizes that he won. You’re defenseless, you’re weak, and you really want to make out with him right now.
Which he might have sensed out of the way you’ve been yearningly staring at his lips the whole exchange. Still, he mumbles out a small “Stop me now if you don’t want this,” just to be completely sure.
And you don’t. You don't stop him when he leans in and captures your lips with his. You’d be a fool to.
His lips crash against yours with a fever-like pace, the tension that’s been building up between the two of you making itself known in the hurried motions of your lips. His kiss is deep, hands cradling your cheeks as he angles you to lock your lips with his better, not a hint of shyness or hesitance in his motions. Your fingers shakily grasp at the front of his shirt, trying to steady yourself when each motion of his mouth against yours leaves your knees weaker and weaker, your body pressed harder against the car door.
He tastes of mint, making you suspect he planned this and chewed on a gum before meeting you, and when his teeth gently pulls at your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from you, his tongue is left exploring the inside of your mouth, making you grow hotter and hotter under his ministrations. Your hands occupy themselves as they finally let go off his shirt and sneak around his small waist, pulling him closer, and you swear that you’ve never experienced a kiss that would leave you so eager for more before, a kiss that would leave you so weak and open for anything that’s about to happen– as if you were already naked and bare, a puddle in his palms. 
You’re soon left out of breath, gasping for air when he pulls away from you, and his kisses turn into pecks left on your lips, open mouthed kisses slowly trailing to the corner of your mouth and down your jaw, lips hungrily attaching to your neck, his nose glazing the soft skin as if to smell your scent and ingrave it into his memory. Something inside of you unties and makes you lose all of your control, finally falling fully into the sensation of the novelty of making out with Lee Donghyuck against your car, and you find your hands tying themselves into his hair, tugging at the roots when he finds the soft spot on the crevice of your shoulder that makes you squirm, and you suddenly know what all the girls in the locker rooms were talking about. Each action of his has you gasping for air, eyes pressing shut in the blissfulness of it all– the bites he leaves on your neck, smoothing them down with kitten licks each time surely leaving bruises, making your insides light up with the acts of possession.
“Hyuck–” you gasp, his mouth sucking into another spot on your neck, your head instantly moving away from his way to give him more space to work his magic.
“Hm?” he hums, a satisfied sound cutting out of his throat as his actions get more slow, more lazy, but still just as electrifying. You don’t really know what you wanted to say– perhaps you had no point of calling his name just to say it, and the hazy look in your face is enough of a proof to him when he unattaches himself off your neck and locks his eyes with you, a grin settling onto his face. “Feels good?” 
Nodding eagerly, almost a bit fast and a bit too soon to your own liking (but you’ll worry about that later), you watch him lean towards you again, lips locking with yours in need. Your fingers trail up and down his clothed back, his fingers mirroring the same, but up your loose shirt (which reminds you that you didn’t even dress prettily for the occasion– since you didn’t know this was your date you're attending), cold hands against your heated skin. Shivering from the fresh breeze of the night, you feel him grin against your lips before detaching himself from them to speak against your mouth. “Let’s move this somewhere warmer,” he murmurs before he tugs you away from the car and opens up the back door, pushing you inside.
Swiftly getting inside and closing the door behind himself, Donghyuck appears hovering above you, caging you against the uncomfortable seat. Still, you don’t have time to feel any sense of discomfort as his fingers move your hair from the way and his lips are back on yours again, leaving you no time to think of the implications of the whole situation. 
“See? Isn’t this much better than arguing with each other all the time?” Hyuck snickers again in a moment of weakness when he pulls back from your face to admire your swollen lips, and the teasing has you pushing him towards the seats, a dissatisfied look on your face. 
“Shut up,” you whisper almost hurriedly, climbing onto his lap (not before you admire his sprawled-up legs and the sight of his thighs, though).
“Make me,” he challenges.
“Gladly,” you nod, attaching yourself to his plump lips again, since you can’t seem to get enough of the sensation of them against your weak self, every sweep of his tongue with yours making you feel more heated and impatient as you move against him in his lap, the motion earning you a dissatisfied grunt sent against your mouth as his palms grip your hips with unsaid urgency.
“Don’t start something you wouldn’t want to finish,” he breathes out.
Nodding, you hum. “Who said anything about stopping?” you muse out, grinding against him harder.
You’ll worry about the consequences later.
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“Why am I the only one in the shot?” you squint your eyes at the male, watching him as he points his camera to you and tells you to smile and act natural. Donghyuck has on his varsity jacket and his hair is sitting messy, a bit curled on the top of his head, his legs are covered with loose gray sweatpants instead of his usual black jeans– he looks casual, and yet, he looks amazing, you foolishly think as you sigh to yourself and walk across the field, much like the male mentioned a few weeks ago when the two of you ate fried chicken with his free coupons, trying to capture the energy of what youth feels like to you.
“Because you are the main star, honey,” he grins at you, the nickname making you trip over a little on your own feet, before you turn back to him and send him a glare.
“I told you not to call me that,” you mutter, but feel the heat from your stomach slowly rising to the tips of your ears and the tops of your cheeks, your composure slowly crumbling under his gaze. Not only are you watched by his deep brown orbs, there’s also a camera pointed at you now, and if he doesn’t stop with the weird flirting he has going on– especially after what happened between the two of you last week– you don’t know how you’re supposed to contain yourself and act so you don’t look like an utter fool in front of everyone, when the clips will be played in class next week.
“Besides, the project is due next week and this is all we’re doing? Are you sure we’re going to be able to pull this off?” you ask, wary of his confidence. You’re not really sure if Donghyuck knows what he’s doing with this assignment. Why did you even trust him with it in the first place?
“I told you to leave it to me,” he says, “now be a good girl and run down the field, maybe twirl a little like a ballerina, I dunno… Hum a little tune to yourself, do anything remotely interesting and youthful, okay?” he instructs you, and you comply, ignoring the fact that he told you to be a good girl, because after what the two of you did last week, you’re not able to register those two words in a way that would not be mildly sexual in your brain.
You two haven’t spoken about the fact that you hooked up in the backseat of your car after your weird date last week. Truth be told, you two haven’t spoken about anything since it happened, because you felt too awkward and hesitant to bring any conversation topic up. The first time you two spoke was when Donghyuck texted you yesterday about the project, and you told yourself that you simply can't ignore him when it comes to these things, and so you agreed to meet up with him, hoping he won't bring up the events of last week. You were scared. What were you scared of, exactly? You have no idea.
Something in you was almost a bit shameful to admit to yourself that you managed to fall for Lee Donghyuck this quickly. Something in you was a bit embarrassed at the fact that you let yourself be so intimate and so close with the male, and although you don’t regret it, you don’t think you want to talk about it with him (or anyone, for that matter) just yet. Or ever, actually.
And although you could be rational and tell yourself that surely, Donghyuck wanted you in just the same way you wanted him, and there was nothing embarrassing about it, you didn’t feel comfortable with talking about the act with him, because deep down, you know it wasn’t just about the sex for you and you were afraid that it was for him, and you’d rather stay in the blissful unknowingness than to know he only wanted to have sex with you and not try to go somewhere further with your relationship. Did this inner monologue reek of disgusting insecurity? 
Yes. Yes, it did. But somehow, you’re not able to do anything about it.
And so you run down the field like Donghyuck told you to, and you twirl and twist and shout and dance around, trying your hardest to act silly and youthful and exactly like he would like you to, because you’d hate to be unnatural around him, and you pray it’s enough for both the project and him included. Turning back to gaze at him from the distance, you notice that he’s not even recording anymore, only watching you with a lazy grin on his face, eyes glimmering under the direct sunlight, and you wonder how you haven’t realized just how beautiful he is when he’s simply just existing all those months ago, and how foolish you feel with the thought and both without it now. Walking up to him, you muse. 
“Are we done here?” 
“I think we got all the shots we need,” he hums, nodding to your question. There is something reassuring in his smile, and if you were confident enough to grasp at the straws, you would try to talk to him about the events of last week. You lack in many ways, though, and you were never so self-assured as you try to portray yourself to be, and so you don’t. 
“Let’s go, then,” you say, shuddering from the cold November wind as you walk away from the man, expecting him to follow you. You drove here, since the place is a few miles away from the city, and the fact that this marks the end of your project didn’t really make you as relieved and happy as you thought you’d feel back when you agreed to be his driver for the semester. 
A soft fabric envelopes your shoulders, his varsity jacket hugging you into warmth. You smell his cologne when you shyly push your limbs through the sleeves– a self-indulgent desire, too strong to be fought away– and when you look at him to thank him, he wears a soft look in his eyes that glazes you with such tenderness you feel like combusting from the inside with the strengths of your own emotions. Your heart beats fast in your chest when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you walk towards the car, and when a stronger wind hits your heated face, you think that maybe Donghyuck was right, after all. 
You do think this perfectly captures what youth feels like.
“So we won’t talk about it?” he asks, and you turn away from him in fear of your emotions being clearly written on your face. He doesn’t have to name it– you know what he means.
“No,” you shake your head, determined, yet a little scared of his response, “not now.” Not yet, you think. You want to enjoy today a little longer.
“Why?” he asks.
Taking a shaky breath in, sensing that you won’t get to avoid the confrontation like you wanted to, you shrug. “I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it yet,” you bitterly laugh, meeting his eyes with something close to fear in your eyes.
“Hear what?”
“That you… you didn’t really mean anything by it, y’know,” you mumble, “I mean, you probably just did it to stroke your ego, or something, after everything I said at the party, so… yeah, I just don’t know if I wanna hear it.”
There’s a heartbeat of silence after your explanation, and Donghyuck only stares you down with a blank expression. It's not often that you don’t get to clearly see and experience all his emotions flashing through his face, letting you know what he feels even before he gets to speak it out loud. Now is one of the situations, though, and it scares you– it makes you so deeply afraid you’d rather back away from this conversation– damn you for entertaining it in the first place, and so you pretend it never happened in the first place.
“You think I did it to stroke my ego?” he clarifies.
“I- I mean…” you stutter, shying away from his gaze.
“Okay, then,” he mumbles, jaw hardening, his eyes not meeting yours when he circles the car and gets to his designated place on the passenger's seat, “that’s fine, I guess. I’ll try to show you my intentions clearer next time.”
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Sitting in class, head resting in your hands as you stare right in front of you, mentally counting down the seconds until the last class of the semester starts, you are only vaguely aware of the things happening around you. You register Aeri talking to you about the new episode of her favorite drama somewhere to your right and you are also aware of Haknyeon and Shotaro sitting in the row in front of you, laughing loudly to themselves about the way their weekend went– yours went terribly, just for everyone’s information, since you decided to drown your feelings in alcohol alone in your apartment, having to be led to bed by your roommate after she got home in the middle of the night from one of her dates with Eric. You don’t really realize it when the class starts, because the monotone voice of your professor doesn’t do much to wake you up, but you are painfully aware of Lee Donghyuck’s body slumping next to yours into one of the only vacant chairs approximately 10 minutes after the class starts, out of breath and slouched over.
Aware of his presence, yet still acting like a scared deer around him, you don’t make any effort into turning to him and greeting him upon his arrival. Still, you sense the smell of his cologne filling your nostrils and making you just a bit more tired and sleepy, your eyes closing on themselves before you’re woken up by the sound of your name coming out of the professor’s mouth.
Scared you’re getting scolded for sleeping in class, you straighten your back and put on your best polite expression, but then you realize your name wasn’t called, just mentioned, and the name of none other than your neighbor was following, when the projector on the wall in front of you lights up and a file named Final projects is opened on the professor’s laptop, each .mp4 file named with a pair of surnames, and two clicks after, your final project is the first one of many presented in front of the whole class. You tried to tell Donghyuck that you could help with the final editing, but the male said he had a vision he needed to achieve, and for that, he wanted to be in charge of it alone, and frankly, out of fear of interacting with him more than was absolutely necessary, you left him to do his thing, resulting in this being your first time watching the final video as well.
There’s a few seconds of silence, a point of complete blankness as the clip starts, and a song played on an acoustic guitar starts playing when the word YOUTH, all capitalized, flashes at the screen. 
A clip of you running down the field in your flowy dress starts the video, the camera zooming in on your figure when you twirl and skip around in the tall grass, and then you laugh over the background music, the sound making you gape in surprise. You didn’t know your laugh sounded like that, and with the hazy coloring of the clips and the solemn, youthful atmosphere Donghyuck managed to capture in the video, you find yourself thinking the sound was kind of beautiful. 
Then the clip cuts into another one– and you widen your eyes at the sight, because Donghyuck told you he’s only going to include the clips from the field, and you believed him, well, because you never saw him record anything else– as the screen shows you a bunch of moments, all wordless, of you just going on with your life. The very next one is of you arriving to class late, a grumpy expression playing with your features. You didn’t notice Donghyuck filming back then, when he offered you a cup of coffee as you laid back on the desk, and a fit of giggles erupts around the class at your behavior. The next clip shows you laughing at Aeri’s shoulder in Yangyang’s basement– a couple of clips of that night following, capturing you playing beer pong with your other friends, or taking sips of your beer when you sat down on one of the folding chairs in the corner of the basement– each one showcasing you completely natural, unstaged, and raw. You had no idea anyone was watching you, yet alone taking clips of you. Did Donghyuck have his camera with him all those times? Or was he just taking those with his phone, since you never even noticed?
There’s a clip of you showing him the middle finger through the window when he called you late at night one day. Another one of you driving, and frankly, you don’t even know where you were going, but the sound of you giggling breaks through the speakers and you slouch deeper into your seat, shy at hearing the sound. The very next one is of you sipping at your boba through your straw, and that’s when you realize those were taken by his phone– at least some of them– because you attempt to hide from the lens by showing your palm against it. Another clip shows you digging through bags of McDonald’s take out in the driver’s seat of your car, another one lets you remember the time you went to get fried chicken with him, thinking he’s sending the video he took of you to tease his roommate with the free food he got with someone else back then, unaware that he wanted to use it for the project later. 
There are a few clips that only last a second. You walking a few steps ahead of him– you think it was the time you two went to the mall, you angry with his antics. Another one of you picking out cans of soda from the rack in the convenience store. A clip of you driving, once again, but now the sky is starry and dark, and you remember the night too well, since it wasn’t that long ago. A clip of you glaring at your bangs in the rear view mirror, another one of you staring into your textbooks at the library. 
There’s only one clip that shows Donghyuck as well. It’s one taken without you knowing, much like the previous ones, and how you missed the phone plopped up against the corner of your dashboard, you really don’t know, but the video shows you two in the McDonald’s parking lot, your hand touching his on the gear stick as you show him how to drive. Only then do you notice the flustered look on his face and the nervous laugh he gets out in the clip, the sound making your heart jump in your ribcage. 
The last part of the video is of you walking a few steps ahead of him, his varsity jacket hugging you around your shoulders. It’s the latest clip of them all, and it makes you painfully shy to look at it. The video comes to finish with a few last strums of an acoustic guitar in the background, and you come back to your senses when you feel a hand squeeze your thigh under the table, the whole class erupting into claps. The video was beautiful, and you feel moved.
Although you should be more mad about the fact that Donghyuck took videos of you without you knowing, there is something incredibly moving about the fact that somebody was looking at you and felt the need to capture the moment before it went away. The clips were candid, real, raw, showcasing exactly how the memory went, how your laugh sounded, and how you looked through Donghyuck’s eyes. The video was exactly what it needed to be and more. 
There’s something about the fact that all of the clips were of you that made you feel weak in your knees. If the video was what youth feels like, does this mean you were his youth?
If you felt beautiful in the video, loved the way your eyes crinkled in joy, liked the way your expressions morphed into the purest form of whatever emotion you felt at the moment, did that mean this was the way Donghyuck saw you with his eyes?
“See?” you hear him whisper into your ear, his hand still resting at the top of your leg. “I told you I had a vision. I did a good job, didn’t I?”
You chuckle, then offer him a nod. “I didn’t know you were recording all of those,” you whisper, ignoring the words coming out of your professor’s mouth– surely evaluating your work right now. You don’t really want to hear it, though– you’re sure you’ll pass. After seeing what your neighbor’s capable of, you have no doubts.
“I wanted it to feel authentic,” he peeps, “to the way I see you, I mean.”
“Is this what you meant when you said you’d prove your point later?” you wonder.
“I mean, the fact that I’ve always had the biggest crush on you was supposed to come across when I liked your objectively terrible haircut you got at the beginning of the term, but yes,” he admits, sheepishly smiling.
“Okay, uncalled for,” you shrug off his hand from your thigh, to which he giggles and captures your limb with his again, interlacing your fingers. He sways your hands back and forth, offering you a soft look that drives you slightly insane. After all of this, you’re really not sure what you were so afraid of.
“How does that roadtrip sound right now?” 
“Still absolutely terrifying,” you note. 
“Even if I pay for gas?” he laughs.
Squinting at him, admiring the boyish grin playing with his lips, you sigh. “I’ll think about it.”
860 notes · View notes
kombuuuu · 8 months
Note
Requesting a little drabble on reader being on their period and miles takes care of them🙏
HEADCANONS AND SNIPPETS RAAAHHHHH
u asked my babydoll 🤭🫶
UGHHHHH. do i have to set the standard SO HIGHHH BROOO
would so be the type to download a period tracker
he want to know exactly when to make sure he’s free, there’s no way he’s letting you suffer without him there, no matter how major/minor your pains are.
he’d jump at the chance to take care of you
like this man is such a giver, it’s unreal
he’s a big massage believer, like is CONVINCED if you let him run your lower back that the pain will go away — he’s not wrong
he probably asked his ma how they worked, and what helped. and was really embarrassed by it, cause he checked google, and a lot of it just said sex LMFAO
his ma probably laughed at that, telling him those articles were all written by someone’s unique experience, and that they’re all different. then gave him a list of things you might like
ie, gifts, food, comfort, sleep — telling him it all really depended on you. he made note of everything she said, and the first time you ignored him for two days — he showed up with a bunch of roses, and a gift basket full of things you loved.
“Surprise?”
“Wh—.. Honey, are you crying?!”
“Nuh uh…”
“Mami, I can see the tears.”
“No you can’t,” *sniffle* “,You’re insane. Crazy.”
“Oh, pretty — C’mere.”
my man LOVES to do skin care with you, so that basket had like 12 face masks slipped in the sides. he thought he was sly, he wasnt
definitely cooks for you. will never let you eat anything inadequate, and if you want junk food, he’s getting his spider suit out and RUSHING
he’s the perfect man im gonna end it (ME END ME)
bigger drabble under cut
Miles’ footsteps were the only thing he could hear throughout the apartment.
Your family out to their everyday activities, but you weren’t. You hadn’t shown to school, nor texted him midway through class if he’d want to go graffiti the Police department — to which he’d remind you he can’t, his dad would kill him — or even begged him to get you food at an ungodly hour.
None of it, you’d gone completely MIA.
So, naturally, he broke into your apartment. Slipping in through your mothers window, which she always leaves slightly open, and strolling through your apartment like he lived there.
He strained his ears, his hearing being rather advanced due to the bite, but still heard nothing but soft breath. Well, you were alive.
“Conejita? You awake?”
He pressed his palm flat to your door and slowly twisted the knob, opening it in slow movements as to not make much noise.
He was graced by the sight of you, curled tight in on yourself with tear tracked cheeks, puffed up and shiny. Your eyes were closed, passed out from exhaustion, but the way your eyelashes clung to each other was a tell you hadn’t been sleeping for long.
“Oh, baby..”
Miles crouched in front of your bed, pausing the show you’d been watching on your phone and clipping it on charge for when you wake.
He watched you shift, pressing a hand to your uterus subconsciously, and the times clicked.
He made a face, something akin to anger, pulled out his phone and turned off DND. The immediate notification for the period tracker he had installed was frightening.
He cursed at himself, giving you a worried glance before he rushed out of the room. Making sure to quietly close everything behind him, and leaving your Ma’s window cracked slightly open.
“Hey, Chiquita — wake up, baby.”
“Wh—.,” You opened your eyes slowly, blinking at the harsh light of golden hour. “What..,”
Turning to your side again, you dragged a hand over your eyes and rubbed, checking to see who it was that woke you.
“Miles?”
“Hey, Mami.”
He watched you wake, glossy eyes baring up at him through a sleepy haze. “Hi..”
Your softened tone, and the way your lips curled softly, god he was swooning.
“Got you some things, Ma.”
Your eyebrows pinched but the smile stayed. “You didn’t have to do that, Miles.”
Shuffling the covers off of you, you sat up in your bed, suddenly realising how hot you were and letting your legs sit atop the covers.
“Oh, Please. Like I wouldn’t.”
“I know you do, it’s just—“
“Don’t even say to save, baby, cause this is what I save for.”
He gave you a pointed look, standing up from his crouched position with a foxy smirk and turning to your desk to grab the items. You playfully rolled your eyes, smacking his ass when he turned.
“Watch the hands.”
“Hypocrite.”
You watched him crowd over your vanity, patting the bed for your phone and giving him a curious look. You realised it was on charge, and smiled to yourself before he turned.
In his hands were a bag of any snacks you could ask for, another from your favourite burger place, and the last filled with pain relief items, and of course, true to him, face masks and nail polish.
“Miles…”
“Oh, sweet thing, don’t cry—,”
“I can’t help it!”
“I know, I know, baby.”
He stepped forward, letting the bags rest in the middle of the bed and crawling to sit next to you, grabbing your face in his hand and leaning on the other — he pressed his forehead to yours. Giving you loving pecks wherever his lips dragged.
“C’mon, Conejita. How ‘bout we eat? Then I can make you feel better with a massage?”
He parted from your face and rubbed his thumb along your waterline, dipping to kiss away at your tears.
When he pulled back again he watched your goofy smile grow, and his heart warmed. “Yeah— Okay.. You know you don’t have—,”
“Don’ even finish that sentence.”
“Pff— Whatever.” You pouted at him with a playful smile, the glint in your eye challenging. He rolled his eyes and a smile played of his own.
“I got your favourite—,”
“We should marry.”
+BONUS!!!!
“You feel pretty yet?”
“I feel beautiful.”
Miles twirled in the mirror, the matching panama’s he’d found at Target had you both ditching the clothes you were wearing for the stupid spiderman themed pyjamas.
“I mean— The nails? Professional.”
You giggled at him from the bed and he watched to live for that sound to be the last thing he hears, old and greying with you.
“Mhmm, even with all the smudges?”
“I think they add charm.”
You scoffed at him with playful eyes. And pet your face to readjust the face mask.
“Come here, Mimi, gotta fix your mask.”
He shuffled over to you, standing over your and letting your deft fingers run over his face. “You think you’d be good at wearing masks by now.”
“Oh low blow, baby.” He pinched your arm softly and you smiled at him, all domesticity and love and god, he’d be overwhelmed if he didn’t feel the exact same for you.
“[Name], I love you. You know that, yeah?”
You pulled him down by his neck, giving him a peck through your masks and sighed dreamily. “Yeah, know it so well.”
He pushed your chest, gentle fingers coaxing you to lay down, “Love you, too.”
He laid beside you, and you curled up into him. Watching as he grabbed your phone and opened it to start up the show again.
You let your eyes trail his features, before turning back to your phone. Missing how he did the same.
483 notes · View notes
alt-vera · 2 months
Text
— whiskey girl ⁀➷
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joel miller gives his whiskey girl a gift.
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✿ | joel miller | 1.06k | ❛ whiskey girl - toby keith ❜ | part one
warnings: pre outbreak!joel miller. drinking. allude to sex. age gap.
note: who knows when im gonna post again lol stay tuned for part two tho
❝ just ain’t enough good burn in tequila, she needs somethin’ with a little more edge and a little more pain ❞
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JOEL MILLER LIKED HIS GIRLS LIKE HE LIKED HIS DRINKS.
 Strong, neat, and not cheap enough to make him gag.
 That’s why he liked you: a farmer’s granddaughter majoring in agriculture who worked hard for what she had and knew the value of respecting those around her without being walked over. A little ragged on the edges, but Joel liked ‘em rough.
 Same could be said for you. You liked Joel for the same reasons he fawned over you. He was charming, and assiduous, with enough edge worn into his features to draw you in at the drop of a dime.
 So, when you invited Joel to a local dive bar on an eventless friday night, he sure as hell wasn’t going to say no. It was rare for you both to be free; usually he was working late, or you had classes, or tests, or were helping on the farm.
 He saw your worn mustang parked by the entrance, and spotted you instantaneously as he walked inside. A welcoming aura surrounded you as you chatted with some old men, presumably other farmers who knew you from your last name and came in for a drink after a sweltering day of plowing fields. Your smile gleamed under the warm lights of the bar, and Joel couldn’t help it as his lips curled into a smile just from looking at you.
 “Haven’t been making you wait long, have i?” He drawled as he sauntered up to you, hand making it’s way into the back pocket of your jeans, pulling you closer to him.
 You directed your smile his way before bidding your goodbyes to the old folks. “‘Course not, Miller. You know that if you did, i would’ve given you hell as soon as you set foot in the door.”
 Joel chuckled, running his free hand through his messy hair. “Fair enough, darlin’. You need a drink?”
 “Please,” You replied, and Joel put two fingers in his mouth, throwing a loud whistle at the bartender.
 “Can i get a beer and a, uh,” He glanced over to you for a moment, deep eyes meeting your own, before a smirked danced across his features, “…a whiskey, neat, for my girl, please.”
 You couldn’t help as your cheeks warmed at his words. My girl. You rolled your eyes, turning your face away from him so that he couldn’t see the ruddy heat spreading across your face.
 The two of you didn’t have a label. You drank together, you kissed, you fucked. You’d make dinner for him and his daughter, and he’d take you for drives at sunset down empty country roads, radio blasting through the open heat waves as you yelled gleefully out the windows.
 Still, anyone who looked at you and Joel knew there was something there, even when his hand wasn’t in your back pocket or your fingers were grasping his forearm. You were his girl. And he was your guy. No denomination necessary.
 One whiskey turned to three before you were singing along to the jukebox in the corner of the bar, holding up invisible microphones to random folks who’d join you in your performance. Joel watched, amused, as you twirled around to the twang of the guitar blaring through the speakers. His smile grew as you crept closer to him, pretending to reel him in to dance with you like a fish caught on a worm.
 Little did you know that you already had him from the moment he met you. Hook, line, and sinker.
 His hand found yours as he gave in, not much of a dancer, but eager to spin you around. You let him lead you, swaying to the pace of the music, pulling you closer to him as the tempo continued on.
 He pulled you flush against him. Forgetting the music, forgetting the dancing, forgetting the watching eyes. He kissed you, a passionate catch of the lips that left you craving more, the dull glow of amber above you acting like a spotlight that shone on you and Joel solely.
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 Joel couldn’t help himself as reached a hand up and drew a sloppy happy face on the fogged up windows of your mustang. Your head laid on his bare chest as you both fought to catch your breath, crickets chirping loudly in the farm field, audible even through the barrier of your car.
 You felt him bury his nose in your hair, breathing in the smell of you. Vanilla, and sweet musk, and whiskey. He felt you smile against his pec, eyes stealing a glance up to meet his.
 “I have a present for you,” He spoke suddenly, voice worn and husky.
 “Better than the way you just fucked me?” You joked with a light chuckle, feeling his arm move as he went to fish something out of his jeans that had fell on the floor of your backseat.
 He held the gift in his large hand before opening his palm to you to reveal a small wooden box. His fingers inched it open, and inside was a thin-banded ring with a dainty diamond in the middle.
 You turned dreadfully quiet as you stared at the band, and an anxious prickle crept over Joel’s skin.
 You raised yourself off his chest, turning to look at him. “Joel, if you’re proposing to me before even asking me to be your girlfriend, then i’m going to chuck this out into the field.”
 “What?” He laughed, inching so that he was sitting upright. “No, no, it’s a promise ring,” He said, plucking the jewellery out of the box and grabbing your hand, pushing it delicately onto your ring finger.
 “Ever since Sarah’s mom up and left, datin’ has been hard. I didn’t even wanna look at another woman—“ Joel’s deep eyes met yours, and you felt your heart swell, “—Until i met you.”
 “I don’t want t’distract you from your studies,” He continued, “But you’re my girl, and i want everyone to know it.”
 There it was again. My girl. Your pulse raced as you kissed him eagerly, full of adoration. Joel could still taste the smooth relish of whiskey on your breath.
 You smiled at him euphorically as you pulled away, words leaving your lips before you could even register the weight of them. “I love you, Joel.”
 Joel’s thumb stroked your cheek affectionately, returning your grin. “I love you too, my little whiskey girl.”
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astronomysturniolos · 2 months
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chris sturniolo x reader
who really are you? pt 2
warnings: mention of passed away dad, alcoholic mother
summary: you are the quiet girl, while chris is the loudest in the room. what happens when you two start finding out you are more alike than you originally thought?
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this week has been one of the weirdest weeks of my life. not because of the weirdos at work, or my mom, none of that. it’s because of chris.
ever since the first day of senior year this week, and we had our very small encounter, he’s always managed to be around me. maybe i never noticed it because i didn’t pay attention to any one but annie, but it’s like he’s practically my shadow. following me to my classes, behind me when the bell rings on my way to the parking lot, hell i even see him passing by my classroom window during class. and it’s not the subtle, i recognize you, type of encounters. no. we always some how make eye contact, brush across eachothers shoulders, or even spare a quick sorry if we shove one another in the crammed hallway.
now it’s the end of the day, and im on my way to my car when my phone starts ringing, making me stop in the middle of the parking lot, my long, dark, red hair flowing in the wind. i grab my phone out my pocket and read the name across my screen. mom. oh god. my mother. never there for her children, but there for the alcohol money, or when she runs out of bars to attend because they all kicked her out.
ever since my dad passed freshman year, she got like that. the abusive alcoholic. i mean, she was always a heavy drinker. but when my dad was here, he was able to control her and she wasn’t as miserable, so there was no need to drown her feelings into a bottle. but now that he’s gone, it being her fault, i guess she feels some guilt. which she should. and is taking it out on me.
i pick the phone up “hello?” i say, in more of a questioning tone. considering i already told her i have no money yesterday after she came tumbling into our home at 3am, with some random guy i don’t know, asking for a couple bucks to take her new hookup to the bar with.
“hey y/n, listen, you think you could loan your old girl some money, it’s tight for me right now” she says, almost inaudible considering she’s slurring every word. i sigh thinking of a calm way to react. “no mom, i already told you yesterday i have nothing. the gas station isn’t gonna give me another raise for a couple months” i reply, raking me hands through my hair. “well that’s just selfish y/n, do you know how much i do for you.” i roll my eyes. “all the times i’ve worked day and night just for you to eat and have a roof over your head.” i have to refrain from laughing because i’m the only income for this small apartment, working shifts at the corner store everyday from the minute i get off of school, until 1am. “no wonder your dad decided to give up, he knew you would never appreciate him.” wow. low-blow.
for the first time in a while, my moms words had an effect on me. whenever she brings up my dad, my innocent, loving, thoughtful dad, she knows what it does to me. he was too good for this world. for her. and she knows it, she just wants to get under my skin. which she did. i just won’t let her know that. “i don’t have time for this, i have to get to work, because you know, where else would you bring guys home.” i say, hanging up after, not caring what she has to say anymore. i take a deep breath, ready to get back to my car before i feel a hand on my shoulder.
i turn my head only to be frozen. chris is standing in front of me, with a facial expression that i can never understand. he looks like he feels every emotion at once. “yo” he says, and i just nod my head as a reply just wanting to get into my car and hide. “you think you could help me with the homework from math today, i don’t know what the fuck that lady be talking about, and your hella smart so i need an A if i wanna stay on the lacrosse team, and your the best person i could ask” he says his hand still on my shoulder, as he tilts his head waiting for an answer. a smug smile on his face. “sure chris, whatever” i reply, genuinely not hearing what he is saying. “cool, lemme slide your number then?” he says. “huh?” my eyebrows scrunch in confusion, that being the only sentence i understood this entire conversation. “your number” he says “for the homework?” he follows. “ohh yeah sure” i say “chill” he replies
he takes his phone out his pocket of his sweats, his fingers being covered by his slightly oversized lil skies sweatshirt. “sweet, skies is the goat” i say, before i can even stop myself. “huh?” he says as he opens his phone and hands it to me to put my number in. “oh, uhm, your shirt. i love his music” “ohhh, yeah he’s great” he replies, laughing. and damn that smile. ugh stop it y/n.
“here you go” i say after putting in my number. “alright thank you, when are you free?” he asks, glancing at his phone and putting it away after. “great question” i reply sarcastically. “busy women huh, lachance?” what. the. fuck. he knows my last name, and they way he tilts his head, i wonder how his head would feel… stop it.
“if your implying sitting at a counter at seven eleven busy, than yep. never free” i reply smiling, slightly laughing. “ahh, okay well just facetime me when you get a chance” he replies laughing, and walking away with a smile on his face.
i walk away, but not without looking at him first. i stare at his back as he walks away like a weirdo, but to my surprise he looks back, giving me a dirty look. okay wow. what the fuck. it doesn’t really faze me, although he was so sweet when he wasn’t in the ear shot of anyone else, he is also known to be a big dick to everyone.
i get in my car, start it, and instantly play my playlist, the first song coming on, lust by lil skies. fuck. the universe is really against me today.
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anna speaks: ayyyyeee part 2. hope yall like it, getting more chris and y/n content. also i’ve never wrote a whole series, and i’ve only wrote maybe 5 short stories, so lmk how i did🤗🤗
tag list: @w4nnabeurs @cosmicmistake42069
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the snap (Matt Murdock x fem-reader )
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Summary: after the blip Matt was blipped away. But what happens when he shows up after everyone comes back?
Part 2 Warnings: angst, I mean it this time ok? I teared up writing this. But with fluff it has a happy ending trust me. Im dyslexic so there are probably/definitely going to be spelling errors. (I’m trying yall. Let me know how I did my first fic for Matt I think I’m going to make a part 2. Please comment if you can and reblog are appreciated if you want ❤️) mentions of pregnancy and childbirth and children
My eyes take in the childrens bedroom. It was small and quant but cozy. The nightlights lit up the room and my five year old daughter was layed down on the soft pastel blankets. I sit down on the side of her bed. She was so beautiful, her sweet brown eyes and brown hair. Her name was angel Murdock, She resembled Matt so much, sometimes it even hurt to look at her. It showed his best attributes on her. Even though she was only five years old she was already fearless, the teachers at the preschool always say she’s already getting in fights with the bullies in the class, no fist fights yet thankfully. It was her bedtime so you were finishing up reading a story to her about a princess and prince who fought a dragon.
“And they lived happily ever after the end” I kiss her forehead. And get up from her sleepy form.
“mommy, why do all the other kids have dads?”
Her question struck me in the heart. Leaving a wound size I couldn’t even patch up after patching up so many of Matt’s wounds. But I remain calm and collected like her words were just a simple question. Which they were, she’s just a curious child, there is no way that she knows how deeply I am affected by them. I twist my diamond ring on my finger and bite my lip trying to figure out how to answer this question without terrifying her. I can’t lie to her, I promised I would never lie to her.
“Angel, your father….went away. Hes gone he went with another half of the universe”
“will he be comeback?”
“no, no he won’t” I answered quietly trying to keep myself from sobbing. God I feel so weak, it’s been five years! Fiver years and I still can’t get over his death
“did he leave because of me?”
“no! No, he never knew about you sweetie. He was taken before he knew”
I take a shaky breath and kiss her on the forehead “goodnight” I leave her now asleep form and creep to the kitchen. I look down and the sink and I can’t take it anymore. Grief racks my body as sobs come out in waves. Why? Why did you have to leave I know you didn’t do it on purpose but why? It’s so unfair. Mathew I miss you. I know The city needed but mainly I needed you. I bring my knees up to hug my chest. I feel so weak, so fucking weak it’s been 5 years and I still haven’t recovered. I tpull myself together and wipe my tears mainly because I hear noises outside. A lot of noises. Screams, cries, laughter, sobs. I run to the window and open the curtain. Hundreds and hundreds of people are flooding the streets. Some are hugging, kissing, others are just staring in disbelief. Poeple are running in all directions and so so many of them are confused. Who are these people? Where did they come from? Could they he the ones who were snappe—
Knock! knock! knock!
the noise of someone at my door shattered my trail of thoughts like a broken mirror, breaking me of my trance. Who on earth. Or any planet for that matter would be calling to me at this hour? I tentatively get up. Cross the room and open the door, I was not prepared.
there. Right there stood my husband dead for 5 years after the blip. He stood in his lawyer suit in the doorframe. Just as he was before he left. He’s exactly the same. To him no time has passed at all. But I’m sure he’s heard it’s been 5 years on the streets. My body is rigid from shock utter shock. He takes off his red glasses so I can see his face again. A small gasp escapes my mouth as my eyes lay upon him again. Hes so gorgeous it actually hurts. Makes my heart ache. To say I felt conflicted would be an understatement I was downright a wreck inside. He so damn pretty. Was all I could really think. my shaky hand reaches up and caresses his face as if feeling he’s actually there and this isn’t some hallucination.
“sweetheart, I’m real” he smiles
“I-i Matt you were dead—you-you—oh!” I choke out in sobs
I seizes his head and he walks closer to me closing the door. I kiss him desperately like a woman starved. The kiss is searing and leaves us gasping for air. As soon as we break the seal we dive into it again and I let out a small whimper that allows him to slip his rougue into my mouth. I immediately submit to him and let him take the dominance. After sometime in a log swaying kiss. We stumble towards the couch where he tries to explain to me what happened but with me kissing his neck desperately it’s hard for him. In the five years he was gone I never took a lover. I couldn’t bring myself to. I was always thinking about Mathew even if he was just in the back of my mind. Especially as I walked down the more dangerous streets of Hells kitchen without him.
“sweetheart—sweetheart— “ he lets out a small groan that is music to my ears “are you going to let me know what happened or let me explain” he laughs.
I pull back and bip my lip “sorry”
”I know five years have passed someone on the street told me that after they did I ran to find you I’m sorry—“ his head tilts to the side as if he’s picking up something “there’s another heartbeat in the apartment”
I take his hands “Matt this is a lot to take in I know but….”
“y/n you can tell me anything” the way my name rolls of his toung sounds like honey. He runs his finger over my silk nightgown, his favorite fabric. He takes his time training my figure and them cup up to claps both my hands again “anything”
Reassured now I start my tale “the day of the blip was also the day I found out I was pregnant. Turns out half the universe was blipped away. You’ve been gone for five years now. The pregnancy was hard, half the doctors were gone, you were gone. Without many people to support it was hard but, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, who looks so much like you. I named her angel Murdock.”
he’s silent for a bit. I feel sorry I know how much it is to take in “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you sweetheart. I left you and everyone behind. God I feel so guilty.”
“Mathew there is nothing to apologize for! You couldn’t control it!”
We’re silent for a bit and I wonder if he’s listening to angel’s heartbeat. He beams “I can’t believe I’m a father.” He laughs “ironic isn’t it?”
“what is?”
“the devil is the father of an angel” he muses. His face is bright and happy
“I never thought of it that way” I ponder “she’s already fearless like you”
“Hm, maybe not a good thing. But she sure has the Murdock fighter genes. I’m just sorry I missed the pregnancy and everything”
“well we could always try again?”
“I’d love that” he purrs into my ear in his deep voice. And his head rests in the crook of my neck as he leans into my body. And I’m so so starved for touched after all these years I hold onto him like he’s the last thing in the world. I practically melt into his touch as I haven’t been intimate like this in so long.
“don’t leave me” i whisper
“no sweetheart” his strokes my hair “im never leaving you again”
it feels so comfy with his bodyweight on mine on the couch we don’t even bother to move to the bed as we fall asleep there that night not wanting for a second to leave each other’s arms. It would be hard to explain to to angel who this man she never met was will figure that out in the morning. Things are always better in the morning. No things are always better now that’s he’s back. Everything seems fixed, my whole world.
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supermarketbae · 7 months
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Hello!
Could you do a cute Billy Hargrove x fem reader were they are secretly dating and the party are slowly figuring it out. Like max is confused why Billy is being a lot nicer. Eddie, Steve, and robin wants to know who keeps calling reader when they hangout at her house.
You can write the end however you like! Love your writing! Have a great day!
OMGGGG THANK U SO MUCH LOVE!! (also i'm back taking class courses again so sorry if I've responded late. bAcK To SchOOl FolKs *nerdy goth noises* this can be read as a part three but its fine on its own.
Billy Hargrove x fem reader
What's Best?
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Naughty and not so nice the series
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The sun had just set, leafless trees casting long shadows around the warm room as their spindly woven branches wafted softly against the windows a sound accompanied by joking and stupid dares. Your friends were oblivious to the sun starting to sink below the horizon. Everyone was happy to finally find some time to hang out together. How late it was getting was a small, trivial matter that was forgotten in the spirit of laughter and much needed relaxation. Max was thoroughly appalled when Billy made no objection in bringing her along to your house, and you thought she had keeled over when, instead of leaving he walked right in with her.
Robin glanced at you questioningly through the night. But you paid it no mind. Billy was starting to be roped into your little group of misfits, and there was nothing you would rather have more. "Soooo what's this talk I hear of my little baby having a boyfriend?" Eddie drawls smacking your butt playfully as he grabs a coke from the counter "Never thought you'd have it in you doll." he continues smirking sarcastically. Your heart shudders for a beat as you subtlety make eye contact at Billy from across the room, you scowl gently as you see his shoulders shaking in silent laughter "Bitch." you say pointedly turning back to Eddie to slug him in the shoulder.
"Wonder who he is, since you practically skip when the phone rings." Eddie smiles grabbing at your hair musing it up. "I do not!" you say wide eyed a light blush settling on your cheeks. You don't dare to look at Billy again to see his reaction. But to your relief, your embarrassment falls on deaf ears as the others continue enjoying themselves. You lean back on the counter as you watch the sight before you; Nancy and Robin talking together on the couch, Robin blushing lightly as she talks animatedly, Nancy grabbing her arm. Dustin, Mike, El, Will, and Max geeking out about some intricate thing. You find yourself smiling softly, blissfully unaware of Billy's approach behind you, that is until strong arms wrapped discreetly around your waist.
"What's up doll." his gravelly mumble tore at your chest causing your heart to constrict. "Nothing much, handsome," you whisper back voiced honeyed but still drooping low. "hands to yourself while you're at it too." you chide teasingly, pinching lovingly at his forearm. Your giggle echoes louder when Billy nips at your shoulder. The sound traveled sharply, catching the attention of your observant friend, Max glances up briefly surprised at the sight of you. She cocked her head in elegant confusion noticing Billy's usually scowling face in a radiant grin. Even more so that he was that close to you.
You caught her eye. A silent promise lay in them.
A soft smile.
She wanted what was best for him too.
And as she watched his face crinkle in laughter as you kissed his cheek secretively, she knew that you were, inevitably, what was best.
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AHHHHHHH im sososososoossoso sorry i started up classes and OMLLLLL @unamused-boss thank you so much for requesting and I hope this brought your idea justice mllll thank you darlingggg
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