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miekasa · 3 years

Text

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.��

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

#attack on titan #aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren smut #eren fluff #levi x reader #I DONT WANNA TALK ABOUT IT

5K notes · View notes

selfcarecap · 3 years

Text

I’ll Show You [m.j]

pairing: MJ x reader, MJ x Peter Parker, Peter Parker x reader? (barely)

summary: When your best friend MJ reveals quite a significant detail about her relationship with her boyfriend, you decide to take matters into your own hands… (literally)

warnings: smut, cheating but only kind of (this is fanfiction and does not necessarily represent my irl views lmaoshsksjshh💀) sarcastic reader (towards Peter) idk, weed, mentions of underage drinking (under 21 but they’re at least 18), brief arguing lol

word count: 2.9k

-this is a repost of an old fic-

gifs not mine (does two gifs look ugly? lmk yskshs)

Music thrums softly against the door as your head falls onto MJ’s shoulder, giggling amongst yourselves while all the other people at the party are getting loud. You’re just high. Much better.

Even Peter and Ned are part of the people with red cups in their hands, although they’re not as extreme as most other guys at college. It’s still illegal for them to drink and they’ve told you about how that makes them feel bad.

You, too, only drink rarely but there was that one time Peter accidentally took a sip of your rum and coca cola and it’s been his favourite drink ever since. But with that Spider-Man metabolism he’s sober after about twenty minutes before he drinks again and feels different for a few minutes only to have to drink again.

They’re all dizzy and dancing, all over the place. You and your best friend MJ prefer the laid back act of smoking weed.

The four of you, MJ with her boyfriend Peter, Ned, and you only go to parties every so often and only when all four of you are in the mood. Today is one of those nights. Even if the two pairs of you have completely different definitions of partying and having fun. And that’s okay.

You and MJ talk about the most pointless things in the safety of some guy named Chad’s bedroom - at least that’s what the sign on the door says, no one has complained about you two being here.

“How often do you and Peter have sex?”

You just put the question out there, not meaning to make MJ shift as uncomfortably as she suddenly does.

“You don’t have to answer, I was just thinking - how amazing would an orgasm be while high?” You spread your fingers in the air, holding your hand up high just to emphasise how amazing you think it would feel.

“I wouldn’t know.” She smiles from beside you on the bed.

“Huh? Oh, you mean an orgasm while high? Me neither.”

“No I mean um.. an orgasm.”

“You what?” You purse your lips and look at her incredulously, “So you mean Peter-”

“Wouldn’t be of use in that department.” She finishes your sentence.

You’re a mixture of confused, amused, shocked... sad?

Her and Peter have been together for what? Two years and he‘s never made her orgasm? Peter seems like the first person to want to make his girlfriend feel good, you know he never did anything before being with MJ but you were sure he seemed like the type who is eager to learn…

“So it’s just him? I mean you’ve still got your own hands though, right?” Your hand slides down your belly, under your jeans and MJ playfully slaps your arm with a laugh.

“Noo! I don’t do that, I’ve got Peter!”

“Yeah, well, he’s not really doing the job, is he?” Your hand comes to rest against your cheek, holding you up as you lie down next to MJ, facing her with a curious look as she bites her lip.

“You know there’s nothing wrong with masturbating especially if your boyfriend isn’t competent enough.”

“I know but sex with him still feels very good, who knows maybe I’ve had an orgasm before.” She shrugs.

“If you’ve had an orgasm you would know for sure - it’s amazing. So what’s up with Peter? Does he know or do you fake it?” She shrugs again, still seeming too happy and indifferent for someone who’s aware that they’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing an orgasm.

She remembers how they had their first few times.

After it stopped hurting for her, Peter would always ask if she came and when she said no he would feel bad, attempting and failing to make her come. So eventually MJ just faked it because he was too adorably frustrated that he couldn’t bring her the pleasure she deserved.

And so it just continued. And after months and months it would have been too awkward to tell the truth all of a sudden, also because MJ never had any valid reason to lie and it‘s not like Peter‘s an asshole who doesn‘t care.

“I love him and I know that he loves me and like I said it does feel good. It’s enough for me, really, I’m not some kind of sex-crazed person, you know?”

“Neither am I and I still masturbate but okay… But what about equality, MJ? Thought you’d be the first to demand an orgasm if that’s what you give him?” You smile and with that you’ve got her. She doesn’t add to the topic any further and you go back to your previous conversations.

Though after a while MJ notices how you’re being all pouty and rather low-spirited. You’re usually all giggly and happy when you two get high.

“You okay? Is this the usual stuff?” MJ nudges your leg with hers.

“Yeah, yeah. Just kind of sad that you’ve never had an orgasm. Also a little mad at Peter.”

What she says next surprises you;

“I mean it’s never too late to start… But part of the problem is that I don’t even know what to tell him. I’ve never done anything myself and have no idea what feels good enough to.. you know.”

You don’t hesitate before saying it: “I could help you.”

MJ is silent for a few seconds. “No that.. that wouldn’t be right without Peter.”

“But would you want me to?”

She nods shyly and bites her lip as you scoot closer to her.

“I’m sure Peter won’t mind. You know with the relationship between you and me, the history and everything.”

(Mj has no clue what you’re talking about - she’s known Peter longer than she’s known you but she’ll take it.)

“I’ll go ask him, okay?” You hold your finger up signalling MJ to wait here and you’re out of the room before she can interject.

MJ thinks of following you but even though she’s a little worried how this whole situation will seem in front of Peter, MJ wants it, and she trusts her best friend and waits for you on the bed.

You find Peter downstairs after about five minutes, him and Ned and some other college guys you don’t know are having a Just Dance competition, a red cup in his hands but he seems very reliable and aware, sober enough for you to ask and get a proper answer.

“Uh hey Peter,” He turns around, greeting you with a smile, “You mind if I show your girl some fun?”

“You two smoking again?” You nod and bite your lip, thinking about MJ waiting for you upstairs.

“Yeah no problem, do whatever you want, just stay safe - where are you just so you know where to find you?”

“Last bedroom on the right, I believe it’s Chad’s room or something.”

“Okay see you later, say hi to her from me, have fun.” He smiles one last time before going back to his dancing competition with Ned.

Oh you will.

You run up the stairs and to the bathroom to give yourself a quick glance in the mirror.

Your eye make-up is a little smudged but with a few wipes it’s back to being nearly flawless.

You give your hair a few tugs and scrunches, turning and looking at your own reflection over your shoulder. You look good.

Your eyes are still a bit red despite not feeling high anymore. You’re completely sobered up at the thought of what’s about to happen.

You wonder for a moment whether MJ is only doing this because she’s high and can’t think straight, but you’ll just make sure to talk to her.

After washing your hands, you hurry back to the room to find MJ with her legs pulled up to her chest, a finger nervously between her teeth.

“Did you find him?”

“Yes he’s totally cool with it, just like I thought.”

The tension leaves her shoulders and she smiles, making room for you on the bed.

“Just one last question. Are you too high to consent?”

“No, not at all to be honest. Not any more. I want to do this but only if you do too, but you don’t have to do this just because you feel bad for me.”

“I’m not doing this because I feel bad for you, but because you deserve to feel good. And if I can help you then I‘m more than happy to do so.”

She automatically spreads her legs when you sit down in front of her.

“Also, I don’t want to promise that I’ll make you cum because I’ve never been with a girl. But I think it’s easier for me than for Peter because I know what everything feels like and I’ll gladly try.” Your hands stroke along her bare legs, and you’re happy she wore a skirt to the party for once.

You’re not sure what’s appropriate in this situation, so your hands and your lips stay at her legs, pushing her skirt higher and peppering her inner thighs with kisses and flicks of your tongue.

“Just think about something that sexually excites you,” you tell her and she nods, closing her eyes, “You wanna tell me? You don’t have to.”

“I don’t want this to come across as weird but.. this is quite exciting,” she nervously fiddles with the hem of her skirt but you’re quick to reassure her, “It’s not weird. I think so too.”

And with that she finally relaxes into the large pillows behind her and you lift one of her legs over your shoulder, moving closer between her legs.

As she drags her skirt up to her waist, she also pulls her red shirt up to reveal her bare chest.

“No bra? I like that.” You smile and she laughs.

You move up to lick her nipples, knowing how much that can add to someone’s pleasure and she gasps at the wetness of your mouth against her, breathing hard now.

“Okay okay, I’m turned on enough now you can..” she smiles, telling you it’s enough foreplay and when your fingers wander to her panties you can already feel how wet she is, proud of yourself as you wonder if Peter’s ever made her feel this good.

Although you’d love to tease her some more, you also just want to make MJ feel good and your fingers start trailing up and down the front of her panties, and it’s like you can feel her flooding her underwear at your touch.

You decide to pull her panties off her legs completely and she’s nearly so wet that it looks like she’s already cum.

You gather some of the wetness with your finger and start circling her clit and her legs around your head twitch.

She’s already squirming with just your finger touching her, you decide to pull away and instead both your fingers spread her lips and your tongue presses against her clit instead.

“Fuck MJ, you taste really good,” you hear a swallowed moan from above you and you tell her she can be loud to which she responds with the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard.

You try flicking, sucking, swirling your tongue at her clit, and once you move your tongue in a circular motion her whole body jerks forward, so you stay with that.

“Fuck that feels good”

“Yeah, you close?” You pause for only a second before going back to making her feel good.

“I think so, don’t stop.”

Your tongue continues working her over and as her legs tense and her eyes squeeze shut, you can tell she’s there. You watch her as she comes undone on your tongue, and you’re grateful for every second of pleasure you get to give her.

You don’t stop until she’s pushing your head away, out of breath.

“Sorry, just wanted your first orgasm to be amazing.”

“Fuck, it was, that really was fucking amazing”, she breathes.

“Wanna go again?” And with how you look between her legs, and how good you’ve made her feel, and it didn’t even take you more than five minutes, she definitely wants to go again.

“Hey Ned, mind if I go and look for MJ and Y/N, see where they are?”

But Ned is preoccupied, celebrating his third win of the Just Dance competition so Peter pats him on the shoulder and makes his way up to the room you’d told Peter you and MJ were smoking in.

He finds a room at the end of the hall with a sign saying ‘Chad’ on it and pushes the door open.

“Hey I thought I‘d just come check on you tw-”

He stops at the sight. You’re lying between his girlfriend’s legs, your tongue inside of her and her hands tugging at your hair.

“Uh, what the fuck I-” But he’s at loss for words.

MJ pulls her skirt down, covering absolutely nothing, and opens her mouth but you beat her to it.

“You said it was okay so don’t look like you’ve just witnessed a murder and also can you shut the fucking door!” You shout, already seeing anger on his stupidly surprised face.

“What you said was that you two were going to have fun and when I asked if you were smoking you said yes I assumed you meant that!” His arms flail around as he points at you, at MJ, then at himself.

“You said stay safe and then have fun and I assumed that was an allusion to sex!”

“What no, I meant because you were smoking!”

Of course you’re aware of your vagueness when you first talked to Peter. But he’s mad and MJ looks more than terrified and you can feel your own blood boiling so you bring up the topic that really matters.

“Peter, you can’t be mad at me when I just gave poor MJ her very first orgasm!” you reason and for the first time since he’s come in the room he doesn’t look like he’s about to kill you for making his girlfriend have an orgasm (which was ridiculous to begin with).

“What no I-” He doesn’t believe you at first but then he looks at MJ, sees her (not justified) guilty expression, and realises he’s fucked up.

“So we’ve been together for two years and you’ve been lying to me this whole time! Why would you do that?” And he’s mad again.

“Hey don’t give MJ shit for your lack of skill!”

For the first time MJ chimes in. “Sex isn’t all that important in our relationship and you do put in an effort and I appreciate it. It just isn’t enough but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“My feelings? What, I feel like the biggest asshole. I’ve been getting off all this time and you didn’t even say anything - wow - I’m so stupid.” For the first time tonight you agree with what Peter’s saying, “I’m sorry, I should’ve paid more attention to you. I was so sure that your orgasms were real…” He looks at the floor and although you’re still proud that you could give MJ what he couldn’t, you let his hurt and sad puppy look get to you and stand up, slapping his chest lightly.

“Stop moping and come here. It’s not too late to learn, Parker. I’ll show you,” you pull him down onto the bed to join you and his girlfriend.

MJ sits up, still worried.

“We’re good, right?” MJ asks. She just got eaten out by someone who is not her boyfriend so you guess the question is rather valid, but you roll your eyes anyway.

“Of course, I mean I should be asking you that, I’m the one who fucked up.”

“You have a lot to make up for,” MJ looks at you while she talks to Peter and you nod, letting her know what she’s saying is right, “But yes we’re good, I love you.”

“I love you.”

You watch them kiss and see his eyebrows furrow at the new taste on MJ’s lips. He doesn’t say anything but with his advanced senses he smells the same between MJ’s legs and on your face and he really wishes he’d been there to see what you two got up to.

You’re more than proud to say that you made MJ come in less than half of the time Peter took.

You say goodbye to both of them as they seem to want a bit of alone time, but you’ll always know you made MJ come first.

She smooths down her skirt and stands up with you, shutting the door behind her so that Peter can’t hear you two talking in the hallway.

“Thanks for today, I’ll have to repay you sometime,” she whispers to you with a knowing smirk before she slips back into the room to return to her boyfriend.

#mj x reader #mj smut #michelle jones x reader #spideychelle #peter parker #peter parker x reader #?#mj x you #mj x y/n #michelle jones smut #also why did i pick the name chad? lmao #and i know at the end he probably heard them but? i dont really care #fem!reader #selfcarecap

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ateezmakemeweep · 3 years

Text

seonghwa x reader x yeosang; love triangle au

word count: 35k

angst, fluff, smut

it was in your first class of the semester, intro to creative writing at nine a.m., that you met kang yeosang.

you didn’t know what to expect from the college experience, leaving the safety and familiarity of your hometown to come to a new city full of strangers and endless possibilities.

one of them being an all-consuming, butterfly-inducing first love that you missed out on from years of being socially anxious and reclusive.

it all started when you showed up late to your first class, red-faced and flustered and apparently very forgetful.

you sealed your fate the moment you borrowed a pen from the cute boy next to you, sneaky looks and shy smiles eventually morphing into so much more.

september - freshmen year

you’ve seen movies and shows and even heard some things in the halls of your high school about college classes. how they were so much harder than anything you’d been exposed to but also came with more freedom.

you didn’t need a certain color or book for the subject, you could freely leave to go the bathroom or get a drink, you didn’t even have to show up for all the professor cared.

it was also known that there were many different types of people in college: the stereotypical frat boys, boasting about parties and girls as they wore cut-off shirts and showed up to class hungover.

there were the edgier teens and young adults, finding their own look away from the eyes of their parents with piercings and tattoos and brightly colored hair that caught the attention of the older, snooty professor.

and then there was everyone else.

students like you who, maybe, didn’t fit in anywhere yet or didn’t know where they were gonna fit in; but, truthfully, fitting in was the last thing on your mind.

because it was the first day of classes, bright and early in the morning, and you were scrambling into the grand brick building, panicked and breathless, as you searched desperately for room 204.

you set an alarm and got out of your dorm room and everything, a single dorm you are so eternally grateful you secured. but it was a few wrong turns and entering one of the wrong buildings on the other side that landed you your current fate.

winded with messy hair and slightly red cheeks as you entered what you were praying was the right room. the professor was still doing introductions via a powerpoint and barely sparred you a glance, allowing you to easily slip into the first available seat.

you took the professor doing her own introduction and going over the syllabus to catch your breath, calm down and relax yourself because okay, yeah, that was a bit of a mess but you’re here in one piece now.

you made it in without getting scolded, you didn’t fall on your face or trip over the outdated tan carpet and you’re pretty sure no one even noticed you.

“i’ll spare you the ice breakers because i know you guys are gonna get stuck with some in your other classes,” the professor said, another win for you because you can’t imagine anything worse than trying to talk to someone right now.

“i just have a few notes for you to take and then i’ll let you guys go early. how does that sound?”

there’s a chorus of replies muffled by the sound of students shuffling to open their bags, notebooks hitting the table and the satisfying but annoying click of new pens.

it’s upon opening your own backpack that you realized, not only were you late to your first day of college but, you’d forgotten something as simple as a pen.

you rummage through your bag, hoping one just slipped to the bottom and letting out a quiet, annoyed sigh as you come to terms with this. you should’ve just brought your laptop, you already see several other people them so it would’ve been fine.

why do you always have to-

“need one?”

the deep voice from beside you is low and whispered, long fingers attached to a veiny hand offering you a blue pen. you hadn’t even noticed who you sat down next to you, far too consumed in your embarrassment about being late to notice the very attractive, very nice man sitting right next to you.

he couldn’t help but notice you though, if the way your bag hit into his shoulder and the cute little sigh you made when you plopped down right next to him didn’t immediately grab his attention.

his interest was only peeked further when he heard you rummaging next to him, a slight flush on your exposed neck that he can only assume happens when you’re flustered.

his voice ripped you from your frantic searching, eyes meeting his as your breath caught in your throat.

they were deep and brown, with a soft light in them that kept you entranced for far too long. his hair was black and looked soft to the touch, hanging just above his eyes so it didn’t obscure his regal features.

“i... yes please,” you finally answer with a wince, taking the pen from his hold gently. “thank you.”

“no problem,” he responds cooly, keeping his eyes on you for a few fleeting seconds before turning back to the board.

taking notes and focusing on the professor’s voice keeps you occupied most of the time, the pen in your hand and the blue ink on your paper a constant reminder of the person sitting right beside you.

he doesn’t look like anyone you’d ever met before in your life.

sure, you’d had crushes on people from your school back home but that was only because they were nice to you. they weren’t like the majority who made fun of anyone who wasn’t like them - cool and popular and had an interest in going to parties and being social.

there was never anyone who looked like him though, so strikingly attractive and cool even though he’d only said four words to you; maybe this is just showing your inexperience, falling in love at first sight with a person who just gave you a pen and has a pretty face.

“alright we’ll wrap up here. i’ll see you guys next time!”

your professor’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, the rustling of people all around you bringing you back to reality.

you close your book and put the cap back on the pen, grateful you were too distracted by your thoughts to chew it absentmindedly - you probably would’ve had to drop the class if you had to give him back a chewed up, slightly wet pen cap.

you look next to you to see the boy is tucking two books under his arm, about to get up and leave for the day before your lowly spoken voice stops him.

“wait,” you say, quiet but abrupt as he turns around to look at you.

his eyes are soft and glinted with a certain type of amusement, one you can’t quite make out or have the ability to try and determine right now. you can only hold out his pen dumbly, your stare on him blank despite the slight flush to your cheeks.

it only deepens when he holds your gaze, eyes roaming your face before a smile crosses his face and make your heart jump inside your chest.

“it’s okay, keep it,” he says, nodding his head toward your bag.

“oh... are you sure?” you squeak out, “i don’t wanna leave you without an extra pen.”

a deep chuckle leaves his mouth as he nods his head, everything about him, his presence, his laugh, his face making you grow even more out of sorts.

“i’ve got more, don’t worry.”

“oh. well, thank you!” you smile softly, tucking the pen in the pocket of your sweater. “i’ll be sure not to lose it.”

“cool,” he chuckles out, the sweet smile on his face causing yours to widen. “i’m yeosang.”

“y/n,” you introduce sweetly, a lingering silence between you two full of soft smiles and wandering eyes; you aren’t aware of that feeling hanging in the air, something so obvious and palpable when two people are immediately attracted to one another, but he feels it.

he felt it in the way he’d sneak glances at you, your brows furrowed as you took notes or the far away look in your eye when you dazed off with your cheek on your hand.

he didn’t know why he was immediately drawn to you, maybe something about your wide-eyed looks or sweet vanilla scent, but he was sure of two things: he needed to know your name and he had to get here early next class to get the same seat next to you.

november - freshmen year

it took yeosang two months to ask you out.

it proved to be one of the more challenging things he’d done within these past two months of school - not because he was nervous or thought you weren’t interested but because getting you to open up was incredibly trying.

he knew you were interested though, if the way you alcoholism when you saw him or continued to sit next to him was any indication of that.

you learned within the first few weeks of class that he was a freshmen like you, had an older sister who also went to this school and planned with his seven high school friends to all attend college together.

“that’s... kind of crazy,” you giggled, a smile on yeosang’s face hearing your laugh ring through the classroom.

the professor was running a few minutes late, leaving you and him and all your other classmates to chat amongst yourselves.

“do you live together?”

“unfortunately,” he says, the pain in his voice causing you to muffle another giggle into your hand. “i love them, don’t get me wrong, but it’s like... constant chaos. and the house is always mess. it’s a miracle that i won rock, paper, scissors for a single room.”

“well that’s good then,” you say with a smile. “i have a single dorm here, too, actually.”

“oh?” he says, head cocked to the side questioningly. “did you wait too long to apply?”

“oh no, i actually... requested it,” you tell him quietly, a slight blush on your cheeks as you explain yourself. “i do better with my own space. i don’t know if i could be around someone, like, all the time. especially if they had different habits than i did.”

“i get that, completely,” yeosang says, a shudder going through him at the mere thought of some of his roommate’s different habits.

like how wooyoung rarely throws out leftover food before putting it in the sick, leaving disgusting, soggy food out that results in all of them gagging and screaming at him.

or how mingi insists on showering in the late hours of the night, the sound of water and pipes squealing ripping him from his slumber.

or, one of his personal favorites, how hongjoong must always have three pairs of shoes stacked on top of the shoe rack - no more, no less, or he says it throws off the rack’s equilibrium and sends him into a frenzy.

“but doesn’t it get lonely?” he asks, “what do you on weekends and stuff?”

“homework, sleep, sometimes go to a coffee shop and do more work,” you shrug, never realizing how much of a reclusive loser you seem to be until this very moment. “i’ve met a few girls from my classes but our project ended a few weeks ago.”

you felt the need to throw that in there, just so he knows you do in fact see other people from time to time.

“well you should come to one of our parties,” yeosang says with a smile.

“my sister’s friend always throws them at his house. they’re fun and don’t get too sloppy since it’s not people our age trying to catch up on the full college experience.”

dread pools in the pit of your stomach at the word party, not being able to picture anything worse than standing in a overcrowded house being surrounded by sweaty, drunk bodies and the stench of alcohol.

but that sounds far too harsh to say to yeosang, instead giving him a small sympathetic smile as you shrug your shoulders.

“i don’t know, i’m not much of a party person,” you confess quietly.

“oh, c’mon,” yeosang whines slightly, swinging his chair to face you playfully.

there’s a glint of something in his eyes, like he’d be fully prepared to beg and plead with you just to see you outside of the classroom or library.

“it’ll be fun! we’ll be able to hang out without finding our voice and engaging the audience.”

you giggle at the words that have left your professor’s mouth about seven hundred times this semester, cocking your head to the side as you looked at him pleadingly.

partially because, if he keeps looking at you like that, you’re gonna crack.

“i don’t go to parties much,” you tell him, a soft sympathetic frown on your face.

you really don’t wanna reject him. you wanna hang out with him outside of this class and school and engaging the audience but why does it have to be in that type of setting?

but it’s not like you can suggest any other setting.

because then it’ll seem like you’re asking him out on a date and that is something you definitely can’t do.

“why? are you scared?” yeosang teases, his eyebrow quirking up along with the smirk on his lips. “i’ll be with you the whole time. you can even meet my friends, they’ll be on their best behavior for you.”

you’ll never get used to the way he says your name. the way his deep voice makes it sound and how butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“yeosang...” you drag out in a slight whine, feeling bad at how eager he’s becoming and how much you really don’t wanna go. but you wanna go for him. you really, really do.

his smile widens at hearing you say his name, the sound of it falling from your pretty lips never failing to give him the same reaction. he wants to hear you say it more, in every way, in every setting, where people and his friends see that you’re comfortable with him.

“please, y/n?” he asks, his face leaning closer to yours.

your faces are mere inches apart, unaware to everyone else in the room sleeping on the tables or texting on their phones.

his eyes are roaming every bit of your face, lips quirked up in a smile that has your eyes falling down to his lips before back to his glinted eyes.

“for me,” he hums lowly, his smile turning to a smirk when he notices you swallow nervously.

“i really wanna hang out with you,” he says, his voice just above a whisper as he speaks to you and only you. “if you hate it that much, we’ll leave and do something else. but i want us to try. i want you to meet my friends and just have fun for a night with me.”

you let out a sigh, the air between you thick and charged as his eyes become more and more hopeful.

“i won’t leave you once. not even to pee.”

you narrow your eyes at him, pushing him back playfully and ignoring the hard muscle under your hand.

“i don’t wanna hang out with you if you’re gonna piss your pants.”

his deep chuckle booms through the room, waking a few students angrily while grabbing the attention of others. but he can only shake his head at you, eyes falling to your lips when he sees you press your teeth into the soft looking skin.

“then it’s a deal. as long as you’re there, i won’t piss my pants. how does that sound?”

you first met park seonghwa at that party on a friday night.

he was just in the midst of the many introductions and first impressions of yeosang’s seven roommates, sealing his fate as yeosang’s incredibly handsome but standoffish best friend.

you were more so focused on how handsome and happy the black-haired was to see you anyway, a smile lighting up his face the second he saw you emerge from your car.

driving yourself was a sure fire way to not drink and get shit faced, release your ever present desire and crush on yeosang in the form of a sloppy drunken kiss and embarrassing, stuttered confession.

“hey guys, this is y/n,” yeosang said, his hand guiding you by the small of your back. “the girl from my class, who-”

“you haven’t stopped talking about? yeah, we figured,” the friend he introduced as wooyoung chirps, throwing his arm around your shoulder. “you’re just as pretty as he said, y/n. do you want a drink?”

you can barely respond to the happy, chipper boy next to you, too distracted by his words and the pink flush creeping up on your cheeks.

“i... uh... no thank you,” you finally stutter out, an awkward giggle leaving your mouth. “i drove myself here so i can’t drink.”

“now why the hell would you do that!” wooyoung yelps, throwing you an incredulous look before punching yeosang in the arm.

“um, ow?!” yeosang says, a smile pulling at your lips at the sound of his voice.

“why would you invite her and not offer her a ride, you sick fuck? now she can’t drink and have fun.”

“i’ll still have fun,” you reassure wooyoung with a sweet smile. “i don’t drink much anyway. or come to parties, for that matter, so this is all gonna be a new experience.”

“oh shit, seonghwa, you hear that?” wooyoung says, nodding his head toward the dirty blonde with a sour look on his face. “she’s a recluse, too.”

“don’t call her that,” yeosang snips at the same time seonghwa says “don’t call me that.”

wooyoung only rolls his eyes before promptly getting whisked away to dance by mingi and san, leaving you and the others huddled around the couch and side table littered with their beers.

“i’m sorry about him,” yeosang says, breathless and defeated in a way only his oldest friend can make him. “he has no filter or knowledge of boundaries.”

“it’s okay, i like him,” you smile, your eyes meeting his and causing your heart to jump.

he looks better than he usual does if that’s even possible, his black hair hanging low and the faint smell of his shampoo wafting in your nose.

he’s wearing the same soft and sweet but amused expression he always has, the strangest mix of someone who looks like they’d be complete trouble but also someone you could bring home to your parents.

“then you’d be the only one,” yeosang chuckles out, the black-haired turning his head to his friend sitting on the couch. “right, hwa?”

“right,” the man’s deep voice booms, your eyes meeting at the same time.

he’s just as striking as seonghwa but not in such a boyish way. there’s a deep, brooding intensity to him that scares you ever so slightly, like he’s just as hard and cold as his expression says.

“do you wanna go meet the others?” yeosang asks, ripping your gaze away from seonghwa. “i think hongjoong and jongho are around here somewhere.”

“oh- sure,” you smile, looking back to seonghwa to see his eyes already on you. “nice meeting you, seonghwa.”

he hums a response before lifting the beer bottle to his mouth, legs spread and neck rolling to the side as if to deter anyone from sitting near him.

yeosang’s hand finds its way to the small of your back again, the warmth seeping through your shirt and making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“don’t mind seonghwa, he’s a grouch at these,” yeosang says, a small giggle leaving your mouth as you look back at him.

“he seemed nice,” you assure him quietly, your face way closer to his than you anticipated. you can almost feel his minty breath on your skin, warmth all around you as he guides you carefully.

“they all do.”

“good,” yeosang smiles, his thumb rubbing along your back before stopping you in front of two boys playing beer pong.

“you fucking idiot! you suck!”

“fuck off, this is my first time and i’ve gotten more than you!”

you and yeosang share a look of amusement before he clears his throat, the taller boy’s head snapping toward you both. his eyes light up in some sort of recognition, dropping the white ping pong ball and ignoring the way it bounces onto the floor.

“getting your ass handed to you, i see,” yeosang quips, jongho rolling his eyes before holding his hand out to you.

“i’m jongho, yeosang’s coolest and most talented friend.”

a smile lights up your face despite the more crowded and loud area, taking your hand in jongho’s as you introduced yourself.

“you guys are in the same class, right? tell me, how much does yeosang hit his head falling asl-”

“hey, yeosang!”

all of you crane your heads toward the new voice, a group of guys with red, glassy eyes and shaggy hair looking at yeosang expectantly. you don’t recognize them from any of your classes or around campus, figuring they’re older seniors or friend’s of his sister.

“we’re gonna smoke in the back? you wanna come?”

you’re all too aware of the hand on your back moving to your waist, squeezing your hip lightly in a way that’s oddly reassuring in the moment. like he knows this area is louder and more crowded and making you ready to bolt.

you’re only not because he’s next to you and his friends seem incredibly happy to meet you.

“nah, i’m good,” his deep voice reassures.

you watch the boy’s gaze shift from yeosang to you, eyeing your body up and down before it lands on your hips. a smirk crosses his face and he nods his head, an amused “ahh, okay,” leaving his mouth.

there’s an immature and embarrassing chorus of “oohs” and “ahh,” like the grown college men are actually in a class of immature elementary schoolers who just got in trouble.

yeosang only rolls his eyes and flips them off, your eyes widening just as he turns to you with a soft smile.

“my sister’s friends. they’re cool, just stupid as shit.”

you bite down on your lip so you don’t burst out laughing, giving him a small nod that makes his smile widen.

“you wanna try playing beer pong?” he asks, “i’ll drink your beers so you can’t use that excuse.”

your eyes narrow as you pinch him arm gently, his arm knocking into yours as he narrows his in return.

“fine,” you say, “but i’m gonna be bad. i’ve never played before.”

“jongho plays every weekend and is still terrible,” hongjoong says, patting you on the shoulder reassuringly. “so it’s fine.”

“i’m not terrible!”

but come to find out, after nearly three rounds, he was pretty terrible. either he was pretty terrible or you were the fastest learner in beer pong history at this institute.

“you’re gonna be bad?” yeosang mocks with a smirk, your hands awkwardly bumping as you walk around the block.

the house had gotten far too stuffy and crowded after the second round, the noise growing louder and bodies growing closer to you in a way that made you incredibly nervous.

it was fun at first, even you can admit that. but once it got too loud, your discomfort started to show itself.

your wandering eyes, your teeth in your lip, the way you were no longer laughing or high-anniversary hongjoong despite being on different teams. yeosang had caught on immediately, deeming the third game your last before you took a break outside.

the cold air was refreshing and just what you needed but yeosang’s warm body next to you is nice too. the way your cold hand grazes his warm one, the way you’ll look at him any time it happens and catch him already staring at you.

the way, if it wasn’t for him pushing you out of your comfort zone, you would’ve never gone to an unfamiliar party or played a round (or three) of drinking games.

“i didn’t expect to be good, if you could believe that,” you giggle softly, biting down on your lip as you watch your feet. they’d almost be in sync, if you weren’t a naturally fast walker and yeosang had a slower, smoother swagger of a walk.

“i don’t know if i can,” he says, his voice teasing and light as you walk in the darkness. “beginners luck maybe but it seemed like more.”

“well i’ll probably never do it again so i’m glad we discovered this tonight,” you say quietly, a small giggle leaving your mouth.

lost in the way your heart is pounding and butterflies are in your stomach, you don’t realize yeosang isn’t walking until he pulls you by the elbow gently. your back hits in front softly, your eyebrows furrowing as you turn to look at him.

you’re greeted by a look of mock hurt, yeosang’s eyes staring down at you causing another small smile to grace your face.

“what?”

“i thought you’d come back next week,” he says, voice so soft and sweet it makes the butterflies act up even more; he shouldn’t sound like this when he can also sound so scary and intimidating, the deep tone of his voice never failing to send your cheeks blazing.

“we had fun, no? i really like hanging out with you, y/n.”

for a moment you think you ruined something that barely started to build between you two. that the fleeting look of interest in his eye is gonna be shot to hell because he thinks you’re rejecting him in some way.

but you like him.

you really like him and you really like hanging out with him - you just don’t wanna do it in such a...crowded setting.

“i liked it, too, yeosang,” you confess immediately, faintly aware of his fingers toying with yours. “but... parties aren’t my thing. it got too crowded and i just get uncomfortable but i really liked hanging out with you.”

now he’s gonna think you’re stupid. silly and stupid and, quite frankly, weird that you can’t be in a normal setting for college students. maybe you should’ve just pushed through it, maybe you should’ve just-

“so no parties next time?” he asks, the hand toying with your fingers finally fully grasping your hand. the move makes your heart jump in your chest, the perfect fit of warmth and strength in your hand making you bite back a smile.

it doesn’t stop the blush from crossing your face, though, beyond grateful for the darkness in the sky right now.

“we can just hang out us, too. see a movie, go to dinner, whatever you wanna do.”

“so like a date?”

you don’t know why you blurt that out but you’re beyond embarrassed when you realize you do, your eyes growing wide and face heating even more; if the ground swallowed you up right now, you wouldn’t even mind.

a deep chuckle leaves his mouth and it only makes you more embarrassed, your gaze dropping and head falling ever so slightly.

he crouches so he’s staring up at you, a teasing smile on his face that brings a frown to your lips.

“i’m sorry, i don’t know why i-”

“yes, a date,” he says, successfully cutting you off as he rises to his full height and lifts your face to look at him. his finger’s resting under your chin and he’s standing even closer to you, eyes roaming you in such a way that makes you stare back dumbly.

“let me take you on a date. how does tomorrow sound?”

your eyes roam his for a few silent seconds, half because you’re in shock and half because you’re still embarrassed, until you realize he’s standing there awaitingly.

eyebrow quirked cockily and eyes full of amusement, like he somehow already knows you’re not gonna say no to him.

“i... tomorrow’s good,” you finally say, not being able to help the big smile that crosses your face.

the sight causes his heart to lift in his own chest, leaning down to press a soft and surprising kiss to your cheek. it’s simple and chaste and sweet but it makes every bit of you feel even more warm and happy, excitement bubbling inside you as he pulls back and interlaces your fingers together.

dinner and a movie turned into a very impromptu trip to the store for blankets, food and a picnic basket.

the restaurant yeosang planned on taking you to, a new italian restaurant in the center of town, had a two hour wait and the new romcom that followed was sold out for the night, leaving you and yeosang in his car trying to come up with a new course of action.

you insisted that you didn’t care what you did, that you could just go back to your dorm or his apartment and order take out or watch a movie there.

but he noticed you looking at the sky absentmindedly, a far away, fascinated look in your eye at the few visible stars and had an idea of his own.

he refused to tell you what you guys were shopping for, just that you’d see when you got there and could guess as you went along. it had all been so strangely intimate and domestic, yeosang pushing the cart as you threw things in after looking at him pleadingly.

“y/n, i told you to buy the whole damn store if you want. you don’t have to look at me like that over a box of cookies.”

you narrowed your eyes, insisting you will absolutely not do that.

“i just don’t know why you’re not letting me pay for anything. not even gas,” you whine.

he rolls his eyes silently as he pushes the cart along, a smile pulling at his lips as he walks past you.

“and you haven’t even told me what we’re doing!” you yelp after him, running after him like a child who doesn’t wanna lose their parent. he cranes his neck back as he raises an eyebrow, ushering you along to “find out what his genius plan is.”

when he goes down the bedding aisle telling you to pick out the fluffiest blanket, you look at him with suspicion all over your face. a smile pulls at his lips as he ushers you over himself, his hand lingering on your waist.

“this is the nice kind,” you tell him, a happy smile on your face even though it’s white and could very well be stained and destroyed.

“then put it in, pretty girl,” he says lowly, a squeal threatening to leave you as as butterflies erupt in your stomach. a smirk crosses his lips when he sees you get flustered, tightening his hold on your waist for a moment before dropping it entirely.

his real course of action starts when you guys are done shopping, fruits and cookies and crackers stocked in the cart along with a hidden gem he snuck under the cart tray.

it’s by a stroke of luck that, when you guys pass the bathrooms, you ask if it’s okay if you run in there quickly. he tells you to meet him in self check-out as he pays, hauling ass to the register and sticking all the items in a reusable bag.

you come out with a sympathetic smile, asking him for the tenth time if you could please give him some money for tonight’s date.

“absolutely not,” he insists, grabbing your hand so naturally, it’s like you guys have done this for longer than two days. “it didn’t go the way i intended so i have to make it up to you.”

“no you don’t,” you whine quietly, looking up at him as a biting gust of winds sends you shivering. “this is fun, too. you’re just nice to be around.”

a smile lights up his face as he peeks down at you, his hold on you tightening before you quickly reach his car.

you ask where you guys are going for half the ride, a mischievous and coy smile on your face as you beg him to tell you where you’re going and what you’re doing.

you face him the entire time you do so, your fingers toying with his on the middle console. he doesn’t give you any hints but makes sure to keep his hand in yours, soft, sweet chuckles leaving his mouth when you let out more whines and groans.

“just a little longer,” he insists, the warmth of the car and his hand causing your head to rest on the seat.

it’s all very comfortable and calm, the quiet hum of his car nearly lulling you to sleep until you feel the car stop.

your head pops up and your eyes widen when you see you’re down by the beach, about an hour from your town and causing your eyes to gape at him - he just drove this far for the beach in the middle of november.

“the beach?” you ask, a confused smile tugging at your lips. you love it here and you’re certainly not mad, you spend most days in the summer down here, but you guys definitely can’t go in the ocean right now.

“yup,” he says simply, turning off the car before silently getting out. you watch him through the window as he opens the back door, carefully taking out the bag full of food and blankets before making his way to your side.

you send him a smile when he opens your door and extends his hand, a quiet “thank you,” leaving your mouth as you take his hand. he interlaces your fingers and your hands swing between you two, the chill from the ocean biting and cold but also slightly refreshing from the car’s heat.

“so...” you say once you two stop on the sand, the grains lumpy under your sneakers. you’ve never seen the beach this dark and desolate and it would absolutely unnerve you if yeosang wasn’t beside you. “what exactly are we doing here?”

“you mean you don’t wanna swim?”

your expression causes him to chuckle, disconnecting your hands to lay out a blanket on the sand. your next expression, however, warms his heart more than he’s ever felt before.

your eyes widen as they look at him, a surprised and excited gasp leaving as he pulls out a medium-sized picnic basket.

“when... when did you get that?!” you yelp, moving closer to his larger, warmer body to get a good look at it. “i didn’t even see you pick it up!”

“i was sneaky, right?” he teases with a wink, guiding you by the waist to sit down before placing the basket between you.

you barely notice the harsh gust of wind because of your excitement and surprise, yeosang’s hands draping a blanket around your shoulders before you can even shiver.

“i even packed the food. i didn’t really know how to be sneaky for that so it was pure luck that you went to the bathroom.”

and low and behold, when he opens up the white, woven basket, all the food you got was packed in perfectly. plates and utensils were strapped to the top with two small cups next to the array of fruits, cookies, and several ingredients for sandwiches.

you both happened to like cheese ones, your hands grazing and soft giggles leaving when you both reached for it in the frozen section.

“i... i can’t believe you did this,” you mumble quietly, feeling far more touched and happy than you’re willing to let on. “this is so cute. thank you, yeosang.”

you look up to see the soft smile he’s sending your way, his hand reaching out to cup your cold, red cheek. his thumb rubs over the cold skin for a few seconds, like he’s testing the waters to see if this is too much too soon.

the way you lean into him makes his heart start to pound just a little bit, his head cocked to the side as his eyes roam your face - you look so pretty, even with early signs of windburn.

“of course, pretty,” he mumbles quietly, that word again causing the butterflies to return. “thank you for coming on this date with me.”

you eat your sandwiches and fruit huddled under a blanket together, him wiping a crumb from your face and you throwing a stray piece of cheese at him when he calls you messy.

it’s all very tranquil and comfortable, like you guys have known each other for longer than two months. it’s still just enough time to still be unsure though, if your touches are too much or the way you’re looking at each other is setting yourselves up to be hurt.

you couldn’t care about any of that right now, though, laying down on the blanket and looking up at the sky with yeosang by your side.

you started off close, arms brushing before they eventually stayed glue to each other, and now you’re even closer. your head is just mere inches from resting on his chest, a shiver running through you that acts as the catalyst of him pulling you closer to him.

“c’mere” he mumbled lowly, your body immediately moving closer to hm until his warmth and woodsy scent surrounds you. you smile into his sweater, toying with the ends before his large, veiny hands covers your smaller, cold one.

“this was a really smooth idea, you know,” you say after a few moments of silence, eyes threatening to closer and body relaxing if you continue to lay here in the most comfortable silence of your life.

“oh?” he says, hearing the smile in his voice.

“yeah,” you say, tentatively turning to look up at him. there’s a look in his eye that makes you feel comfortable enough to rest your chin on his chest, your eyes briefly falling to his lips. “i think this was better than dinner and a movie. the stars are really pretty.”

a small smile grace his face as he looks at you, hand reaching up to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. all of his moves and touches tonight have been slow and gentle, like you’re a piece of glass he has to be fragile with.

you’ve never been treated like that before and it makes your heart flutter, the sweet look in his palpable even in the darkness.

“they are,” he mumbles, his eyes not leaving you as his hand gently moves down your face.

your skin is smooth and cold and he doesn’t think he ever wants this moment to end. the closeness, the wide-eyed look you’re giving him, the way he feels so content and at ease, it’s like he doesn’t know how he lived peacefully before this.

“when’s our next date gonna be?”

a smile lights up your face as a cute giggle leaves your mouth, his hand on your chin constricting your movements ever so slightly.

“this one isn’t even over,” you tease lightly, eyebrows raising playfully. “what if when it ends, you don’t wanna see me again?”

“and why would that happen?” yeosang asks curiously, genuinely confused and positive that that wouldn’t be the case. because as he pulls your face a tad closer to him, your amused expression dropping to one of a surprise, he’s certain of two things.

he’ll never get tired of seeing you and he wants to kiss you right now.

“because, right now,” he starts again, voice low and deep that effects every part of your body. “i wanna kiss you more than anything. and then make sure i see you soon, as soon as possible, really, so i can do it again.”

you swallow nervously as you look at him wide-eyed, the confidence and sureness in his words causing your eyes to drop to his lips again.

you meet in a kiss half way that’s just as gentle and sweet as it is fulfilling. it’s a kiss that shows it’s your first time kissing each other but that’s what makes it so nice for both of you.

it’s slow and chaste but everything about it is pure. there’s no other intention than just kissing, testing out and acting on the attraction that was building the moment you saw each other.

he moves you on your back gently to hover over you more comfortable, your eyes closed as your arms wound around his neck. he doesn’t even make a move to deepen the kiss in any way, his tongue barely flicking out to trace the outline of your lips.

it’s then you pull back breathless, looking at him above you with flushed cheeks and a heaving chest.

“i... i want that, too,” you admit quietly after a few seconds, his eyes on you and yours on him.

because you wanna see him again, you wanna see more of his smile and hear more of his laugh and get to know the boy who briefly his way into your heart and mind so quickly.

“good,” he mumbles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek before pecking the other one with a smile. “that makes me happy.”

you wanna kiss him again but he flops back down beside you before you can daringly initiate one, pulling you atop his chest again as he wraps his arm around you.

it takes everything in you not to fall asleep right there and then, feeling so comfortable and safe beside him, you’re excited to see how your next date is gonna go with him.

febuary - freshmen year

your second date turned into many more, becoming more comfortable and familiar with each other until, one night, he finally asked you to be his girlfriend.

it wasn’t anything grand, just after a night of late night drives and fast food run. your feet were up on the dash and you fed him salty, fattening fries with the moon as your witness.

he looked over at you occasionally, watching as you sipped from your drink or took a bite of your sandwich and realized in that moment, he needed you to be his.

officially.

because as far as he was considered, you were his and he was yours after your first date stargazing.

“y/n?” you hear him say, your mouth still connected to the straw as you guzzle down your soda. you move your gaze to see him looking at you, nervously swallowing your drink as your eyebrows pull together.

“what?” you ask, immediately wiping at your face and mouth. “is there something on my face?”

a deep chuckle leaves his mouth as he shakes his head, eyes roaming you for a few more seconds before his hand is resting on your face. the movement causes your heart to stutter, eyes widening and heart starting to pound.

you hope he can’t hear it. you think there’s about a 40% chance that he does and those odds are way too high for you.

“i like you,” he says.

the confession is short and sweet and everything about it is genuine. the way his voice drops and he’s looking at you with such a soft fondness, you can’t find the words to respond.

“i really like you, y/n,” he mumbles, his thumb slowly caressing the side of your face.

every stroke of his finger makes your heart pound more and more, your eyes looking up at him with a palpable look of, both, fear and fondness. because you like him, too. you really, really like him but that scares you a little.

so does the way he’s looking at you, touching you so softly and sweetly and not tearing his gaze away from you.

“i want you to be mine,” he finally says, breaking the silence in the car. “will you be my girlfriend?”

his friends took the news of your relationship just as you expected, excited and overwhelmingly supportive, with a few lingering eyes that went unnoticed by everyone.

but that’s because he made sure to keep it that way.

you didn’t go to yeosang’s often but when you did, you made sure to talk and hang out with each and every one of them. some of them were crazier and chattier than others but you found it all very endearing - no matter how overwhelmed and scared it made you.

seonghwa was the only one who seemed to be on your level, able to sit in a room and observe without saying much unless directly spoken to.

you haven’t talked to the handsome boy a lot, just casual greetings and goodbyes, but you just knew you were intimidated by him. he always held such a stern, hard expression on his face, dignified and serious in a way that just didn’t seem to match the group.

the only times you’d see him crack a smile when the boys would start brawling or hongjoong said a corny, uncharacteristic joke.

he did’t make you feel uncomfortable or unwanted though, he always said hi and always made you feel welcomed by making extra food for you or automatically setting an extra spot for you.

it was subtle but it was nice, always making you feel just a little more welcomed by yeosang’s friends - but when valentine’s day came, yeosang did everything in his power to let his roommates know they were not welcomed in their own home for the night.

“what?!” wooyoung screeched when hongjoong broke the news to them. “where the hell are we supposed to go on valentine’s day as seven single losers?! and then get a hotel?! are you nuts?”

yeosang only stared blankly at the boy as groans of protest were heard from the others, grumbles of “who said i’m single?” and “i’m not a loser,” throughout the apartment.

“when did i say you could never come home you dramatic fuck?” yeosang sneered, “i just asked for a few hours!”

he had been tormenting himself for weeks about what to do for valentine’s day with you. you insisted over and over again that, really truly, you didn’t want to do anything.

but he thought you deserved it and he’d never actually had a girlfriend during this god forsaken holiday - he had to try it at least once and what better time than with someone like you?

“that might be the problem though,” seonghwa said to him one night, after hearing his friend carry on for hours and hours.

yeosang looked to his friend on the couch with a confused expression, the dirty blonde rolling his eyes.

“she doesn’t like crowds or loud noises. you think it’s really a good idea to bring her out to a restaurant or public place on valentine’s day?”

naturally an extrovert, yeosang would’ve never thought that to be an overwhelming or distasteful prospect. the booming voices of people and laugher and music was something he’d loved all his life but, seonghwa’s right, you don’t like that.

you didn’t like it at the party and you don’t like it here. you don’t like when a restaurant or movie theater is too crowded, always choosing an area that’s more secluded and quiet.

“shit, you’re so right, hwa,” yeosang says, slapping his friend on the arm gratefully. “maybe i’ll just make her dinner here. we can stay in, that’ll be nice, right?”

seonghwa gives a disinterested shrug and yeosang can see he lost his friend already, wondering how the dirty blonde even knew that until he remembers, he’s the same way.

avoids crowds and big outings like the plague, only humoring them because they’d all annoy the shit out of him if he didn’t. and he thinks if seonghwa had a valentine, he’d wanna do the same thing with them.

“okay, okay, okay,” wooyoung says, the only one of the seven that had shit to say per usual. “we will go out and get shit faced if you insist. cry about our sad single lives and the fact we’re not loved this year. but... i ask that you save some left over food and buy us at least two drinks.”

hongjoong knew to rush the boys out of the apartment in a timely fashion after that, already seeing in his mind the brawl that wold ensue between yeosang and wooyoung - and once that happens, everyone else will pick sides and create more chaos.

it leaves yeosang with a little over two hours to prepare the house and dinner, lighting a candle and throwing nonsense into any closet that would fit in until the aroma of spices and flavors filled the air.

he told you to come at seven on an empty stomach, that he’d be providing drinks, dinner and dessert and to not even try bringing him a gift the same way you requested; but when you show up at seven on the dot with a cute little pink bag, he sees you did’t listen either.

“baby... i told you i didn’t need anything.”

“and i said the same thing,” you whine, poking him in the stomach lightly as you walk through the apartment.

it’s the most spotless you’d ever seen the place, a soft touched smile on your face as you picture him scrambling to clean and get the boys out.

“you even cleaned.”

“please, i made the boys do it before i kicked them out.”

“yeosang!” you squeal, narrowing your eyes at your boyfriend of two months. “you didn’t have to do that!”

“believe me, i did,” he assures, pulling you by the hand to the table set for two. he pulls out your chair and you bite back a smile, mumbling a quiet “thank you,” as you watch him prepare two plates of food.

the idea of this always embarrassed you, a cheesy romantic dinner with candles and chivalry and a boyfriend who looks at you so lovingly. but now that you’re here, you know you’ve never felt this happy before.

that seeing him do this for you and only you is one of best feelings in the world; you’re still not crazy about valentine’s day, you find it all very cheesy and dramatic, but you think it just has to do with the fact that you’re with yeosang is why you’re so happy and touched tonight.

“this is good,” you hum through a mouth full a food, a smirk on his face as he reaches over to dap at your messy lips.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you answer through narrowed eyes, yeosang’s deep melodic laugh quickly melting your annoyed expression way.

“you look pretty.”

your brows pull together in confusion, slurping noodles into your mouth at the exact moment he says that.

you look down at your outfit in contemplation, a simple comfortable outfit you were excited to wear when he asked if you wanted to stay in for valentine’s day.

you were shocked when that was the plan he came up with, knowing that yeosang enjoys going out and socializing every day and night; but that’s what happens when you’re good at it. when you’re so charismatic and joyful and just so naturally draw people into you.

he asked if you wanted to go to dinner or a movie or do a crazier type of date but you didn’t have the heart to tell him no. just told him he can plan it and you’ll go along with whatever he wants.

you ended up getting a text from him asking if you just wanted to stay in. that he’d cook for you and you guys could just hang out and watch movies as long as they weren’t cheesy romantic comedies.

“why do you look so surprised?” he chuckles, ripping you from your thoughts as a small, shy smiles finally rises on your face - you don’t feel very pretty, in fact, you thought you actually looked kind of sloppy.

“i don’t know,” you mumble, a blush creeping up on your face as you twirl your noodles.

you feel his gaze boring into your face, pressing your lips together before finally raising your eyes to him.

“what!” you squeal, face heating up even more in a way that causes a deep, melodic chuckle to leave yeosang.

“you’re cute, that’s what,” he says, eyes roaming your face before they fall on the small, pink gift next to you. “and it’s because you’re cute i’m not mad you got me that.”

you follow his eyes to the bag by your elbow, huffing as you meet his mock harsh gaze.

“how could i not get you something?” you whine. “you never let me buy anything ever! and you made all of this food.”

he watches as you slurp up the last of your food, smiling gratefully at him before standing up from your chair. you take the bag next to you and pad over to him shyly, holding out your hand awaitingly.

he looks at it before meeting your gaze, eyebrow quirked with a smile pulling at his lips.

“what?”

“i wanna give it to you before i do this dishes.”

“like fuck.”

your eyes widen as a laugh bubbles out of your mouth, smacking him in the arm lightly before he loops an arm around your waist. you fall into him with a squeal, your heart stuttering when you’re suddenly in his lap and he’s smiling down at you.

“i- it’s only fair,” you manage to stutter out, feeling silly for being flustered over being in his lap. “you cooked all of this for us.”

there’s a pout on your lips that he can’t help but notice, next to the wide-eyed innocent shock that’s always behind your eyes.

when he pulls you in his lap the same way he did now, watching you shift and move on him in ways he doesn’t think you realize what you’re doing.

when make out sessions turn more intense, his lips trailing down your neck and his hands squeezing your hips that has tiny, small pants leaving your mouth.

when he gets more bold and tells you all the things he wants to do to you when you’re ready, lowly mumbled in your ear so he can pull back and see just how red and lustful you are at the thought of his head between your legs.

he didn’t wanna rush any part of your relationship in that regard.

one because he liked you, he really, really liked you and it wasn’t about that for him, and two because he just knew you hadn’t done much before and didn’t want you to feel pressured in any way.

it didn’t stop his own desires from surfacing. from him getting hard with you on top of him and jerking off to the thought of you when you two would part ways.

it’s feelings he’s trying to push down right now, your wide-eyed look staring at him as a soft, sweet smile pulls at his lips.

“and i’ll clean it for us, too,” he mumbles, his arms wrapping around your waist loosely before his eyes move to the bag - the disdain in which he looks at it could only be described as incredibly dramatic.

“once you see what it is, you’re gonna feel bad for looking at it so meanly,” you say with a swat to his chest, dangling the bag in front of his face.

his interest is peeked, a mischievous look behind his eyes that makes your cheeks flame. a soft chuckle leaves his mouth as he takes the bag from your hand, carefully taking out the festive pink and red wrapping paper.

the first thing he feels is cool metal, his hesitant gaze move toward you only to be met with a soft, encouraging smile. he rolls his eyes playfully, unveiling the gift that has his heart jumping in his chest.

it’s a framed photo of you two he’s never seen before, you smiling at the camera and him smiling at you as his arm rests around your shoulder.

he recognizes it from one of the parties he took you to a few weeks ago, the pretty red dress you wore with black tights under leaving him unable to tear his eyes away from you all night.

there’s even picture proof right in front of him, his gaze so soft and sweet on you he feels the slightest hint of an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

“you looked so pretty that night,” he mumbles lowly, a low, short chuckle leaving his mouth that has your stomach swooping dangerously. “who took this picture?”

“who do you think?” you quip sarcastically, remembering half the night you were hiding from one particular friend with black hair and a high-pitched laugh.

“wooyoung’s stupid ass,” yeosang grumbles, his finger sliding over the cool metal of the frame.

he has a lot of pictures of loved ones and likes documenting moments with family, friends, even the people he meets once but has a great experience with. but this picture is by far his favorite, the way a smile is stretched across your face and how comfortable you look beside him.

“thank you, baby,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “i love it, my new favorite picture.”

“i wrote something on the back, too,” you tell him sweetly, cheeks warm as you watch his eyebrows pull together.

he looks at you for a few moments, smiling when your lips quirk up and you nod your head encouragingly.

when he flips it over, he sees your neat handwriting in red ink with i’s darted with hearts.

i really like you, too :) happy valentine’s day ♥

a deep chuckle leaves his mouth, cheeks turning pink as he throws his head back and looks at you fondly.

“i never said anything after you asked me out because i was too nervous and shocked,” you tell him honestly, his smile widening as he watches you speak. “so i just wanted to assure you.”

“thank you, baby,” he laughs out, placing the picture down and wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. “i’m glad you’re letting me know two months into this that you do in fact like me.”

a squeal of protest and defense tries to leave your mouth before he shakes his head, cutting you off with a kiss to your lips that you immediately meet. it’s chaste despite the way you’re in his lap, your mouths parting and his tongue licking along your bottom lip.

“your turn for a gift,” he says when he pulls back, both of you slightly breathless. “go wait on the couch.”

“but i wanna do the-”

“i’m just gonna stick them in the dish washer,” he tells you, the look in his eye proving you’re not gonna win this conversation. “just find something for us to watch, okay?”

you stare at him for a few seconds, his gaze and face unwavering causing you to let out a groan and jump off his lap. he smirks to himself as he begins to clean off the table, watching you pad over the couch to turn on the tv.

you seem comfortable in his house.

you look like you belong there and that makes his heart pound in his chest the whole time he puts the dirty dishes away.

he sneaks into his room to grab your gift before joining you, plopping down on the couch next to you and causing a tiny, surprised squeal to leave your mouth.

“you scared me!” you giggle, a quiet “sorry,” leaving his mouth as he starts to dangle a small white bag in front of your face. your eyebrows pull together as you snap your head to him, a content, almost conniving smirk on his face.

“yeosang...”

“i never said dinner was your gift so stop looking at me like that,” he says, his hand on your cheeks squeezing them together lightly.

your lips are pushed together and pouted and he has to resist the urge to kiss them, your eyes shooting daggers into him the only thing holding him back from doing so.

you take the bag with a small sigh, your eyes softening when he smiles down at you.

your heart nearly drops when you see a small black box wrapped in the white, glittery paper, your wide eyes meeting his that makes him throw his hands up innocently.

“not an engagement ring, don’t worry.”

a snort leaves you as you hit his arm playfully, licking over your lips before opening the box with shaky hands.

the first thing you notice is the amount of diamonds.

small, sparkly diamonds in a crescent moon shape that makes your eyes widen. it’s shining under the faint light of living room, the tv blaring and candles from the table filling the room with the aroma of cotton candy and sugar - courtesy of jongho’s love for festive candles.

“yeosang...”

the gift leaves you just as speechless as it does emotional, tears pricking your eyes because while you love it and you’re so grateful, he didn’t have do this; you didn’t expect any gift from him since he cooked you dinner tonight.

“do you like it?”

“of course i like it, i love it,” you’re quick to say, the feeling in your chest the biggest indication of that. “but i didn’t need this, yeosang. it’s too much.”

“it wasn’t,” he insists with a small, half-amused pout, his hand running through your hair before caressing your cheek gently. he smiles when you lean into his touch, thumb running along your smooth skin.

“i saw it and i thought of you.”

you look from him down at the necklace in your hand, a small smile on your face at the memory.

your arms grazed as you laid out on the blanket together, the cold chill in the air bringing your bodies closer and closer together. neither of you even noticed until the warmth of other’s skin sent shockwaves through you, a blush on your cheeks and a shy smile on his face.

“this was kind of better than dinner and movie i think,” yeosang’s deep voice says, breaking the comfortable silence that’s fallen over you. you rest your chin on his chest as you look up at him, a small smile on your face as you nod your head.

“i think so too,” you say sweetly, sticking your cold hands under the blanket. “definitely the best first date.”

a soft smile crosses his face, his cold hand cupping your cheek as his gaze roams over your face. the light of the moon is the only source of light tonight, shining in your eyes with a look that’s making his heart pull in his chest.

he couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, the fascinated, content look on your face as peered up at the sky. take in the sight of shining stars and the crescent moon and the dark waves crashing on the shore.

it’s a sight that’s gonna remind him of you now. the moon and the stars and the distinct feeling of being content and at ease on the beach at night.

“good,” he says with a sense of finality, pressing a sweet, chaste peck to your lips. he smiles when you meet it back hesitantly, everything about it innocent and slow and just how he wants to pursue you.

“the moon’s gonna remind me of you now so i hope our second date goes well too.”

“our second date went well,” you mumble, toying with the necklace in your hand as you observe the amount of diamonds.

you’re almost uncomfortable at the thought of having something like this around your neck, knowing it was expensive and that you’ve never received a gift like this before.

“it did,” he says, the slightly crestfallen look on your face casing him to frown. “do you not like it? is it cheesy?”

your face falls the second you hear those words, the rapid shaking of your head causing a smile to pull at his lips.

“no! no, no, no, of course not,” you’re quick to reassure, guilt building in the pit of your stomach.

“i love it. i really, really, love it and it’s so beautiful. but i didn’t need a gift like this, yeosang. i feel bad that you got this and i got you a $15 frame with a secret picture.”

a deep chuckle leaves his mouth as he rolls his eyes, shutting you up with a kiss to your lips. his hand weaves through your hair and you make a tiny noise against it, clutching the necklace in your hand tightly.

“i wanted to get you it,” he says when he pills back, slightly breathless as he looks down at you.

“it wasn’t about the money. i love that picture and what you wrote on the back,” he teases, your eyes narrowing despite the embarrassed flush on your cheeks. “so don’t feel bad and please accept the gift, baby.”

he must see something in your eyes that shows him he won, a proud smirk on his face as he takes the necklace from your hold and brings it around your neck.

his hands graze your hair before touching the sides of your neck, the feel of his skin on yours causing you to bite down on your lip. his smirk widens as he struggles to clasp the necklace, all nervous feelings subsiding when a small giggle leaves your mouth.

“are you having a tough time?”

“no,” he grumbles, another small giggle leaving your mouth until you’re suddenly pushed down on the couch - necklace successfully on and back pressed up against the cushions.

all laughs and smiles are completely wiped off your face with the pressure of his body on yours, his smirking face above you causing your breath to quicken.

“oh? are you having a tough time now?”

he sounds so cocky and teasing, it should make you narrow your eyes. tease him with just as much of a conniving, wise-ass tone and smug look. but instead, your stomach swoops and your eyes move to his lips and like there’s a break in a dam, your mouths meet in the start of a fervent kiss.

he holds himself above you, tongue slipping in your mouth as he swallows your small, quiet moans. his hand trails itself down the side of your stomach to rest on your hip, the pressure of him and his lips on yours all consuming.

your hand travels to the back of his head, tugging lightly at the strands before a squeal leaves your mouth.

his deep chuckle rings through the quiet apartment as he lifts you up, plopping you down on his lap before connecting your lips again.

it’s the fastest you both have ever moved, your hands toying with the bottom of his shirt while his hands grasp your hips tightly. pulling your body closer to his and moaning into his mouth when you rub against him a certain way.

you feel him smirk against your lips, pulling back every so slightly to catch the growing hint of lust and desire in your gaze.

“oh? that feel good?”

your cheeks flush at the tone of his voice, swallowing the embarrassed lump in your throat as you nod your head timidly.

“let me know when you wanna stop,” he mumbles, his words kissed along your neck making you sure you never want him to.

your mouths connect again in a fit of tongues meeting and bodies crashing, foreign feelings of arousal coursing through your veins. you guys always took things slow but you were never sure why - if he was doing it for you or if he just didn’t wanna do that step.

but you were secretly even hoping tonight, you’d be able to go further.

that’s why when his hands trail along the bottom of your shirt, warm fingers dipping under to touch your skin, you move into him even more. pulling back to look at him through hooded eyes as you nod your head.

you don’t even have the time to feel apprehensive when you’re sitting there in just a lace bra, exposed and slightly cold with goosebumps on your skin, because yeosang’s quick to assure you.

look at you with a soft, sweet fascination and tell you how beautiful you look for him.

both your shirts hit the living room floor before he’s scooping you up, a surprised squeal leaving your mouth that brings a smile to his face.

he plops you down on the bed shoved in the right corner of the room, clothes littering the floor and a mess of wires near the desk. it’s a little messy but it smells surprisingly clean, like a mix of cologne and yeosang’s natural teakwood scent.

“we don’t have to do this,” he says, his body looming above yours.

because you guys really don’t have to do this, he’d be perfectly content watching movies tonight with an inkling of kissing or touching, but, fuck, does he want to.

he’s wanted to hear you moan and touch you and taste you since you both started dating. since he looked at you under the stars and knew he’d fall for you shortly after.

“i want to,” you confess, a soft blush on your cheeks as you look up at him,

he rolls his tongue over his lips, biting down every so slightly in a way that makes your lower stomach tighten in desire. the look in his eyes is too much, it’s nothing you’ve ever seen before. like he wants to-”

“i want to ruin you,” he mumbles, bending down to press a peck on your neck. “i won’t do it tonight,” he continues, trailing his lips down your chest before bringing his hand to the lace.

his finger traces the red material, sliding one of the straps down before tugging down your bra. his eyes move to your nipple, hardening in the cold air as he feels his cock do the same.

“i’m gonna be slow and gentle and so good to you, baby,” he says, his hot breath fanning over your exposed boob. his lips are so close to touching your skin, the warmth and wetness bringing tingles to your skin.

“i only ask that you moan for me, okay?” he mumbles, his tongue swiping across your nipple causing a choked, strangled gasp to leave you. you feel him smirk against your skin and can’t even be embarrassed by it, just wanting more of him and more of the pleasure he’ll give you.

“doesn’t seem like that’s gonna be a problem though, pretty girl,” he chuckles out, mouth closing around your nipple again as his hands trail down your side.

every sensation seems heightened and overwhelming, completely aware of how heavy your breathing is and the building pit of desire in your stomach. desire that heightens when his hand ghosts past your pants, his middle finger tracing small circles through your leggings.

he can feel your legs widen and a smirk crosses his face, sucking at your nipple once more before pulling back and meeting your lips. you moan at the feeling of his fingers moving quicker, a strangled “yeosang, please,” catching you off guard as much as him.

but it seems to get things in to motion - because your leggings are done and your skin hits the cold air a few moments later, yeosang tugging his shirt over his head before his hands are back on you.

you’re laying beside him, head resting on his bare chest when he slips his hand in your underwear. rubbing quick, skilled circles on your clit as your breathing labors and you whine into the air.

“have you ever been touched like this before, baby?” he mumbles, a shake of your head causing him to stop his movements all together. you whine at the loss of pleasure, looking at him with glossy, confused eyes that makes him hold back a smile.

he likes seeing how desperate you got. how ready and willing and eager you are for him.

“have you ever been touched like this?” he repeats, a croaked whine of “no,” leaving your mouth that makes him smile. continue his blissful strokes on your clit as a finger slowly enters you.

you’re so wet that you welcome the stretch with a moan of pleasure, a deeply grumbled “fuck,” causing your eyes to roll back when he hesitantly adds another.

“you’re so wet, baby. you’re so fucking wet for me.”

you nod dumbly, not being able to find the words as his pointer and middle curl and he fucks you with his fingers. you moan his name when the pleasure becomes too much, wanting to scream when he suddenly removes his hand from you.

you watch through hooded eyes as he tugs your underwear down with his teeth, his mouth pulled into a smirk until they’re only just past your upper thighs.

because like he’s so eager and can’t wait, like he’s been waiting for this moment since he knew you were gonna be okay with it, he looks down at your bare, soaked pussy with a look of hunger you’ve never seen before.

“let me eat you out,” he says, his words choked out and tone deep and strangled. “please, baby, can i?”

his voice sounds as desperate as you feel and you have to sit up so you can crash your lips on his, the overwhelming need to kiss him coming over you. he meets it back immediately, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses and tongues until you pull back and tell me “please.”

his tongue brings you to your first orgasm, your thighs shaking between his head as your hand runs through his black hair desperately.

when his cock springs free, he circles it around your entrance and enters you slowly. sweet, soft spoken words of “it’s okay,” and “you’re doing so good, angel,” that make the whole experience that much better.

you feel full and he feels so good inside you, both your moans ringing through the air and the smell of sex in the room until he’s coming in you. hips bucking and slamming quickly to follow his high before he flicks your clit a few times to bring you to your second orgasm of the night.

you both lay there after, naked and panting, before he’s up and getting a warm, wet rag. there’s a slight sting but it makes you feel incredibly love and vulnerable, watching as he cleans between your legs with a sweet, gentleness and diligence.

“was that okay?” he mumbles in your hair, the faint scent of sweat and perfume on your skin. you only mumble and nod against him but he needs to see your face in this moment.

see that this was just as amazing and fulfilling for you as it was for him.

and when he meets your gaze, his thumb under your chin to meet his eyes, he can see it was. in your glossy eyes and shy smile and pink cheeks that makes him wanna kiss you all over again.

“it was good. really good,” you confess quietly, a small deep chuckle leaving his mouth as he moves a sweaty stand of hair behind your ear.

“yeah? really good?” he teases, eyebrow quirked as he pecks a playful kiss on your cheek. “just how good?”

your blush intensifies as you hide your face in his chest, his laugh mumbled against your head as you feel his lips press against your head.

you two eventually venture back into the living room after a few more kisses and wandering hands, plopping on the couch fully dressed and cuddled into one another when there’s a commotion right outside the apartment door.

the both of you turn to see the seven other boys barreling through in a drunken, sloppy daze, yunho holding mingi and jongho up while hongjoong holds san and wooyoung. seonghwa follows behind with an annoyed expression, meeting yeosang’s gaze that screams you will pay for this.

“what the hell happened?”

“single people drank for free,” hongjoong says, watching as the four drunken idiots either collapse onto the floor or stumble into the kitchen; seonghwa follows quickly behind, because as much disdain as he has, he doesn’t wanna see anyone light themselves on fire.

“so you could only imagine how that went. i don’t even know how many peanut butter and jelly shots san and wooyoung had.”

“that is so disgusting,” yeosang says, your head nodding against his chest because “i’m sorry, but that kind of is. maybe you guys should have some water now.”

“it was good, y/n!” jongho whines, throwing himself down next to you and yeosang. he slumps against the arm of the couch, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before his eyes shoot open.

you and yeosang watch as he does so, quickly rising from the couch and sniffing like a police dog in front of a bag of drugs.

“the fuck’s your problem?”

“who lit my cotton candy candle?!” the boy yelps, taking one whiff of the air and being positive he’d know that smell anywhere. “and why does it barely mask the smell of sex?!”

your eyes widen and a deep, red blush overcomes you, a growl leaving yeosang at the same time hongjoong comes over and tugs the boy up by his arm. the smaller boy throws you an apologetic look as he escorts jongho to his room, yeosang’s arm tightening around you as you hide yourself in his chest.

“does it really? i don’t smell anything.”

yeosang bites down on his lip so he doesn’t start laughing, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he shakes his own for your own peace of mind.

“no, baby. it’s fine. he’s just a drunk idiot.”

april - freshmen year

maybe it was because you guys started out so strong.

with great communication and constant assurance that kept you both aware of each other’s feelings.

you knew when he was feeling unsure about your quietness, wondering if it was something he did or if you just weren’t feeling good that day.

he knew when you were feeling overwhelmed, realizing just how different you two were the longer you were together. how he was just so outgoing and charismatic and extroverted and you just... weren’t.

how now that they honeymoon phase was over, stupid little arguments would break out. about what to do on the weekend, about where to eat, about staying in to study versus going to a cafe on campus.

they weren’t even real fights but it was enough to make you see a change in you guys. enough to see that, maybe, one day, this was gonna be a problem and you two would have to overcome it or let it ruin something good.

“we’re having seonghwa’s birthday party at the house tonight,” he tells you during your study session, another argument he won by bribing you with hot chocolate and sugar cookies at a local cafe.

you look up from your work and nod your head, a small smile on your face at the thought of seonghwa and the others.

you’ve gotten a lot closer to all of them over the past few months, even seonghwa who took a little bit longer to come out of his shell. but now that you talked to him you saw how nice and funny he was.

how he comes across as scary and standoffish but, really, is one of the most loyal and observant friends in the room.

he always knows when people are uncomfortable or have had too much of someone or something for the night - you watched him physically separate wooyoung and san when the both had too much alcohol and were getting snippy with each other.

his presence brings a comfort over you that you can’t quite explain. maybe because it seems like he’s kind of like you - quiet and shy and doesn’t like being the center of attention.

which is why you’re shocked in the first place he even agreed to a party.

“oh, he didn’t,” yeosang says, a smirk on his face as he thinks back to the night they all gave him an ultimatum. “but it was the lesser evil that we gave him so he agreed.”

“oh?” you quip, eyebrow raised as you play footsie under the table. “and what was it? making a restaurant sing him happy birthday?”

a wide smirk crosses yeosang face as he nods, a giggle leaving your mouth as you smack his arm lightly.

“you guys are bad.”

“eh, he’s dramatic,” he says, your gaze dropping back down to your work.

he’s said that a few times when you tell him a restaurant or bar is too crowded. when you’re at one of his sister’s house parties and the beer pong table is becoming far too overwhelmingly and crowded for your liking.

it’s always in a joking manner, him whisking you away despite others’ groans of protests, but it still secretly makes you a little sad.

“i actually have to go help them set up in a bit,” he says, your neck snapping up to him again. he sees your eyebrows pull together and reaches across the table, his hand on your arm rubbing you assuringly.

“what’s that face for?”

“nothing, i just...” you let out a sigh as you look down at your lap, feeling silly and stupid and perhaps dramatic. “you’re the one who wanted to come here and now you’re leaving. i could’ve just stayed at my room.”

“yeah but then i wouldn’t have fed you,” he says, reaching over to peck your nose sweetly. “i’ll pick you up at 7:45, baby.”

you can’t even say anything before he’s up and out the door, a heavy sigh leaving your mouth as you watch him walk to his car. he turns around and waves, a small smile on your face as you wave back and watch him drive away.

you try not to think about it as you get your work done, faintly aware of the growing population in the cafe and the raising altitude of voices. a group of five take the spot next to you and that successfully gets you ready to sprint out the door.

it’s all good sounds, laughter and squeals and chipper voices, but it’s still too much for you. the sounds and the crowds and the overwhelmingly desire to just be in a peaceful quiet by yourself.

that is until a familiar voice, deep and low and calming, brings you out of your panic before it can even start.

“y/n?”

you look up to see a head of dirty blonde hair, seonghwa clad in dark leather and converse as he makes his way over to you.

“oh. hi, seonghwa,” you say, voice quiet and slightly breathless.

his eyes remain on you for a few seconds too long, gaze carefully roaming your face before he makes his way over to the table. he sees your books and pens splayed out messily, a smirk on his face as he meets your eyes again.

“the semester just started, how do you have all this shit to do already?”

“believe me, i’m wondering the same thing,” you wince, his quiet chuckle causing a smile to light up your face. “what are you doing here?”

“getting a coffee. i slept like shit last night.”

“did wooyoung keep you up?”

“of course he did, the annoying fuck,” he grumbles, his eyes rolling and face pulled in disdain causing you to giggle. “speaking of which, where’s yeosang?”

seonghwa can count on his hands how many times he’s seen you two without each other.

“he left like an hour ago actually,” you say, seeing the time on your phone is 5:00 before your voice turns teasing and you raise your eyebrows playfully.

“he’s getting your party ready.”

seonghwa’s face pulls into on of confusion, your smile dropping as a guilty, sinking feeling builds in your stomach - yeosang didn’t tell you it was a surprise.

“oh no.”

“those annoying fucks, i swear to god,” seonghwa growls lowly, your eyes widening and lips pulling into a frown. “guess i can’t go home tonight.”

“i’m sorry, seonghwa, they didn’t tell me it was a surprise,” you whine quietly, looking up to meet his tight, dark gaze. “they said it was either that or a restaurant sang to you and you went with the party.”

“i told them that one was worse, not that i wanted a party.”

your frown deepens as you sink in your seat, your hands toying nervously on the table. seonghwa’s eyes fall to them and he lets out a sigh, eyes moving to the chair before he plops down in his seat.

a silence hangs between you both, as silent as it could be in a bustling, crowded cafe. you look up to see him watching your hands, quickly pulling them apart and smiling when he meets your gaze.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to spoil it,” you say, “but i don’t think they’re inviting that many people. yeosang usually tells me when parties are gonna be really crowded, so they’ll probably only be like twenty people.”

“yeah, well, that’s eleven too many.”

you press your lips together as you watch him, his neck rolling back and adams apple bobbing.

you can feel the table beside you watch, are sure the whole cafe has been watching since the moment he walked in. you’re not blind to the fact that seonghwa is unbearably attractive, slicked back dirty blonde hair and large stature that draws attention anywhere he goes.

for as long as you’ve known him though, you’ve never seen him bring girls around. or even mention a girl. he always just keeps to himself and his friends - and now you, you suppose, after months of trying and trying.

“i guess this is why they said we’re having a roommate meeting at 8:00.”

you send him a sympathetic smiling, assuring him that it won’t be that bad and you’ll be able to get through it together.

“i sometimes wonder how you’re able to put up with it,” you tell him honestly, thinking back to all the times you’ve watched him and his roommates. “they’re all so crazy and extroverted and.... loud.”

a deep chuckle leaves his mouth as he nods his head, rising from the chair and looking down at you.

“years of practice and selective hearing,” he says, a giggle leaving your mouth as you nod your head. you don’t think anything of the way his gaze lingers on you, sending a small smile his way before he speaks again.

“so you’ll be there tonight?”

“yes! yeosang’s picking me up at 7:45 so i should probably get going too,” you say, closing your textbooks and getting your pens together.

“i’ll order my coffee and then walk you back to your dorm.”

“oh no, seonghwa, it’s okay, i-”

but before you can protest any further, he’s turned around and waiting in line to place an order for his coffee. you let out a sigh as you pack up your books, securing it on your shoulder before meeting him at the register.

the cashier is just as mesmerized as she is disappointed when she sees you stand next to him, dropping her flirtier smile for a polite one.

“your order will be right out sir.”

he nods his head as you guys go to the waiting area, standing side by side in silence before you turn to look with a smirk on your face.

“sir?”

“you can walk home in the dark, how ‘bout that?”

a giggle leaves your mouth as you shrug, insisting you didn’t even ask him to walk you home in the first place. he only rolls his eyes before his name is called, grabbing the hot coffee as you follow behind in amusement.

the walk to your dorm is only a few minutes, you and seonghwa walking in a comfortable silence as you walk through the campus. snow from last week’s storm rests on the trees in a picturesque manner, a slight chill in the air that causes you to shiver.

“are you gonna act surprised?”

seonghwa looks over at you as you walk, his arm clumsily bumping into yours as you walk through the slushy, dirty snow - it goes seemingly unnoticed by both of you, arms accidentally grazing for a few seconds before disconnecting as you walk.

he just shrugs and remains quiet, slipping back into the dismissive and intimidating person he once seemed to be. you don’t even think he realizes he comes off like that, just has this look that screams do not look or talk to me.

you stop in front of your dorm a few moments later, turning around tot meet seonghwa who looms over you. he wears a blank, unreadable expression until you smile up at him, thanking him again for walking you and that you’ll see him in a few hours.

“no problem, couldn’t let yeosang’s girl walk alone,” he says, gaze lingering on you for the third time. you've noticed him do this to everyone though, watch and observe to a point where you think he knows things people don’t know about themselves.

“and i’ll act surprised, tonight. won’t let it slip that you ruined my birthday.”

“yeosang didn’t tell me that it was a sur- wait. is today your real birthday?”

his eyebrow quirks up sarcastically, a smile pulling at his lips as he looks at you.

"why would they throw me a birthday party if it wasn’t my birthday?”

an embarrassed flush crosses your cheeks as an awkward giggle bubbles out of your mouth.

“i just thought because it was the weekend or something,” you stutter out, “happy birthday, seonghwa.”

“thanks, y/n,” he smiles, eyes softening every so slightly before he nods his head toward the building. “go in. it’s cold. i’ll see you later.”

“bye,” you say, sending a small wave his way before turning around and disappearing into your dorm building.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think seonghwa was an award winning actor.

because when the party of 30 (just ten over what you predicted) screamed “happy birthday seonghwa!” in the pitch darkness, a miscalculation mingi and the light switch, he seemed genuinely surprised.

or, at least, as surprised as his face could express when he turned on the lights.

his eyes were wide and his eyebrow was quirked, a look of disdain throw at his friends who were huddled in the front and clapping excitedly.

“happy birthday hwa!”

“we got you, bitch!”

“wear this happy birthday hat!”

he whacked the red hat right out of jongho’s head, growling at him to not push it in a way that makes you hold back a laugh. he catches your eye and smiles at you, mouthing “good enough?” that has you nodding happily.

the house party picks up almost immediately after seonghwa’s arrival, music blaring and drinking games starting and a loud, pleasant chatter that your boyfriend thrives off of.

guides you around by the small of your back and introduces you to people you’re sure you’ve met before but just don’t recognize you; regardless, you’re polite.

smile at people and say hello before falling into the silence of watching yeosang and stranger after stranger talk. even someone he doesn’t know, like the friend of a friend or significant other of a friend, he talks to like he’s known them forever.

he just connects with people so easily and a part of you is truly envious of it.

“i just don’t get how you do it,” you whine to him on the couch, the same alcoholic beverage in hand (you think yeosang said it’s a rum and coke) that you humored him with when the party started.

“i just talk, baby, what do you mean?” he laughs out, you sitting on his lap as he takes a swig of his beer.

“i know but so easily,” you mumble. “and you don’t see awkward or scared or anything. what if you guys lapse into a silence? or don’t know what to talk about?”

“silence isn’t bad, though, we sit in silence sometimes. and there are always things to talk about.”

like the person walking around with jongho’s array of candles, making the drunk boy run after him and fight off people trying to sniff them.

or the incredibly competitive and entertaining game of flip cup, one side far superior than the other and completely demolishing them.

or like how the birthday boy, the reason why eveyone’s gathered here today and having fun, hasn’t gotten his ass off the couch since he walked through the door.

“i didn’t ask for these people to be here,” seonghwa growls when he hears yeosang talking shit, throwing a dirty look his way as he tosses a pillow at him. “you idiots did that all on your own.”

“and aren’t you happy we did? now you have a bunch of gifts.”

the blank stare seonghwa has shows he could not give less of a fuck about the pile of cards in his room right now, politely thanking the guests who were nice enough to actually bring them and not just their drunken presence.

“we should’ve taken your grouchy ass to a restaurant so they could’ve-”

“yeosang, bro! please come here! we need you!”

the voice belonged to a guy from your class named yeonjun. he had pink hair and was very similiar to your boyfriend, charismatic and friendly in such a gravitating, almost unnatural way.

he also apparently sucked at flip cup.

“it’s not my fault you suck,” he yells from over the couch, loud groans of protest and upset coming from the table.

“c’mon yeosang! please!”

“we need you!”

“leave your hot girlfriend and get over here now!”

yeosang looks to you to see a flustered blush on your cheeks, a deep chuckle leaving his mouth as he pecks one the pink skin.

“can i go, baby?” he mumbles quietly, squeezing your waist every so slightly. “they’re really desperate and need me.”

your lips purse together as you look over your boyfriend, the slight pout and look in his eye causing you to sigh. he knows then that he won, again, the way he usually does these days, and lifts you off his lap.

he presses another kiss to your head before he’s off, loud, happy shouts of excitement causing you to crane your neck back. he does the weird boy hand shake-hug before the game starts up, turning back to see seonghwa sitting across from you on the other couch.

“having fun birthday boy?”

“no,” he answers immediately, dryly, in a way that brings a big smile to your face. “how ‘bout you?”

“it’s okay,” you shrug, curling your legs under you as he rest on the couch more comfortably. “i hope the cake is good.”

“i don’t like cake.”

he’s never seen someone’s eyes widen as much as yours do in that very moment, a small, short chuckle leaving his mouth at your expression.

“what?”

“how do you not like cake?” you squeal.

if there’s one thing you could eat in this world, dietary and nutritional values aside, it would be chocolate cake.

“i just don’t like it, it’s too like sweet and sugary. and if it’s chocolate, that’s even worse.”

the pillow he threw at yeosang flies through the air and hits him back in the face, only your smug, disturbed expression staring back at his shocked one. it would usually make you laugh, the look on his face, but you’re truly just so disturbed - how is there not gonna be cake at a birthday party?

“how could you not like chocolate cake of all the cakes!” you squeal

“did you just throw a pillow at me on my birthday?”

“i mean like carrot cake or fruit cake i get. those are kind of gross and only certain people like them. but chocolate cake? it’s loved by almost every-”

like a game of monkey in the middle, with no monkey, the battered throw pillow flies through the air again and just misses your face; whether he did that on purpose or accidentally is no one’s business.

you and seonghwa stare at one another, eyes narrowed and faces slightly red, completely unaware to the party around you until you’re the one who cracks. put your hand to your mouth and start laughing hysterically.

not a cute giggle or breathy chuckle but a big, hearty, real laugh.

he’s never heard you like this before, probably because he’s only spent a little bit of time with you, but it makes him smile even more. the sound of your laugh and innocent happiness is contagious, his deeply mumbled “stop,” so obviously fake due to the the smile tugging at his lips.

you eventually moved onto the couch beside him, hitting him closer with the pillow before plopping down next to him. talking to him and being next to him made you forget about the party.

not because he was handsome or because you liked him - you loved yeosang and were dating him.

you just enjoyed being able to relate to someone. loved sitting there with someone who didn’t just wanna drink or get high or dance. who was able to be there in silence or talk about nonsense while being surrounded by the chaotic energy of a party.

so much so that you don’t even realize your own boyfriend left you for half the night. not once coming over to check on you or see if you were dong okay until it was time for the cake seonghwa wasn’t even gonna eat.

“i’m sorry, baby, i got caught up with the game,” he mumbled, his arms wound tightly around your waist. you shake your head against his chest, assuring him that it’s okay as he tickles your neck with soft pecks from his lips.

the night ended with yeosang getting so drunk, you had to put him to bed. it wasn’t something you minded, you’ve done this a few times before, but for whatever reason tonight it made something build in the pit of your stomach.

like you already knew tonight something in the future was gonna change because of parties, yeosang’s extroverted ways and seonghwa’s lingering eyes that everyone but you three notice.

july:

you end the semester with all a’s, an excuse to not return home for the summer and a strained relationship.

it seemed like it happened slowly and then all at once.

there was the time at seonghwa’s party where you thought nothing of it. he was occupied and, luckily, so were you. he left you but went back smiling and affectionate, pressing kisses to your skin and mumbling about how beautiful you looked.

but then it started happening more.

at his sister’s parties where he knew you were uncomfortable.

at frat parties where you were even more uncomfortable.

even at his own house, when the boys had a few people over and they were playing video games while getting high.

it was always seonghwa who kept you company, the two of you in the same room as them but seemingly on a different planet. sitting beside one another observing the party and sharing snide, sneaky comments about others.

how it seemed as if there was some turmoil between mingi and yunho, the way they were ignoring each other and sharing looks back and forth when the other wasn’t looking.

how wooyoung and hongjoong’s frat boys friends didn’t seem to get along in the slightest, the boys always sneering at him when he laughed too loud or teased them too much.

how yeosang was so consumed by the limelight, talking and laughing and making jokes, that he seemed to have forgotten you exist.

“i don’t think he realizes he does it, y/n,” seonghwa assured you one night, the end of the semester coming to a close and allowing you all to relax.

it’d been a hard and stressful first year but there’d also been a lot of fun. a lot of making new relationships that you know will last a lifetime and a lot of things you learned about yourself through all of these experiences.

it’d also been one of the happiest times of your life thanks to yeosang, the boy you fell for so hard and so fast despite all your fears and reservations.

you’re still happy now, even with the bumps. because you think, you hope, that you guys could get through them.

“he’s always been like that. very social and in the middle of a group. people are always drawn to him.”

seonghwa’s not surprised that you were drawn to him. yeosang’s always had something about him that people flock to, men and women alike; but you were the first he’s truly fell for.

reciprocated feelings for and truly cared about their well being and them as a person.

“i don’t think he’s trying to hurt you. that’s just how he is.”

“he’s not hurting me.”

because through all of this, through him ignoring you and neglecting him and seemingly blowing off your feelings because they’re silly and unrelatable to him, you’re trying to convince yourself he’s not.

that you really are just being silly and dramatic about all of this.

that even though you go these outings for him, despite detesting them more than anything, and he keeps leaving you alone, you’re not hurt by it; but seonghwa can see through it.

and whether it’s because you guys are so alike or because he’s so annoyingly observant, you’re not sure. you just know that he looks at you with a soft, sympathetic disbelief that causes the ever growing lump in your throat to grow bigger.

“y/n...”

“he’s really not, seonghwa,” you mumble, words hushly spoken as you watch yeosang carefully; you know if he sees you looking upset, he’s gonna come over.

he’ll stop whatever he’s doing or whatever conversation he’s having and it’s because of that you can’t be upset. because he still loves you and cares for you.

you just have to stop being so dramatic and silly.

when you say that to seonghwa, the very words that come from your boyfriend’s mouth, you watch his face change completely. become harder and harsher as he looks to yeosang, jaw ticking as he pops his neck to the side.

“whatever you say, y/n,” he mumbles. “i just don’t want you guys having problems over this. he loves you, y/n.”

he asked you to stay with him for the summer a few days before classes ended, unsure if you’d be able to but wanting to ask because “my parents are gonna be away for the summer,” he said to you suddenly, both of you laying naked in your dorm.

you craned your neck up to look at him, sweat glistening on his face and chest making him handsome even then.

“are you scared to be in the house all alone?”

he rolls his eyes playfully, bopping you on the nose lightly before pulling you on top of him. the blankets lay around you messily, your core under his flaccid dick that just ripped several orgasms through you.

“very. i’m gonna be very scared and need you with me. i truthfully might not even survive,” he drones on, resting his hands on your hips as you roll your eyes at him.

you ponder over it as you sit on top of him, biting down on your lip in a way that causes him to tighten his hold and roll your hips over him just a little bit. you ignore him and his horny ways the way you’ve learned to, thinking it all over before realizing it might be good for you guys.

you don’t know if he’s noticed the slight disconnect, it could just be you living in your head all the time, but you think spending time together would be good. would remind you of how you felt with him when you first started dating and he always made sure you were his number one priority.

you want some of that again. you want him to notice when you’re upset or uncomfortable and go out of his way to help you in a crowd, even if it’s just for a moment.

you want to feel like if it came down to you, his friends and the parties or you, that he’d pick you each and every time.

the first few weeks of summer felt as if you were getting that.

you spent a lot of your time longing around his house. playing in his pool and watching movies outside and having sex on nearly every surface, you were surprised to be able to walk.

but all of that quickly stopped when everyone else was home from college.

when his hometown became just one big reunion, people from his high school and neighboring colleges getting together the one way college kids knew - house parties with kegs and loud music.

it seemed as if every few days, you guys were going out.

you and yeosang and all of his friends meeting up with different groups and different houses and having the time of your lives late into the summer nights.

the stuffy houses and sleazy bars definitely weren’t your scene but yeosang, per usual, thrived.

he more often than not would leave you after the first hour, making sure you were with seonghwa or hongjoong or yunho before going off to drink or mingle with his friends.

he’d check on you periodically but it almost seemed as if he felt obligated to.

pressing a kiss to your cheek or holding you by the waist to ask if you needed another drink or wanted to play beer pong; but it was always the same answer every time.

a polite no with a fake smile on your lips that he left with a parting kiss before disappearing back into the crowd.

it was getting old and you knew he was starting to feel the disconnect too, the more hazy summer days that passed, but you both ignored it. because the times at his house were nice, you almost felt normal.

kissing and cuddling and talking as you ate.

but you knew that would all fade away eventually.

when there more were people who weren’t just you or his friends and craved something more exciting than just staying in and hanging out.

talk of a beach bonfire weekend had, admittedly, peaked your interest.

it was different than the stuffy houses or sleazy bars you’ve gotten used to over these past few weeks of summer.

now, you got to go to the beach and rent a nice house right by the ocean. be with yeosang and his friends and the people you got to know in a much more tropical and romantic setting.

you drove up with yeosang, yunho and mingi in the latter boy’s jeep, you and yeosang in the back as wind whipped through your hair. you giggle anytime your hair smacks him in the face, eventually being pulled into his chest to stop the assault from happening on his face.

his heartbeat is calming under your ear, his arms wrapped tightly around your body as him and the two boys in front talk over the plans for the weekend.

you’re blissfully unaware of it as you remain close to his body, warm and sticky in the humid air but not caring.

because even despite your problems and disconnect, you still want him near you. you still find comfort in him and you still want to feel loved by him.

“how does that sound?” you hear yeosang mumble in your ear, his breath tickling your skin causing you to hum against him.

“how does what sound?”

“did you fall asleep?” he asks teasingly, nudging you playfully until your faces are a few inches from each other. “i asked if you wanna go on a date tonight when we get there.”

a happy smile crosses your face as you nod eagerly, one breaking out on his too before he places a soft kiss on your lips.

you’re buzzing with a silent excitement the rest of the ride, your hand is his as you play with his fingers and he smiles at you ever so often. holding hands always felt right between you two, like they were made to fit perfectly and acted as a way to ground you both.

your hands stay intertwined when you get to the house, a giant 8-bedroom mansion on the beach that cost you half of your savings - but the view is making it seem worth it.

the waves crashing just a few feet from the back door and causing everyone to storm out of their cars to fight for the best room.

“i want the balcony, please for the love of god! i will do all the dishes during this trip if you guys let me have it.”

“that’s such bullshit,” hongjoong complains, calling wooyoung out on a deal he knows he definitely won’t abide by; but after much nearly 30 minutes of whining and a written contract stuck to the fridge, it was decided.

wooyoung gets the room with the balcony in exchange for dishes duty, a fair exchange you think given the view.

your and yeosang’s room is the one next to wooyoung, an en-suite and beautiful view of the ocean outside the floor to ceiling windows. your standing there watching the waves crash, bags at your feet and content smile on your face when yeosang wraps his arms around you from behind.

you giggle when he presses his lips to your neck, turning in his hold to immediately meet his for a kiss. it feels like you miss him even though you see him everyday. even though you’ve fallen asleep and woken up next to him for over a month.

“what do you wanna eat tonight?” he mumbles against your lips, pulling back to look at you with a smile on his face and a playful twinge in his eyes. you cock your head to the side as you look up him, shrugging your shoulders because it really doesn’t matter.

you’re just excited for your date.

“i don’t care, i’ll have anything.”

“we’ll find a place then,” he says, pulling you closer to him in a way you already know means something. “you wanna shower before we go?”

“why? do i smell?” you tease, a smirk on his face as he pulls you toward the bathroom wordlessly.

and lucky for both of you, there was a very convenient bench in the shower that had you in there until the mirror was foggy and the water ran cold.

“can you bring us back food?” mingi whined, yeosang rolling his eyes as he caught the boy’s car keys.

“as long as you eat in on plates so wooyoung has to wash the dishes.”

“hey!”

“deal.”

a smile spreads across your face as you wave goodbye to all the boys, wearing a pretty new dress you’ve been wanting to wear for weeks. yeosang takes your hand and interlaces your fingers together, shouts of “bye” and “have fun lovebirds,” echoing through the house.

the restaurant is right on the beach with outdoor seating, twinkle lights lining the space with the quiet chatter of people and gentle crash of waves. you and yeosang are play footsie under the table as you look over the menu, shy smiles and coy narrowed eyes beuing thrown at each other.

it’s been a while since things have felt this natural and easy between you two but you think you both needed it. the casual conversation, the airy chuckles and giggles, the warm feeling in the middle of your chest when you catch him looking at you lovingly.

“you look beautiful, baby. are you excited for this weekend?”

a faint blush covers your cheeks as you look up at him, twirling the spaghetti on your fork as you nod your head.

“yeah. we’re going to the beach tomorrow, right?”

“yeah,” he says, popping a piece of steak into his mouth. “and then we’re gonna meet changbin and them at a bar. his friend’s parents own it so we’ll be able to get in.”

“oh... okay,” you hum after a few seconds, quietly picking at our food and feeling yeosang’s eyes on you.

“what?”

you look up and meet his gaze, the sweet, softness gone and replaced with something you’re not quite able to make out. you feel nerves in the pit of your stomach, taking a deep breath before you plaster a smile on your face.

“nothing. that’ll be fun.”

“you think?” he asks, eyebrow quirked and a happy smile on his face; he was hoping you liked going out and meeting his friends more. he loves showing you off and having you by his side but in the beginning, it always seemed like you didn’t wanna be there.

he’s happy you’re coming around to it now, wanting his girlfriend by his side and having fun with him too.

“yeah,” you lie through your teeth, the smile on your face a complete contrast to your feelings inside.

when did he stop knowing when your smile was fake? or thinking that you actually wanted to go out? couldn’t he see all the time you were pushing yourself to be there for him, just for him to leave you alone?

“i think we’ll have fun,” you lie again, having a terrible feeling that this weekend getaway might be the thing that breaks you and yeosang completely.

because your relationship is already fragile and neither of you are acknowledging it. you just keep kissing and giggling and playing footsie under the table, looking like the perfect couple you truly once were in the beginning.

friday morning it seemed as if maybe things were gonna be okay.

you woke up to yeosang kissing your face, forehead to cheek to cheek to nose until he peppered them down your neck and a tired whine left you. he smiled against your skin, his lowly mumbled ,”good morning, baby,” making your stomach flutter first thing.

the moment was quickly over, open mouthed kisses and his tongue slipping past yours, when wooyoung and mingi bursted through the door, dramatic yelps leaving them as they ran out covering each other’s eyes.

“i cannot believe you kiss him in the morning,” wooyoung said an hour later, all eight of you walking down to the beach.

the cooler was packed and ready, fully prepared for a day in the sun and pregaming for the bar later tonight.

“why?” you ask, a smile pulling at your lips at the look of disgust on his face.

“multiple reasons but his breath being the first! isn’t it disgusting? there’s no way he doesn’t wake up with rank breath, y/n, i just don’t believe it.”

an arm wraps around your waist from behind, your boyfriend’s hand craning your face back so he can peck another long, lingering kiss on your mouth; wooyoung’s gags in the back cause you to smile against him.

“you better be careful talking about rank breath,” yeosang says when he pulls away, eyes right on wooyoung who’s wearing a look of shock and hurt.

“i don’t have bad breath.”

“i can smell you right now. did you even bring a toothbrush?”

“he actually didn’t,” jongho quips, wooyoung’s head snapping toward his as you and yeosang suppress your laughter - one of you better than the other.

“it’s all he kept talking about in the car. sick fuck even asked to use to mine but that is just too-”

“oh wow, look at the waves! c’mon, y/n, you said you wanted to play in them!”

wooyoung grabs your hand before you’re able to say anything, giggling as he drags you down the hot sand. you throw down your bag and look back at yeosang with a smile, his hand waving you off as he picks up your belongings.

mingi and san join you both a few minutes later, the water making your feet numb in the wet sand.

you don’t know how long it takes all four of you to fully immerse yourself in the water - at least thirty minutes if you had to guess. but once you got in, you guys didn’t wanna get out.

the waves were harsh and crashed down on you viscously but that was part of the fun. diving into the water and letting the salt water soak up into your skin and hair. it was even better that there was no gross seaweed, the four of you attempting to play toothpaste despite the major difficulty.

but with how much time past, pruny fingers and soaked hair, you didn’t expect the others to already be shit-faced. it was barely noon and you could tell immediately that yeosang, hongjoong and jongho were well on there way to getting obliterated tonight.

you have sinking suspicions it’s because changbin and his friends are also here; and when their two friend groups are together, nothing could comes of it.

they’re all fun and sweet and care for one another but they also build off of each other - enable each other’s young, college drinking habits and rowdy behavior.

“b-baby, c’mere,” yeosang slurs when he sees you, wrapping you up in a towel and pulling you on his lap.

you land on his lap with a plop, smiling and saying hello to the others. you can smell the alcohol on yeosang’s breath but he’s always in good spirits. always laughing and smiling and making jokes that, usually, his drinking isn’t a problem.

it’s not something you particularly enjoy or can relate to but he’s never been a mean drunk.

not until today.

“you look really good today, you know that?” he mumbles lowly in your ear, the new, red bikini you brought clinging to your body in all the right ways. you were slightly embarrassed to wear it today but decided to go for it because you thought you looked nice in it and spent $70 on it.

you looked up at him with an embarrassed flush on your cheeks, elbowing him lightly as he wraps his arms around your waist. his fingers toy with the edge of your bikini under the towel, your eyes widening when you feel what he’s trying to do.

“yeosang,” you whisper harshly, keeping your voice low but firm as you smack his hand over the towel.

“what,” he whines lowly, eyes roaming the area to see everyone either going to the water or chatting amongst themselves. “you’re covered, baby. i wouldn’t let anyone see what’s mine.”

“are you crazy,” you whisper as you peek your face up at him. “we’re already drinking underage on the beach yeosang. you can’t finger me in public either.”

“who said i was gonna finger you?” he mumbles, a smirk on his face and teasing in his voice; but you don’t find this funny. you don’t find him being this drunk and touchy at noon is funny. “you’re getting ahead of yourself now, baby.”

“why are you getting this drunk at noon, yeosang? we’re going out tonight too, unfortunately.”

“unfortunately?” he asks, craning his neck down to look at you. “i thought you were excited.”

“i was so excited for the beach,” you tell him quietly. “i thought you would come in the ocean with us.”

because you wanted to spend that time with him. have the jeuvnile fun you used to have when you’d go on drives to the beach at night and freeze your asses off on the sand.

“you looked like you were having enough fun with wooyoung and san,” he mumbles, something darker and sarcastic in his voice that makes you turn in his lap and look at him.

his eyes are glassy and teasing but not in the light hearted way. they look almost vengeful, like he’s jealous or feeling left out the same way you’ve been; but you’re always sitting there, at parties or at bars or in your room, waiting for him.

how doesn’t he see that?”

“that’s because you’ve been with everyone else. you’re always with everyone else and you leave me behind.”

“what are you even talking about?” he sneers, keeping his voice low but full of bite. “you come everywhere with me like my damn shadow, y/n. how do i leave you behind? i couldn’t if i tried.”

his words make you physically recoil, his lap now longer feeling comfortable and inviting but cold. the hurt is evident on your face and in your heart and he’s just looking at you like he’s ready to have a full on argument, his eyebrow raised and glossy eyes wide.

like he’s waiting for you to say something just so he can respond and hurt you.

there’s a long, lingering silence between you two, the laughter of others surrounding you despite the way tears are burning your eyes. a screech of your name pulls you away, looking at san and mingi where the shorter boy is holding his foot above the sand.

“can you come back with us? i cut my foot.”

some silly part of you expects yeosang to tell them to leave you alone. that you spent your time with them and now it’s his turn to be with you. but he doesn’t say a word, just bounces his knee as if to tell you to get off and it feels as if your heart drops into your stomach.

you swallow the growing lump in your throat, throwing the towel back on yeosang and rising toyour feet to help san.

“sure,” you tell the boy quietly, not looking back at yeosang once as you make your way up to the house.

you clean san’s foot on the counter in the kitchen, getting off all the dirt and dust with an alcohol pad as he whines in pain.

“it’s not that bad,” you mumble, mingi nodding in agreement as san narrows his eyes at both of you.

you’re strangely quiet, more quiet than usual, and mingi can’t help but notice the sad look on your face; you’d been so happy in the water and when you first got to the beach.

“did you and yeosang fight?”

you look up at mingi to see his eyes on you, soft and sweet and looking over you gently. it makes the weepy, emotional part in you wanna cry but you refuse, letting the dramatic tears burn your eyes at you shake your head.

“are you sure? you look sad.”

“no, i’m okay, i’m just tired,” you say, sending a small smile his way that is obviously fake. “the water and sun always tire me out.”

san and mingi accept your answer as you finish covering san’s food, slapping a band-aid on his heel and smiling (the smallest hint of a real smile) as he kisses your cheek in thanks.

you watch outside the window as yeosang sits in his chair, all the boys in a circle with their cups full of beer and throwing their heads back in laughter. you can hear their banter and harsh words through the open glass, not a single part of you wanting to go back out there.

you’d much rather sit in the bath or take a nap, rid yourself of the image of yeosang’s harsh words and annoyed eyes.

“y/n?” san says, your eyes snapping to his concerned face - how long had he been calling you?

“c’mon, we’re going back,” he says, extending his arm down to you. “we used to play this olympic game when we were kids and we wanna try again.”

a smile pulls at your lips at his statement, picturing all of them as crazy kids running up and down the beach playfully. but now you don’t wanna go back out there, especially since you have to go out later with them.

“i kind of wanna take a nap before we go out tonight,” you tell the boys, looks of horror crossing their faces.

“what? we’re not going out till 7. it’s only 1:30, y/n.”

“i know but i’m gonna take a bath, too. the tub is really big.”

the dejected frowns on mingi and san almost make you crack but they eventually let it go, insisting that if you can’t fall asleep to come back out so you can all go back in the ocean.

you watch them walk back to the group from the door, eyes lingering over yeosang who’s smiling and laughing with his big group of friends. he always looks most comfortable like that, in a big group of people where everyone looks to him and laughs, giving him the attention he used to look for from you.

but things change apparently. you don’t know how or when or why neither of you have acknowledged it but it’s obvious that somewhere along the line, things had changed.

“where’s y/n?” seonghwa’s voice asked, pulling yeosang from his discussion as he sees mingi and san walking back to the group.

“she said she’s tired,” san answers with a frown, a scoff leaving yeosang that has the dirty blonde side eyeing him. “she might come back down after she takes a nap.”

“she won’t,” yeosang says, taking a sip from his beer before throwing the glass bottle into the garbage bag; san and mingi side eye each other, catching the dark look that seonghwa throws the boy’s way.

“can someone get me another one?”

you woke to the sound of yeosang shuffling around in his bag, eyes fluttering open to see a towel wrapped around his waist. your eyes roamed over is body, a flat, toned stomach and muscular arms that now had a red su burn on them.

“did you put on sunscreen?”

he jumped slightly despite your quiet tone, meeting your tired gaze and bedridden hair as he nods his head. he places a pair of jeans and a t-shirt on the bed, undressing in front of you as you keep your gaze on him.

“did you sleep well?”

you can’t read his expression or tone at all right now and it unsettles you greatly; so you only nod, sitting up and stretching your arms up and over your head.

“are you coming out with us?”

your eyes narrow and that same sad feling plummets in your stomach again. how it feels like your heart’s falling down further and further.

“um... why wouldn’t i?”

“because it doesn’t seem like you want to.”

“then should i just sit here by myself?”

silence fills the room as you both just stare at each other blankly, the hurt behind your eyes and the annoyance behind his far too palpable. you wonder if he’s gonna say anything in response or just leave the out the bedroom door, quirking an eyebrow up in the quietness.

“we’re leaving in 30,” is all he says, voice still short and eyes still tight as he turns around and leaves. mingi and san sneak through the door, most definitely eavesdropping, as they run over and plop on your bed.

“you didn’t come back.”

“you guys definitely fought.”

you let out a sigh as you look to mingi, an apologetic smile on his face as he pats your shoulder reassuringly. his hand moves to your hair, lacing his fingers through it before a knot stops him.

“i was sleeping, okay,” you grumble, a deep laugh leaving him as he pulls you up and off the bed.

“we’re leaving soon so get ready. we’re just gonna dance and have fun. i promise.”

and so similiar to the beach outing, the first few hours were fun.

the music was good, it wasn’t too crowded and you even didn’t mind the taste of your strawberry daiquiri. you danced with san, mingi and wooyoung until your feet were killing and your throat felt parched.

you went up to the bar for a water, needing to yell your order over the voices of people as you realize just how crowded it got. your eyes scan the bar for yeosang, seeing him in the corner where the big group resides.

your eyes meet form across the room, a small smile on your face as you wave to him.

you know he sees you, you know you two definitely make eye contact and that he could tell it was you, but he doesn’t acknowledge you in the slightest. only hyunjin and jisung do, yelping your name from across the bar and ushering you over eagerly.

you hesitantly make your way over, a polite smile on your face. there’s a few people you don’t recognize but there’s a lot of people you do, trying to keep that in mind as you approach the table closer and say hi to everyone.

“y/n! where have you been?”

“dancing with san and mingi,” you tell them. “wooyoung, too, but we kept losing him.”

“he’s too friendly for his own good,” jisung says, his eyes roaming you and yeosang before back to you. “where are they now?”

“not sure, maybe outside.”

“cool. stay with us for a bit.”

you’re hesitant but find yourself nodding anyway, your arm grazing yeosang who’s standing next to you. you look to him and he’s talking to a few guys across the table, hyunjin calling your name twice before you notice.

the whole time you’re talking to them, you can’t help but notice how yeosang seems to be avoiding you. giving you the cold shoulder like you’re a random stranger in a bar and not his girlfriend.

and the longer it goes on, the worse you feel. trying to carry on the conversation but becoming more and more aware of yeosang’s distance; and you’re not the only one who’s noticed.

“yo, yeosang,” jisung says, the black-haired boy snapping his head toward the boy. he nods his head toward you, your neck craning toward yeosang and face dropping when the boy begins to speak again.

“is there any reason you’re ignoring your girlfriend?” he asks, humor in his tone.

“what do you mean?” the boy asks, his eyes moving to yours, the same unreadable expression in them.

“you haven’t looked at her once. are you guys even still dating?”

“surprisingly,” the drunken man quips sarcastically.

your face drops and it’s like he knows it, looking at you with a roll of his eyes.

“i was kidding, y/n,” he huffs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. he reeks of alcohol and cologne, keeping you under his arm before continuing his conversation.

the entire time, it’s like you’re not even there. he doesn’t once acknowledge you or try to include you in the conversation. just keeps you there as if your his shadow, something he’s not even aware ad that he doesn’t pay any mind to.

you thought you’ve been dramatic over these past few months. maybe being too sensitive or too emotional or maybe even asking too much from him. but it’s like he doesn’t even want you here.

he hasn’t looked your way once and neither of you acknowledged the way you snapped at each other before. your communication has gone down the toilet, all of your feelings brewing while his seem to be nonexistent.

you move out from under his arm, no one, not even him, noticing when you mumble that you’re going to the bathroom.

tears burn your eyes the entire time, feeling stupid and left out and annoying, like you have no place here and just have to be attached to someone who doesn’t want you or yeosang’s friends.

you grip the sink and take a few calming breaths, looking up at the mirror when you hear the door open.

a drunken girl comes in and smiles upon seeing you, her face immediately dropping before she makes her way over to you.

“oh no, what’s wrong?” she asks with a frown on her face, her eyes roaming yours carefully as her hands grip your arms comfortingly. “you look like you’re about to cry.”

you almost laugh at the fact that this random stranger is the one noticing that you’re upset when you were just beside your boyfriend. you only shake your head and promise her that you’re okay, a pathetic excuse of a smile plastered on your face.

but the same way a person breaks down when someone asks if they’re okay, you do when you try to assure her that you are. that you and your boyfriend are in a great place and you feel completely happy here with him.

“just... stupid stuff with my boyfriend,” you eventually mutter out, a small tear escaping your eye that causes her frown to deepen. “i feel silly and dramatic but i don’t know.. i feel like he’s been ignoring me. we’ve been so weird these past few months and it doesn’t seem like he even loves me anymore.”

“leave his ass, are you crazy,” she asks without hesitation, wiping at your tears with a sympathetic smile on her face. “you’re beautiful and he’s not worth crying over. no boy is. because that what he is. a boy. a stupid boy, in fact.”

a wet, strangled giggle leaves your mouth despite the tears streaming down your face, watching as she takes a paper towel and dabs at your face.

“you’re gonna mess up your makeup so no more crying!” she says happily, bouncing up and down with her legs crossed. “leave his ass and have fun, sweet girl! i’m about to pee my pants now.”

another giggle leaves your mouth as you thank her sweetly, wiping at your face and smiling when she lets out a heavy sigh of relief. you take a deep breath, trying to take her words to heart but far too aware of the upset in your stomach.

how leaving him seems like the most painful thing ever. how you don’t even wanna do that because you guys haven’t talked about anything yet. all these problems could be in your own head for all you know, you two haven’t had any sort of discussion.

but it doesn’t help that he doesn’t even seem receptive.

he has been ignoring you and making you feel left out. he brings you along just to leave you when he knows you’re only coming for him; even on the nights you guys stay in, it’s obvious he wants to be out partying.

why can’t it be more fair? are you asking for too much or is he just being inconsiderate?

you walk out of the bathroom to se the corner of bar empty, only jisung and hyujin lingering. the taller boy meets your gaze and the two make their way over, letting you know that they went to the bar outside.

“oh... okay, thanks for letting me know,” you thank softly, a small smile lighting up your face.

they both wear their own sympathetic smile, hyunjin shaking his head at jisung when they make eye contact. there’s a few moments of an awkward silence, you looking between them both before jisung opens his mouth to speak again.

“yeosang was saying some fucked up shit, y/n. i just wanted you to know.”

“han...”

“no, hyunjin, they’ve been together for a long time and he knows her best. that wasn’t cool.”

your stomach plummets at the words leaving the boy, the tears you just got rid of burning the back of your eyes again.

“what... what did he say?”

“it wasn’t anything that bad, we were just shocked. you guys usually seemed so happy and in love and it was just-”

“he said it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you guys broke up. and that if you wanted to, he wouldn’t be too opposed.”

the look on your face must give it all away, tears filling your eyes as you feel yourself ready to bolt. you will not be the girl who cries publicly in a bar, looking like a hot, red-faced mess because your boyfriend decided to be an asshole.

“he’s shit faced, y/n,” hyunjin says immediately, his stomach turning at your tears; he hates when people cry, especially girls. “he only said it because he thinks that’s where you guys are headed. said you guys have felt very disconnected since school ended.”

and while it helps to hear that you haven’t been the only one feeling that way, it still hurts you.

because it doesn’t seem like he wants to fight for you and he hasn’t said anything to you. he’s just ignoring you, making you feel worse and worse with the occasional kiss or whispered sweet nothing.

you think the worst part is that, eve if you guys did break up, he wouldn’t be sad about it. he’d just move on without any qualms and think of you as the girl he dated during his freshmen year of college.

but he was much more to you than that.

he was your first love. the first boy you allowed in and let yourself trust. gave yourself to in the most intimiate way and found solace in him despite your differences.

those differences seem to be your downfall right now - with one similarity that, apparently, both of you suck at communication.

you don’t even realize you’re turning around and leaving the bar until you hear your name being called behind you, walking out in the warm night air and heading toward the beach.

you just keep walking and walking and walking, until there’s nothing but silence and the waves crashing around you.

he knows he shouldn’t care this much.

he knows that it’s not his place and that the boy next to him should be the one worrying and concerned about where you are.

but yeosang doesn’t seem to care at all, switching from beers to shots in a decision seonghwa made hours ago to stay away from.

he can’t stop his eyes from moving to the door ever so often, waiting for your hair or smiling face to walk through and flood him with some relief; but when he sees mingi, san, and wooyoung come in without you, he’s not sure he can hold off any longer.

“yeosang,” seonghwa says, voice deep with his usual bite. “where’s y/n?”

“i don’t know,” he slurs out, not even bothering to look around or observe the crowd. “probably with mingi or san.”

“no, they’re out here, too.”

“i don’t know hwa, why do you care?” he growls in annoyance, downing another shot to dull out the sound your name and all the concerns he has. coming to terms with the fact that you guys are changing and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

“because she’s missing, yeosang. no one has seen her or is with her.”

he’s getting more and more irritated at his friends attitude, the way it seems like he couldn’t give less of a shit about where his girlfriend is. especially when he knows you get uncomfortable in this setting.

“i’m her boyfriend, hwa, and i know she’s fine. so fucking drop it. she’s around here somewhere.”

but that answer doesn’t quell the worry in seonghwa, the dirty blonde rolling his eyes at the endless horror stories plaguing his mind. they’re underage at a crowded bar with sleazy drunks and cops lurking - there are far too many things that could go wrong.

“then act like it, dickhead.”

yeosang just rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the group and dismissing seonghwa and the conversation completely. he doesn’t know how they can talk about his girlfriend missing to something as mundane as video games, seonghwa getting up with a huff and walking back into the bar.

he checks around the whole bar twice, nearing 1 a.m so the building is at its maximum capacity. but even then, he checks everywhere and doesn’t see you; he even asks girls waiting on line to the bathroom to see if you’re in there, unaware of the dreamy look in their eyes as they nod and hang on to every word he says.

“no one named y/n was in there,” they said a few moments later, an apologetic look on her face before she smiled flirtily. “did you lose your girlfriend?”

he rolls his eyes and thanks them politely, not giving her the time to give him some cheesy pick up line before he’s outside.

it’s warm with such a slight breeze coming off the ocean, looking up and down the block before the beach catches his eye. there’s a few people walking in the distance and he thinks it’s worth a shot, walking away from the bar and going down to the cold, grainy sand.

he’s walking for twenty minutes, about to turn around as he wonders why the hell he’s even looking for you, when he hears soft cries.

he can barely hear them over the sound of the waves but he definitely hears them, squinting his eyes in the distance to see a figure hunched over with their face in their hands.

he can tell you it’s you when he’s a few feet away, the way your hair’s falling and dress is riding up your legs. he swallows thickly, relief flooding through him as he looks over your figure quietly.

he could tell you and yeosang were having problems, could tell you’ve been having them for a few months by how often you and him would hang out at parties, but it seemed as if they were getting worse these days.

he saw it on the beach this morning, the way you went from smiling and laughing to disappearing inside the house. it bothered him then but he knew he shouldn’t butt in, waiting until you guys figured it out or handled things on your own.

but now he can’t just sit back anymore.

he’s seeing changes in his younger friend that he doesn’t enjoy; his drinking, his attitude, the way he’s treating you 90% of the time. and tonight had been the last straw for him, his blatant disconcern for you and your wellbeing completely rubbing him the wrong way.

he continues to approach you quietly, the sound of his footsteps in the sand causing you to look up.

the faint glow from the streetlights and moon cast light on him, calming you immediately as you look up at him. you feel the wet tears on your face but could care less at the moment, sending him a small broken smile that makes you feel pathetic.

seonghwa is similiar to mingi and san in the aspect that he’s able to tell something’s off between you and yeosang. not because he’s nosy (in the most concerned way) like the two younger boys but because he sees it.

watches you at parties and is usually the person sitting beside you on the couch while yeosang’s off doing whatever.

he moves slow and cautious, sitting down on the sand next to you silently. you can feel the heat radiating off his arm, not quite touching you but just a few inches away.

you’re no longer crying but tears are still on your face, leaving you wet and sticky and most definitely tear-stained.

“i don’t know what i did, seonghwa.”

the dirty blonde looks your way when you finally break the silence between you two, seeing your tooth in your lip and eyes strained on the dark, starry sky.

“we’ve been so weird ever since the semester ended and it’s only getting worse. i- i know that’s just how he is but he was like that in the beginning too but he would never ignore me. i don’t know what i did or why he started but it feels like we’re on our way to breaking-”

you can’t even say the words because it’s not something you’re ready to do. you still love him and there’s still hints of you guys as a happy couple, the way he holds you and kisses you and looks at you sometimes.

but the bad is outweighing the god these days and it’s hurting you. hurting you to the point that you’re here, crying on the beach to his best friend who you don’t even realize looks at you a little too long and a little too soft.

and he doesn’t even know what to say to you this moment. because he sees his friend is changing and he sees it’s effecting you; it makes him wanna go back to the bar and punch yeosang in the face, tell him to wake up before someone snatches you away and treats you the way you deserve.

“am i the one being stupid, seonghwa?” you ask again, turning to look at the boy beside you. “do i just have to like... get over it and try for him? try to enjoy all of this and be okay with mingling on my own?”

“you go out with us all the tie, y/n, how are you not trying?”

it’s the softest you’ve ever heard seonghwa’s voice, something about it bringing more tears to your eyes because it’s so obvious that you’re a mess.

“i must not be if he’s being like this. it’s like he doesn’t even know me and he just wants me to leave him alone. he- he even told jisung it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if we broke up, so why am i even crying?”

seonghwa feels rage bubble up in his chest at the thought of yeosang saying that, cracking his knuckles one by one until he’s facing you again. he doesn’t get how he can’t see what he’s doing to you or how he doesn’t care.

“he’s been different these past few months, i’ve seen it too, y/n, so it’s not you,” he assures gently, waning to reach out and touch your hand form comfort. “he’s just... i don’t know what the fuck he’s doing but he shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

you let out a sigh as you hide your face in your knees, tears leaking from your eyes again as quiet sobs leave you.

you feel seonghwa’s hand on your back a few seconds later, moving up and down slowly as you fall into him. you both just sit there on the sand, you crying and him silently comforting you as you try to make sense of this mess.

because even right now, with you gone and not saying a word, he doesn’t care. he’s not calling or texting or going to look for you. he just don’t seem to care at all.

“please don’t cry, y/n,” he mumbles quietly, his thumb moving up and down your skin gently.

but his words don’t help in the slightest. you just muffle your cries until you can’t anymore, peeking your head up as you wipe the wetness off your face.

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, feeling embarrassed to have just cried your eyes out for god knows how long; but seonghwa doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, shrugging his shoulders with a small smile on his lips.

“you don’t have to apologize,” he reassures gently, sending a small smile his way.

you watch his eyes roam your face, dark eyes piercing yours in a way that you once found so intimidating. but you’ve gotten to know him so well and know how sweet he is.

how much he looks out for his people and that he’d really do anything for anyone.

“what?” you ask, feeling self conscious and seen. “are there tears on my face?”

“just a few,” he teases, reaching across to dab at the reamining wetness. you smile softly as he tocuhes your skin, watching him so gently reach over your face.

his warm fingers linger on you for a little too long but you don’t even notice, thanking him softly when he pulls back.

you lean back and are reminded of your first date with yeosang, on the sand that feels familiar and the sky with a bright crescent moon similiar to the one around your neck.

it pulls at something in your heart, how maybe you guys will never be like that again. how the honeymoon phase is just something that isn’t meant to to last htat long maybe.

it’s just a fleeting moment that you’ll remember in times like this, when it feels like you guys are about to fall apart.

tears prick your eyes again, a sigh leaving your mouth as you silently beg yourself not to cry again before seonghwa’s on his feet and reaching his hand down, like he knew you were about to blow.

you look at it with confusion, looking from his hand to his eyes looking down at you expectantly.

“come with me.”

“where are we going?” you ask, taking his hand hesitantly. he pulls you to your feet with ease, keeping you hands intertwined as he turns around and pulls you up the beach silently.

“seonghwa,” you whine, your bare foot tripping over the lumpy sand. he just grips your hand tighter every time you stumble, a quiet chuckle leaving his mouth that makes you narrow your eyes at him.

“you’ll see,” he says, eyeing you back just as sternly. “i past it on my way to find you.”

a dimly lit playground with swings and small, slightly janky jungle gym comes into your view, a smile lighting up your face as you turn to look at seonghwa.

“i don’t know how i missed this,” you tell him, knowing for sure you hd to have passed it on your way to the beach.

“you were too busy crying,” he teases lightly, a snort leaving your mouth as you push him gently. he narrows his eyes and pushes you back playfully, watching as you take off in the sand and plop down on a swing.

he smiles as you wave him over, moving the swing and pumping your legs as you hold your arms out to him. he walks over, leaning his head against the chain of the swing next to you watching you sit there and smile up at him.

“push me,” you ask sweetly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “please,” you add, wide glassy eyes and a sweet smile that renders him unable to resist. his warm hands rest on your back as he pushes you higher and higher, your eyes looking out into the ocean and sky as memories wrack your brain.

“when... when did you get that?!” you yelp, moving closer to his larger, warmer body to get a good look at it. “i didn’t even see you pick it up!”

“i was sneaky, right?” he teases with a wink, guiding you by the waist to sit down before placing the basket between you.

you barely notice the harsh gust of wind because of your excitement and surprise, yeosang’s hands draping a blanket around your shoulders before you can even shiver.

“i even packed the food. i didn’t really know how to be sneaky for that so it was pure luck that you went to the bathroom.”

you both happened to like cheese ones, your hands grazing and soft giggles leaving when you both reached for it in the frozen section.

“i... i can’t believe you did this,” you mumble quietly, feeling far more touched and happy than you’re willing to let on. “this is so cute. thank you, yeosang.

you shake your head from the memories, looking back to see seonghwa still pushing you with a content smile on his face. you stretch you legs to reach the ground, slowing down until you jump off.

you topple on the sand a little bit, seonghwa calling your name with a chuckle and watching as you steady yourself out. you turn to him with a smile, looking up at him in a way that causes his heart to jump in his chest.

he knows he has to ignore though. because problems or not, broken up or not, you’re still his best friend’s girlfriend.

but it doesn’t stop him from frolicking in the sand with you. following you as the playful spirit comes out from zipping down the slide or climbing on top of the monkey bars.

he grabs your leg that hangs off from the monkey bars, your whiney “seonghwa!” echoing through the quiet night air. his laugh causes a smile to light up your face, the two of you in the playground until your body is weak and you’re laid out on the sand.

seonghwa checks his phone to see it’s almost 3:00, wondering aloud if their friends are back from the bar.

and that’s the reality check you need. remembering that your boyfriend’s ignoring you, you don’t know he you did and his best friend is the one here - comforting you, making you laugh and keeping your mind off all the things that are making you sad in the first place.

it’s a very sobering thought that makes your smile fall off your face, jumping up from your spot in the sand as you look at seonghwa.

“i... we should get back then,” you hear yourself say. “i didn’t realize it was that late.”

it’s the reality check seonghwa needed to, that he shouldn’t be the one making you laugh and smile while your heart and mind are still plagued by yeosang. so he nods his head, rising to his feet and looking down at you for a few seconds.

you feel a lump form in your throat at the look he gives you, butterflies threatening to erupt in your stomach as his eyes roam every inch of your face. eyes to your hair to your nose to your lips, his tongue peeking out before he nods his head down toward the beach.

"lets go, then,” he says, ignoring the slightly dejected feeling in his stomach he knows he shouldn’t have. “they might be back by now.”

you guys walk back to the house in silence, arms bumping ever so often in a way that both of you try to ignore. because even if this felt right, even if your time with seonghwa always feels so right and easy, it feels right with yeosang too.

and it’s not like you can just have them both.

gong home to an empty house was incredibly sobering.

your bed was cold, the house was quiet and you had to muffle stupid, disappointed cries into your pillow until you fell asleep.

but there was someone else sitting in the living room, waiting for the moment his friends come back so he can tear his one drunken asshole of a friend a new asshole.

and that’s exactly what he did when he heard the front door open, wooyoung and san’s loud “heeellloo!” echoing through the house causing his head to snap toward the door.

the boys shuffle in, saying their hi’s to seonghwa as they filter in the kitchen and start to raid the cabinets for food. yeosang’s the last to get through the door, his stumbling to a minimum and glassy eyes observing the house carefully.

seonghwa feels his jaw clench, the two boys meeting eyes as the black-haired boy approaches him quickly.

“did you find her?”

“how’d you know i went looking?”

“do you think i’m a fucking idiot?”

seonghwa clenches his jaw again, cracking his tension-filled neck as he looks at his friend. the boys hold a dark, intense eye contact that goes ignored by the rest of the boys - too consumed by their need for food, drunken ramblings, and wooyoung crying about keeping the dishes to a minimum so he doesn’t have to wash them hungover tomorrow.

“she was on the beach crying,” seonghwa eventually bites back, looking at his friend with every hint of disdain and anger. “heard that you said it wouldn’t even matter if you guys broke up or not.”

“that fucking jisung,” yeosang grumbles, seonghwa rolling his eyes and getting up from the couch. he feels yeosang falling behind him, half tempted to tell him to piss off before they’re both just outside the dirty blonde’s room.

“what are you so mad about? she’s my girlfriend, yeosang.”

“and you’re treating her like shit, yeosang. you have been for months. leaving her all the time, barely spending time with her, do you even notice how much she fucking hates going to those?”

“but she still does?” yeosang says, face pulled into confuson and irritaiton - he doesn’t like the way he’s feeling attacked and defesnive. “i never force her to go.”

“obviously she’s gonna go for you,” seonghwa growls, confused as to how his friend is so stupid and blind about this. “because she loves you, yeosang.”

“i love her, too,” he says, “she knows how much i love her.”

the look soenghwa gives him cause his eyes to narrow, anger spiking in him as he pushes his frined back. seognhwa’s eyes flare and he has to hold himself back, knowing that he’s already not in a spot to fight over you.

“and if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you loved her too. running to her rescue right away and nearly ripping my head off before.”

seonghwa doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything, the silence doing more than words could at this point. and even drunk, yeosang knows what it means. can see in seonghwa’s face and body language that he has nothing to say because, yeah, he might love her, too.

“bullshit,” yeosang blurts out, a look of shock and horror on his face. seonghwa only shrugs his shoulders, attempting to walk away from yeosang before he pulls his friend back roughly.

“are you kidding me? y/n? out of every woman in this world?”

“i don’t know, yeosang, okay. it just fucking happened. i wasn’t ever gonna say anything to either of you.”

“wow, how noble of you. but you run off to save her when we get ino a fight.”

“because you were being a dick and she was upset,” seonghwa growls back, balling his fists in a similiar fashion to yeosang. “but i didn’t say anytihng to her. i just called you an asshole and said you were changing. not that she should leave you for me, although i’ve been tempted to steal her from you.”

a laugh of disbelief leaves yeosang, his head shaking as he looks over his friend.

“you’ve got fucking balls.”

and if it were anyone else saying this to him, they’d be beaten to a bloody pulp. but yeosang knows seonghwa would never make a move on you, actively try to steal you and get you away from him even if he wanted to.

he even had sinking suspicos that he had feelings for you, catching the way he’d look at you or his gaze would linger for just a little too lnog.

but he trusts his friend and he trusts you.

he was just the idiot now, acting as if you ddin’t mean the world to him and he doesn’t love you more than anyone else in this world.

“i’m gonna go apologize to her,” yeosang says, his gaze meeting seonghwa and making the dirty blonde nod his head. “thanks for taking care of her.”

the dirty blonde only nods his head, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach as he watches him walk out the room and go to you.

yeosang walks in to se your sleeping form on the bed, creeping over to his bag and cringing at the sound of his zipper in the quiet room.

you wake to the sound of shuffling toward the door, eyes peeking open to see yeosang with his shirt off and slipping on pajama pants. he makes his way over to the bed, your eyes closing quickly as you attempt to keep your breaths even.

you think his soft chuckle is a sign that you’ve gotten caught, keeping up the act as the bed dips and he’s sitting beside you, running his fingers through your hair gently.

“i’m sorry, baby, i’m so sorry,” he hums quietly, keeping his eyes on you as a knot forms in his throat.

he hadn’t reaalized how much he’d been neglected you this summer.

how often he was leaving you and just being assured by the fact that you always had someone with you - mingi, san, wooyoung, even seonghwa, although that proved to be slightly dangerous now.

“i know you’re mad, love, but i’ll be better. i was shit faced when i said that to jisung and hyunjin.”

your eyes peak open, seeing his soft, apologetic eyes that makes a frown appear on his lips. your hand reaches up to touch his face, his skin smooth and slight sticky from the humid summer air.

“are you shit faced now? will you even remember this tomorrow?” you ask quietly, still hurt by his words and the way he acted.

he takes your hand from his ace and presses a kiss to each knuckle, shaking his head as he crawls into bed next to you.

“no,” he mumbles, positing himself close to your warm body. “i stopped drinking when no one could find you. your girlfriend going missing tends to sober a guy up.”

a small snort leaves your mouth as you shake your head, meeting his gaze with tired eyes.

“i wasn’t missing, i was on the beach.”

“with seonghwa.”

you bite down on your lip as you nod your head, eyes roaming him carefully. you don’t quite know what to make of his tone or face, choosing to just nod your head in confirmation.

they had to have talked anyway - how else would he have known jisung told you what he said?

“i’m glad he was there for you when i wasn’t,” he mumbles quietly, a sad truth that he has to come to terms with despite knowing seonghwa’s feelings now.

“it’s okay, you’re here now,” you mumble, moving your body closer to his. he smiles against your head, wrapping his arm around you as he presses a kiss to your head.

but you can’t quite shake the feeling of seonghwa being there for you either.

the way he looked at you so sweetly and made you feel better with just his presence. his hold on you strong and gaze so soft, you can’t help but wonder if, somehow, you’ve also somehow fallen for yeosang’s best friend.

november - sophomore year

if someone told you over the summer that in four months, you’d be living with seonghwa and yeosang, you would’ve called them crazy. asked how the hell that arrangement came to be because why would a single man choose to live with a couple in the first place?

but really, the arrangement stemmed from all of you just having terrible luck.

you had started sophomore year on a terrible foot, not securing a single room this semester and getting a roommate you knew from the moment you met was gonna be a nightmare.

she was not only incredibly rude but messy.

her clothes littered every inch of the floor by the second week of class and her boyfriend would come over at all hours of the day; you understood it was her room too but hearing them try (and fail) to have quiet sex at 2 a.m was not only disturbing but left you exhausted most weekdays.

“i can’t keep doing it,” you whined to yeosang, laid on top of him in his bed.

it was ironic that his apartment, the one with seven hyper active boys you once thought was the loudest place on earth, was now your place of solace.

it was where you went on weekends to get a good night sleep, not only quiet with no interruptions but incredibly comfortable with your head in boyfriend’s warm chest.

“i’m telling you, baby, ask to get a new room,” he says, a frown on his face at the bags under your eyes.

his fingers swipes under your purple skin and you close your eyes at his gentle touch, always about ready to fall asleep when you’re with him.

“i did, they don’t have anything,” you whine, burying your face deeper into his chest. “i was even looking at apartments off campus but they’re all too expensive.”

yeosang quirks an eyebrow when he hears you say that, biting down on his lip as he contemplates telling you his idea.

because even before your terrible roommate dilemma, he’d been playing with the idea of asking you to move in together. you guys have almost been together for a year and this summer, even with the bumps in the road, had been nice.

waking up and going to sleep together every day had been the best part for him.always being with you and going about your day still with each other. food shopping, furniture shopping, even just watching tv in silence together.

he wanted more of that with you.

“why don’t we move in together?”

he doesn’t mean to blurt it out so harshly but the words just fall out, your head snapping to him with wide eyes.

“what?”

“i... i know it seems kind of sudden but why don’t we move in together? we can split the rent then,” he says, his arm wrapping around your waist tightly. “we basically lived together this summer and that was nice, wasn’t it?” he hums, grinding his body into yours a little too purposely to be innocent.

you roll your eyes despite the smile pulling at your lips, moving away from his chest to peer up at him.

could he be serious? does he really wanna live with you?

“would you really wanna live with me?” you ask quietly, his eyebrows pulling together at the meekness in your tone.

“of course i would, baby,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to cheek sweetly. “why wouldn’t i?”

but even with his reassurance and sweet words, you still felt reluctantly.

it was a big step that scared you not only for financial reasons but because you know how you are. you couldn’t even have a roommate your first semester of college and now you’re gonna live with someone permanently?

but the more days pass with you living with your roommate, the more you realize you would much rather have yeosang. even if it meant taking a big next step with him as your boyfriend.

you walked up to his apartment ready to tell him you were ready to move in together, that you guys have to start looking immediately before you just insist on sleeping on the bench outside your dorms.

but when you open the door to this house, you’re met with chaos.

absolute, disastrous chaos.

voices screaming, water everywhere and, most importantly, all of them running around shirtless and packing their bags; you suppose this is why yeosang hadn’t been answering your texts.

“um.. what is happening?” you ask loudly upon entering, all the boys heads snapping to you.

you’re able to make out the words water line breakage, flood, drown to death and parents house, the several loud voices rendering you unable to say or hear anything properly.

yeosang pushes his way through and explains that their apartment is well on its way to being destroyed, a faulty waterline that the apartment manager didn’t take care of threatening to completely flood the building.

“what? where are you guys supposed to go now?!”

and that right there is how your current situation came about.

moving into a one bedroom apartment with your boyfriend and his best friend, the black-haired boy looking over seonghwa with a particularly harsh look in his eye.

the rest of them were either able to secure dorm rooms at the boys dormitory or move in with their parents who lived close by - but seonghwa’s parents lived out of state now and the apartment he was one step away from closing on fell through, thus leaving him homeless.

this unsettled yeosang greatly, knowing his best friend was secretly in love with his girlfriend still.

“you’re crazy if you think i’d try anything with her at all, let alone with you fucking here, yeosang, shit.”

“i already told you just to tell her so shit doesn’t have to be awkward,” yeosang said, whisper-yelling as you set up furniture in your shared bedroom.

“telling her would make shit more awkward, she doesn’t have to know,” seonghwa argued back, looking toward the bedroom with a cautious look on his face.

ever since he outed his confession to yeosang this summer, he’d been trying to act like the same.

distance himself physically but remain there for you emotionally - laugh with you, smile with you, act as a friend to you while not pushing the boundary when it came to how he felt about you.

“i don’t know how she doesn’t,” yeosang says honestly, looking at seonghwa with not a hint of anger in his eyes. “you make it pretty obvious.”

the dirty blonde narrows his eyes at the boy, punching him in the arm lightly before setting up the couch that now doubles as his bed - living like a true single bachelor.

you make your way out of your new bedroom, the house almost completely set up with furniture and decor.

a frown crosses your face when you see seonghwa setting up the couch with pillows and blankets, poking the cushions with your finger as you look at him.

“seonghwa, are you sure this is gonna be okay? sleeping on a couch isn’t comfortable.��

“it’s a futon, y/n, they’re meant for that,” seonghwa teases, a small smile lighting up his face. “it’ll be fine.”

“but are you sure? what if you start to get-”

“he’ll be fine, baby,” yeosang says from behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle as his eyes bore into seonghwa. “you don’t have to worry about him.”

the dirty blonde rolls his eyes before looking to you, reassuring you with a small smile and nod. he plops down on the couch and adjusts himself comfortably, giving you a thumbs up as he looks you over happily.

“it’s good, i swear. it’s new so i just gotta break it in.”

“maybe you can invite a girl over. finally get laid,” yeosang mocks, seonghwa biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t say a snappy comment; but you, you of course, have other ideas about how to break it in.

“that’s a great idea! let’s have a movie night!”

and before the two boys can protest, you’re running off to your room and writing in the group chat for the boys to come over at eight with snacks and a list of scary movies to watch.

“she already runs the show around here, doesn’t she?” yeosang grumbles, a smirk crossing seonghwa’s face as he nods his head.

“duh.”

“duh! you never go back in the house, are they fucking nuts!?” wooyoung shouts hours later, the apartment completely dark apart from the glow of the tv and jongho’s pumpkin pecan waffles candle (the one he insisted on bringing to set the mood).

you share a knowing smile with seonghwa, the dirty blonde finding himself in the worst seat of the house - directly next to a chatty, exuberant wooyoung.

yeosang and hongjoong had jumped up and claimed the chaises of the other couch, you spending the first two and a half movies curled on top of yeosang until your side became numb and you stole mingi’s seat.

now you sat beside seonghwa, bumping his arm lightly and giggling any time he made a passing comment about wooyoung or the movie or anything else he found utterly stupid or loud.

“who do you think would be the first to die?” you whisper to seonghwa, a smirk on his face as he looks over at you. his lips quirk as he thinks, looking over the pile of his friends laid out in his new living room.

he catches yeosang’s eyes on him, the boy watching carefully before he looks back to the screen casually.

“definitely mingi,” seonghwa mumbles in your ear, a smile pulling at your lips as you watch the boy clutch onto a blanket tighter and bury himself closer to yunho. “he’s a coward.

“maybe,” you mutter, a yawn escaping you as you adjust your position on the couch. your curled legs hit seonghwa but neither of you move, pulling the fuzzy white blanket tighter around you.

“but i think it’d be jongho to be honest,” you mumble, tired eyes still focused on the screen as you him and talk hushly. “it’s always the person you’d least expect.”

a small chuckle leaves seonghwa’s mouth as he nods his head in agreement, wishing he could put his arm around you so you could fall asleep against him more comfortably.

but he just keeps his arm and legs against you, watching the movie until he suddenly feels the pressure of your head on his shoulder.

he looks down to see your eyes closed, hair splayed over your face as even breaths leave you. you look so at peace and innocent in your sleep, not even realizing when his hand reaches out to move away the strands.

his eyes move to yeosang’s when he realizes what he’s done, looking to the boy who’s still adamantly watching the movie and chewing on popcorn. he settles himself back and tries to relax, feel the warmth of your body on his and tries not to get to comfortable with how nice it feels to have you against him.

a small whine causes him to look down at you a few moments later, his hand reaching down to rub against your blanket-covered leg calmingly. he barely realizes he’s doing it, not until his phone vibrates next to him and he sees yeosang’s name appear.

his eyes shoot up to see the boy looking at him, jaw clenched and eyebrow raised as he nods his head toward his phone.

yeosang [1:04 a.m.] you’re pushing it dick. try not to look so happy about my gf sleeping on you.

the dirty blonde is quickly humbled, removing his hand from your leg before trining his attention back to the screen; but the scene is one yeosang can’t quite shake off.

not because of something like petty jealously or a bad feeling in his stomach. simply because it reminds him of the first time you fell asleep with him, just a random night where you dozed off on his shoulder and he thought nothing of it.

he was listening to the sound of your breathing, the tv just white noise in the background as his own eyes threatened to close.

you’d only been dating for a few weeks, enjoying the closeness that comes with watching movies as you both stay in for the night. he wasn’t quite sure when you dozed off, he just knew when he asked if you wanted to watch the next part of twilight, you didn’t answer.

(yes, twilight was your idea and no, he doesn’t enjoy it or want to know how edward and bella’s wedding is gonna turn out).

he deices to replay the first one, just noise to have on in the background as he starts to doze off himself.

he’s stirred awake, however, when your body lurches forward, a gasp leaving your mouth as you shoot up from your sleep quickly. his eyes are wide as he looks up at you, thinking you’re on the verge of a panic attack or nightmare and fully prepared to help in any way he can.

but he sees your eyes are more so full of shock, looking at him and the surroundings of his room like you can’t believe you’re still here.

“are you okay? what happened?”

“i... did i fall asleep?

“uh... yeah?”

you look to be in such disbelief, he doesn’t know what to make of it. is it that odd that you would’ve fallen asleep? it’s late and dark and you said you hadn’t slept too great the night before.

you look to see his face pulled in confusion, looking at you with a mix of concern and bewilderment that makes you shake off the weird feeling inside of you.

“sorry, it’s just... i can usually never ever fall asleep around people,” you explain to him, a problem since childhood that rendered you unable to attend sleepovers or even share a room with cousins on family vacations.

your parents and doctors said it was probably just that you weren’t tired but it felt as if they were deep rooted trust issues of some kind. not allowing yourself to be unconscious or unaware in the presence of other people.

but you didn’t realize any of that with yeosang; you’ve never felt as comfortable with anyone as you do with him.

“ever since i was a kid, i could only fall asleep alone. it’s like i was too scared around other people or something,” you chuckle out, a small smirk crossing yeosang’s face as he pecks a kiss to your nose.

“hmm.. guess you just really like and trust me, huh?”

yeosang bites the inside of his cheek as the memory comes back to him, watching as your sleeping figure moves closer to seonghwa with a content look on your face.

he can only smirk at the way seonghwa seems conflicted, looking down at you with the softest, sappiest expression he’s ever seen his colder friend wear before they move to him.

yeosang moves his eyes away, training them back on the terrible scary movie that, for whatever reason, has mingi absolutely shitting his pants.

the black haired boy wakes you up at the end of the movie, sitting on the other side of you and mumbling that he’s gonna bring you to your room. you barely stir so he lifts you up effortlessly, a tired whine leaving you before you smell his familiar scent.

your eyes pop open to see him looking down at you, a sweet smile on his face that causes one to break out across your own face.

“hi.”

“hi, love. you fell asleep.”

you nod tiredly, face red and hair messy as he places you down on the bed gently. you curl up and under the blanket, letting out a tired whine as you hold your arms out with a pout.

he snorts as he joins you immediately, moving in next to you and sighing contently when your head rests on his chest. his hand runs through your hair. gently, slow and calming in a way he knows will quickly put you back to sleep.

but he needs to ask you one thing tonight. he needs to settle this once and for all so he can stop his brain from racing and thoughts from spiraling.

“baby?”

“hm?”

“do you like seonghwa?”

even in a tired daze, the question throws you off.

makes you snap your head up and rest your chin on his chest, eyes narrowed and eyebrows shooting up your forehead as you look at your boyfriend of almost a year.

“what?”

“do you like seonghwa?”

he repeats it like it’s a simple question, so straight forward and casual that you would think he was joking if it wasn’t for how serious his expression is.

“i... you’re my boyfriend, yeosang? why would i like seonghwa?”

he bites his lip at the confused expression on your tired face, twirling a piece of your hair at the top before letting it bounce back.

“was just a question, love.”

you look at him in complete shock and confusion, trying to decipher any anger or jealously on his face.

“is it because i fell asleep on him? i didn’t even know, yeosang, i just-”

“no, baby, no,” he’s quick to assure, his hands cupping your face gently. “it was really just a question, okay? i’m not mad or anything.”

you look at your boyfriend but see nothing but honesty in his eyes, reluctantly nodding your head before resting your head back on his chest. he hums quietly as you close your eyes, his chest feeling different than seonghwa’s but still just as comforting.

you don’t even have the time to wonder why you’re even thinking about that, comparing yeosang and seonghwa’s chests and smells, until you’re fast asleep again.

it took four days for you to finally admit it to yeosang.

and it wasn’t even that you lied at the time he asked - you just didn’t even realize.

you didn’t realize that, for longer than you can remember, you might’ve always had a bit of a crush on seonghwa. entranced by his handsome face and the way he carried himself.

how he always looked out for you and made you feel safe and cared for despite not owing you a thing.

but it wasn’t something that was overwhelmingly noticeable.

you hadn’t thought about seonghwa when you were with yeosang. you hadn’t wished he was him or that the dirty blonde was the one who let you borrow a pen the first day of college.

but you did eventually come to love seonghwa.

depend on him and look forward to seeing him and knowing that, if you didn’t have him in your life, your life would feel emptier.

but why had yeosang asked that? did he know before you did? did he see something in the way you looked or acted around his best friend? why wasn’t he mad about it?

“we can have a talk about it if you want,” yeosang said when you confessed all of this to him, sitting on your bed with a heavy pit in your stomach.

“in fact, i think we’ll definitely have to talk about somethings. but for now... i think you should tell seonghwa.”

and if this whole situation wasn’t bizarre enough, admitting to your boyfriend that you liked another man, that surely did it. your boyfriend telling you to confess your feelings to him even though he was his best friend and you two were very much together.

“what?”

“tell seonghwa that you like him, baby,” he mumbles, his hands holding your face gently. there’s so much confusion and hesitation in your eyes he almost wants to laugh but he supposes he can’t blame you.

this whole situation is weird. and he doesn’t know how he knows this is the direction your relationship should go - he’s just felt it inside of himself for the past few weeks.

“stop looking so confused and just trust me, okay? tell him you like him and see what he says.”

so that’s exactly what you do, despite all the confusion still swirling inside of you; because as confused as you are about this entire situation, it doesn’t take away from the fact that you do like seonghwa.

you love him, even. not just as a friend and someone who’s been there for you but more. the way you feel comforted by his physical touch, physical being, how sometimes you’ve felt like, if you didn’t know any better and if things were different, your lips would’ve met with no hesitation.

“i... we should get back then,” you hear yourself say. “i didn’t realize it was that late.”

"lets go, then,” he says, ignoring the slightly dejected feeling in his stomach he knows he shouldn’t have. “they might be back by now.”

you find the dirty blonde in the kitchen, hunched over a pot of boiling water as he carefully puts in a bag of ramen.

“seonghwa?” you say, creeping up on him with your hands intertwined and a blush already creeping its way on your body.

“oh, hey, y/n. you want some?”

you peek over at the chicken flavored ramen, your nose twitching when you say the bold, red, spicy printed on it; he lips quirk up into a smirk upon seeing your face.

“sorry. forgot you don’t like spicy food.”

you watch seonghwa stand over the stove for a few minutes, plopping yourself up on the counter to watch him silently. he continues what he’s doing with your silent presence there, completely going about his routine until he tells you to sit at the table with him.

there’a few more moments of silence, just him slurping and your occasional laugh until he finally realizes you came out here to say something.

“so... what’s up?”

you peek up at the boy watching you carefully, slurping a noodle into his mouth and watching some excess broth fall into the bowl.

“what do you mean?”

“don’t you wanna tell me something?” he asks, his questioning tone making your heart pound. “or ask me something? you’ve been playing with your fingers for the past fifteen minutes.”

you let out a sigh as you drop your hands to your lap, watching him with a look of mock disdain on your face; curse this boy for knowing you so well.

“it’s a little... random,” you begin, not quite sure how to approach this.

you’ve never confessed to someone before, especially not per the request of your boyfriend, but you have to imagine these are all the feelings that comes with it.

nervousness in your stomach and warmth fluttering throughout your body, hoping and praying that he like you back because if not, you’re gonna ruin this friendship and that’s not something you want at all.

“and maybe even shocking. but... i think i have to tell you and i hope you don’t think it’s weird. it’s something i just realized within these past few days and i... i don’t wanna ruin anything between us.”

his eyebrows pull together at your words, dropping his utensils on the table as he looks over your face carefully. his stomach’s quickly consumed by nervous, anxiety-ridden knots, looking over your face for any hint of emotion.

but you just seem to look as nervous as him.

“you wouldn’t, you couldn’t,” seonghwa assures gently, his voice deep and soft as he speaks to you and only you; you’re freaking him the fuck out but he’s trying to remain as calm as possible.

“what is it?”

you bite down on your lip as you look at seonghwa, his deep brown eyes staring at you so intensely it makes your stomach flutter. you don’t know how you didn’t reaize sooner that you liked him.

“i.... i like you,” you tell him, voice shaky and soft but the words already out - you’ve said them and there’s no going back. “i like you, seonghwa. a lot.”

it feels as if there’s a giant weight off your shoulders the second you say it, the butterflies in your stomach at an all time high. it feels good to finally say this, finally realize and admit it and let it out into the universe.

“i think i might even love you the way i love yeosang. i didn’t realize because of him, i guess, but now i know i love you both. i don’t know if that’s normal or possible but i really do, seonghwa. i hope that’s not weird for-”

the first thing you taste is the faint spice of chicken broth, unfamiliar but remarkable lips covering yours that you meet back instantly. seonghwa hums against your mouth as he pulls your chair closer to him, the sound of it scraping against the floor going unnoticed by both of you.

you’re only consumed by the feeling of his lips, the small noises leaving your mouth and the desperation of his kiss. how it feels like he’s been wanting to do this for so long, kiss you and touch you and show you how much he’s loved you from afar.

his hand grips your face as he pulls you closer, his deeply mumbled moan of your name against your lips causing you to whine against him. allow his tongue into your mouth and giggle when they collide into one another.

all the kissing stops though the second you hear another voice, the sound of the footsteps approaching you before a hand smacks into the concrete wall harshly.

“i told you to confess. you guys are making out?”

february - junior year

the first thing you learned about polyamorous relationships was that they’re all very different.

the way they come about, the rules in which couples establish, how and why people choose to be in them. there’s not some one size fits all for any relationship in life and that stands true for you, yeosang and seonghwa.

admittedly, things were weird in the beginning. navigating between yeosang and seonghwa comfortably and getting used to having not one but two boyfriends.

there were insecurities to quell on both sides, naturally, and you learned how do that.

assure yeosang that he was enough and that you stayed in love with him for a reason. assure seonghwa that he was enough and that you fell in love with him for a reason too.

many reasons that all became too much and morphed into one another, rendering you, both, loyal and locked down to two men who constantly tested you.

the first test being the blanket dilemma.

without fail, no matter the weather and no matter the sleeping position, you woke up without a blanket.

you were either curled into seonghwa’s warm body, your legs intertwined and his arms around you, or had your back trapped against yeosang’s chest.

his arms wound tightly around your waist, the steady rise and fall of his breath on your skin as seonghwa laid there with the queen size blanket half on him and half on the floor; that’s what this morning was like, too.

you slowly untangled yourself from yeosang, crawling over to seonghwa until you plopped yourself down on him clumsily. he stirred underneath you, attempting to move and stretch his body with the weight of you on top of him.

you bend down to peck his cheek lightly, smiling when his handsome, sleeping face barely changes.

you decide to play a little bit more, moving your body back and forth against him teasingly. the movements somehow wake the black-haired boy next to you, his eyes popping open and a smirk on his face as he watches you grind against seonghwa.

“what are you doing, baby?”

his voice causes you to jump, a quiet chuckle leaving him as you move your arms to showcase the stolen blankets.

“he can’t keep doing this!” you whisper-scream, a look of frustration on his face. “every morning it’s either you or him stealing all the blankets and leaving us freezing.”

yeosang rolls closer so he’s in your warm spot in the middle, looking up at you as his hand rests on your waist. you’re only wearing one of his white t-shirts, your nipples peeking through the material not at all helping his morning wood.

“and you think grinding over his dick is gonna help?”

your cheeks flush as you stick your tongue out at him immaturely, tuning back to run your fingers through seonghwa’s dirty blonde hair.

the slow, calmingly movements cause tired groans to leave his mouth, his eyes eventually popping open before a smirk crosses his face.

“hi, baby girl,” his deep morning voice drones, one hand slipping past your shirt to rest on your waist. “what are you doing?”

“you stole the blanket again,” you whine, the pout on your face one he just wants to kiss off with you on top of him like this.

“i didn’t mean too,” he hums, moving you along by the hips as he feels his cock grow harder. “you had yeosang to keep you warm, no?”

the two share of look, both of them more often than no waking up horny and ready to take you. it’s not something you’re ignorant of either, watching them look at you before, suddenly, you’re pushed down onto our back.

“because, you know pretty girl, we may take the blankets but you take up a whole lot of room,” seonghwa says, his hands running through your messy morning hair.

he’s never slept with someone who kicks as much as you. who, even though you’re the smallest in the bed, take up the most space by far.

“remember the night you almost kicked me off?” he hums, a smirk on his face at the memory. his hand trails down your face, thumb pressing on your lip before he moves his hand over your chin and down your neck.

yeosang smirks when he watches you swallow nervously, his hand on your hip slipping between your thighs carefully. he doesn’t make any moves to touch you, just holds your inner thigh and allows his thumb to move slowly up and down your skin.

“he’s got a point baby,” yeosang’s voice mumbles, slightly deeper than even seonghwa’s morning voice. “you do take up a lot of room for being the smallest one here.”

with their hands on you and an intense feeling building in the air, you’re quickly being humbled.

seonghwa’s hand trailing over your white t-shirt until it’s ghosting over your nipples, the palm of his hand on the sensitive bud causing your breath to quicken.

or that could be because yeosang’s hand is so close to your pussy, just a few inches away from touching your bare, growing wetness.

“i... i don’t mean too,” you say, growing more and more submissive and ready to whine as your two boyfriends start to cloud your senses; you were scolding them and now you’re the one being punished - how is that fair?

seonghwa’s hand gently guides your shirt up until your bare chest hits the cold air, a deeply mumbled “fuck,” leaving him before he dips his head down and attaches his mouth to your nipple.

you let out a surprised gasp, sensations of pleasure shooting right between your legs. yeosang is readily there with his long, skilled fingers, toying with your slit and teasingly running up and down the growing wetness.

“you might not mean to,” yeosang says, eyes peeking up to see seonghwa’s face in your chest and your mouth thrown back in pleasure. “but you still do it, don’t you?”

his finger slides into you easily, a loud moan escaping you that has seonghwa smiling against your boob. his other hands move over to tweak with your nipple, yeosang keeping up his movements as he curls his finger inside of you.

you’ve barely been up for ten minutes but you feel yourself about to come, both the boys far too skilled and ready to give you pleasure however and whenever you want it.

you cry out when yeosang slips another finger inside of you, seonghwa disconnecting his mouth from your nipple to kiss you deeply. skilled tongue slipping in your mouth as his lips part on yours and you’re kissing back just as desperately.

chasing your orgasm as your hips buck into yeosang’s hand.

“are you about to come?” seonghwa mumbles when he pulls back, his hand trailing over your neck and squeezing at the sides lightly. “has your pretty little pussy had enough? are you gonna come just from yeosang’s hand?”

“y-yes,” you moan out, hand reaching out to hold onto seonghwa’s shoulder. “and your mouth.”

“please, he didn’t do shit,” yeosang mutters, his fingers fucking into you with just the right amount of pressure and speed.

they both watch with lust in their eyes as you moan loudly, eyes rolling back as you throw your head into the pillow. yeosang removes his hand immediately, tapping at your hip gently.

“turn around.”

but seonghwa can tell immediately what yeosang wants to do, the dirty blonde slapping his hand away and instead gripping your hips tightly.

“you got to touch her,” seonghwa growls, bitter over the fact he didn’t get to make you ome first thing in the morning. “now i get to fuck her.”

“you waited too long to make your move,” the black-haired boy smirks, the double meaning in his words making him roll his eyes. “that’s why i got her first.”

“well, maybe if you didn’t-”

“stop,” you whine, the growing feeling of wet empitness making you frown at your two boyfriends. “one of you, please. the o-other can fuck my mouth. i’ll be good, i promise.”

seonghwa and yeosang share a look before the dirty blonde flips you over and pulls up your hips, rising your ass in the air as he holds himself on his knees. the bed is firm enough so that he doesn’t sink down, rubbing over your ass gently before landing a loud, resounding smack.

“you’re always good for us, baby girl,” he says, trailing his dick up and down your wet slit. “you’re always so so good.”

you whine as he teases you, knowing that, with seonghwa, it’s better if you’re polite and wait. he likes seeing you desperate and whining, always waiting until he says it’s okay to buck your hips or chase your own orgasm.

but he doesn’t give you the time today.

because one second you’re empty and wet and ready to scream and then the next, his hips are smacking into yours and he’s fucking the life out of you. snapping them just the right way and in just the right spots for you to be crying out into your hot and stuffy bedroom.

“seonghwa,” you moan, the slapping of skin and quiet grunts filling the room.

it’s all halted, however, when yeosang’s in front of you, his hard cock just inches from your face as he looks down at you. there’s a smirk on his face seeing you so fucked out and desperate because of them, guiding your mouth to him and smiling when you take his cock without a second thought.

your tongue laps at the tip, swirling around and around until you sink down on it further. you hold back a gag when he hits the back of your throat, your head getting into a groove that has yeosang cursing and groaning your name harshly.

“there you go, baby,” you hear seonghwa growl from behind you, his hand reaching around you play with your clit. “you take us both so well. filling you up and making you feel good, right baby?”

“r-right, seonghwa,” you moan, eyes rolling back when his cock starts hitting a certain spot inside you. he can feel you’re about to come by the way you tighten around him, by the way your head starts bobbing harsher and yeosang’s grunts grow louder and deeper.

“come first, baby. it’s okay,” seonghwa says, partially because they always want you to come first and partially because he knows he’s about to bust inside of you.

it takes you clenching and throwing your hips back against his for him to come, one last snap of his hips causing you both to release. you’re moaning against yeosang’s cock when he releases too, the vibrations and knowledge that you just came with his cock in your mouth far too much.

the room is a mess of bodily fluids, heavy breathing and sweat but it doesn’t matter. you collapse on top of the bed as seonghwa pulls out of you and yeosang massages the sides of your aw gently.

the black-haired boy mumbles sweet nothings to you as seonghwa gets a warm rag, cleaning between your legs before he kisses the top of your head sweetly.

“you did good, baby,” he mumbles, collapsing on the bed next to you and wrapping arm around your waist. the three of you lay in silence for a few moments, heart rates calming and senses coming back before yeosang looks at you with a soft, sweetness in his eyes.

“oh. and happy valentine’s day baby.”

you’ll never forget your first valentine’s day as a couple with yeosang and seonghwa.

it was only a few months after you confessed to seonghwa during your sophomore year, the three of you just starting out and establishing rules for your new relationship.

they had all been strangely easy to work out, the number one rule being to always communicate.

be open and honest about everything one of you may being feeling, so there’s not a spiral of miscommunication and tears the way there was that one disconnected summer.

the transition had been strangely easy for all of you too, probably because yeosang knew seonghwa liked you way before he called his friend out.

the parts of it that had been hard, however, was something you least expected - telling the rest of the boys and reserving a table for three on valentine’s day.

“wait... you’re all going to dinner?” san asked, looking at the three of you with confusion on his face. “can we come? what the hell.”

“you’re not sending us off the bar again but instead leaving us alone? why can seonghwa go but not us? we wanna spend time with, y/n, too.”

“because i’m her boyfriend, bud. who are you?”

seonghwa’s deep, sarcastic voice halted all the whines and complaints immediately, everyone’s eyes wide as they look to yeosang. the black-haired boy can only smirk as he feels eyes on him, a reassuring nod that sends the house into chaos again.

asking what kind of swinger shit is going on and how long it’d been going on under their roof without them knowing.

“it’s not swinger shit, dickhead, we’re just both dating her. like... one cohesive unit that live together and take care of her. me and seonghwa both agreed to it. in fact, i think it was more so my idea.”

“it was definitely your idea,” you tell him, seonghwa’s arm around your shoulder as he watches you talk with smile. “you’re the one who told me to tell seonghwa i liked him!”

a snort leaves yeosang and seonghwa as there’s a mix of different reviews in the crowd.

hongjoong and yunho are looking on supportively, the only two boys who had lingering suspicions about seonghwa’s feelings for you.

wooyoung, san and jongho are only slightly confused, a mix of happy and cautious like they don’t know what’s about to happen but are here for it.

and mingi is by far the most baffled, looking between you, seonghwa and yeosang before shaking his head in bewilderment.

"straight people are so weird.”

you nearly spit out your drink at dinner reliving the story with yeosang and seonghwa, the table full of meat, pasta and bread as you celebrate valentine’s day together.

going out on dates was something you also had to get used to, usually surrounded by lovey-dovey couples who only had eyes for each other; but for you guys, the dynamic was obviously different.

you’d hold seonghwa’s hand while smiling lovingly at yeosang. yeosang would have his hand on your lower back while you and seonghwa played footsie under the table.

if anyone were nosy or curious about your dynamic, they’d be able to pick up on it really quick - but you three didn’t care. it wasn’t anyone’s business but your own and as long as you guys were all happy, it didn’t matter.

“he’s such a little shit,” seonghwa mutters, a giggle leaving your mouth as yeosang raises a fork to your mouth. you open up happily, biting into a piece of chicken and chewing on the flavorful food.

you three eat until you’re ready to explode, seonghwa and yeosang splitting the check before walking out to your car.

you half expect to go back home, lay out in bed with them and spend the rest of the night watching cheesy romantic comedy, until you realize you’re in the car for a while.

your head resting on the chair as you turn to look at yeosang.

“where are we going?”

“it’s a surprise,” he mumbles, your mouth dropping open as you look at seonghwa in the back seat.

“wait.. do you know?”

he shrugs his shoulders with a smirk pulling at his lips, a whine leaving your mouth as you wack both of them in the arms.

“that’s not fair! please tell me, too!”

“we’re almost there, baby, c’mon,” seonghwa mumbles, moving closer to take your face in his hands. “come back here with me.”

“no,” yeosang says, taking one hand off the wheel to hold your arm tightly; but seonghwa’s at an advantage, picking you up over the console and dragging you up and onto his lap.

he drowns out the sounds of yeosang’s yelling, securing you onto his lap as you straddle him with a chastising look on your face.

“that was dangerous,” you mumble, a snort leaving him as he shakes his head at you.

“it’s fine,” he mumbles, your lips meeting in a kiss that you meet back immediately.

yeosang looks in the rearview mirror when he hears the sounds of lips smacking and muffled moans, throwing an empty water bottle that just misses seonghwa’s head.

“i’m not your fucking uber driver,” yeosang snaps, “don’t make out when i can’t join.”

“hear that, baby? he wants to kiss me, too.”

you muffle your giggles into his chest, seonghwa and yeosang bantering back and forth as you rest your head on seonghwa’s chest. he’s warm and toned underneath you, the gentle lull of the car causing your eyes to close.

you’re not sure if you fall asleep, you think you’re in that weird space of consciousness and slumber, when you hear yeosang mumbling your name. his lips are by your ear and you look up at him sleepily, a smile on his face when he tells you to wake up.

you look around to see you’re still in the car, the black leather interior one you’re very used to by now. but what you’re not used to seeing is the ocean outside the windows, a gasp leaving your mouth that quickly wakes you up.

you run out and onto the beach, yeosang trailing behind as he shouts your name with a smile.

seonghwa and him had already set up the blankets on the sand, a cooler full of drinks and snacks off the side.

“yeosang told me this was your first date,” seonghwa mumbles, his arms wrapping around your waist. “gotta admit, pretty smooth even for him.”

a smile brightens your face as you peck his lips, intertwining your hands before reaching out to grab yeosang’s.

you drag the two boys out to the freezing ocean, both of their desperate pleas to not freeze their balls off going unheard by you. you just giggle and pull them out further, squealing when the freezing water hits you feet and you jump up.

they both move to catch you, yeosang catching one leg and seonghwa catching the other as you hold yourself above them.

“baby, this was your fucking idea,” yeosang complans, the smile on his face proving he’s not bad in the slightest.

you frolic around with the two boys until your feet are numb. giggling and squealing when seonghwa catches you around the waist and pecking yeosang’s lips when you fall back and collapses on top of you.

“i love you,” he mumbles against your mouth, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you smile against him.

you spend the rest of the night cuddled between them, your head on seonghwa’s stomach as yeosang sits next to you, playing with your fingers and blowing hot air on your cold hands.

it’s calm and peaceful and everything you’ve ever wanted.

there’s a different type of feeling in the air compared to the first time you were here with just yeosang, something that feels right and sweet and like without, both, yeosang and seonghwa here, it just wouldn’t be the same.

“i love you,” seonghwa mumbles when you look up at him, his hands twirling through your hair as he bends down to peck your lips.

all your cheeks are red from the wind and the tips of your fingers are freezing but you don’t wanna leave just yet. you just wanna stay here together, enjoy the silence and the crash of the waves and the occasional squawk of a brave seagull.

maybe even wait until the sun comes up to watch the sunrise, if you guys don’t completely freeze to death together.

january - senior year

your trip to the mountains doubled as a two year anniversary/graduation celebration.

the three of you were still as strong as ever, dealing with bumps in the road that all couples went through: fits of miscommunication, times of insecurity, even acknowledging that, sometimes, you need seonghwa and yeosang for different things.

seonghwa’s the boyfriend who understands you.��

is similiar to you and knows the way your introverted mind works. you go to him when you feel most uncomfortable in a crowd, like at frat parties or in bars where you know yeosang just thrives.

but yeosang’s the one who pushes you to do extraordinary things - maybe not even extraordinary, just things you normally wouldn’t do; he’s the one who pushed you to do you research with your professor that ended up allowing you to graduate one semester early with them.

so in order to celebrate, you three rented a house in the mountains with one bedroom, a giant movie room and a hot tub on the balcony.

spent a week in the snowy, picturesque country where you lounged around in bed, soaked in the hot tub and became even more sure that this is what you wanted for the rest of your life.

to wake up next to seonghwa and yeosang, even if it meant having the blankets ripped off of you in the night.

to live with them and build a life together with them, deal with the bickering that comes with dating best friends who have known each other for their entire lives.

to act surprised when, in a few years when you’re settled with jobs and a house, they buy you matching wedding bands to show off the fact that you’re theirs.

#very mixed feelings about this #u can absolutely tell when i was losing steam jfdkkdf #but whatever #happy vday get urselfs not one but two bfs #seonghwa #yeosang #seonghwa fluff #yeosang fluff #yeosang angst #seonghwa angst #seonghwa smut #yeosang smut #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #seonghwa imagines #yeosang imagines #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez smut

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tobesolonely · 4 years

Text

kindergarten teachers

summary: teacher!harry and coworker y/n have a hard time coming to terms with their feelings for each other

a/n: ahhh she’s finally done! i’ve been working on this fic for sooo long and i hope u all like it! big thanks to @queencharry for helping me when i got stuck and beta reading, and @behindthatbabyface for beta reading as well and giving me feedback!! i appreciate u both <3 enjoy ~11.3k words of some mutual pining and teacher!h interacting with lil kindergarteners 🥺also i am sorry if theres any major grammar mistakes (as always) or crazy typos, i always miss some things when i go back and proofread that im sure i’ll catch later! thank u

warnings: smut, mentions of alcohol

talk to me about harry and y/n! let me know your thoughts!!

my ko-fi! thank you :)

From the time you were very young, you knew you wanted to be a teacher. One of your earliest childhood memories was going to school dressed up as one for career day. Your usually untamed hair was pulled back into a sleek bun (courtesy of your mother), and you donned a funky baby-pink sweater. For bottoms, you wore the closest thing to a pencil skirt you had in your five-year-old wardrobe. When you look back on the photographs your mother took of you that day, you did not resemble a teacher in any way. You were sure if you had not done your Career Day presentation in front of the whole class, no one would have even known who you were dressed up as.

Once you moved onto college and declared Education as a major, that was when people really started to let you hear their opinions on the career path you wanted to pursue. It seemed like whenever you went home for a holiday, relatives were always in your ear saying, “You know teachers don’t make a lot of money, right? Have you ever considered something in the sciences?”. You always responded, “I know, but what would the world do without teachers?”.

Eventually, you finished your undergraduate career, successfully completed student teaching with the highest praise from your superiors and colleagues, obtained your teaching credentials, and even went back to school to get your Master’s degree. So, it was much to everyone’s surprise when you settled on being a Kindergarten teacher. People assumed that because you completed so much schooling, you wanted to be a university professor. However, the thought never even crossed your mind. You always thought Kindergarten teachers were the most impressionable people out there and knew you wanted to be one.

To you, there was no greater responsibility than that of a Kindergarten teacher. It was your responsibility to teach your students reading, writing, art, and music at the most basic level. You showed them how to play with others, how to be kind, and give them the tools necessary to succeed once they leave your classroom. You were the first teacher your students ever had, so you needed to make them fall in love with school instead of hate it, considering they’d have to stick to it until they were at least eighteen.

You’ve been a credentialed Kindergarten teacher for the last three years, and you’ve loved every moment of it. You were one of the younger teachers at school, but you never felt left out. Your colleagues were amazing people who often shared tips and tricks they wish they knew when they first started teaching.

Now, you were groggily unlocking the door to your classroom, feeling those first-day-of-school jitters you always felt. You knew kindergarteners weren’t there to harshly critique you. Still, you wanted them to go home and tell their parents about how excited they were to have you as a teacher, not run home in tears. That never happened, of course, but you didn’t want to take any chances. You drop your keys and mutter a quiet, “Shit!” setting your travel mug filled with coffee on the ground and readjust the box of donuts you had for your kids on your hip. As you reach for your keys, you hear a deep voice ask if you need help. You quickly turn around, eyes wide from being startled.

“Oh! You scared me,” you place your free hand over your chest. “But yeah, actually, that’d be great. I’m struggling to get my door open.” The man nods, his own keys he wore around his neck jangling as he retrieves first your keys, then your coffee mug.

“I’m Harry– Mr. Styles, if you want,” he holds your keys out for you to take, your coffee mug still in his large hands. “Uh, I’m the new Kindergarten teacher.” You give him a confused look and trade the box of donuts in your arms for your keys, opening the door. “The last one, Mrs. Brown, I think it was, I guess she decided a few weeks back that she wanted to retire.” You get your door open and walk inside your classroom, turning on the lights. It was a little stuffy, considering you hadn’t been there to open any windows in about a month.

“Oh, that’s right! Welcome,” you give him a warm smile. “I’m Y/N– Miss Y/L/N if you want.” A slight blush appears on his cheeks. “We’re gonna be working together then, it seems. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Mrs. Brown, but it’ll be nice to collaborate with someone closer to my age, you know?” Harry nods, and you realize he still had your coffee mug and box of donuts in his hands. “You can just set that on my desk, thanks for helping out. Would you like a donut?”

“Um, I- it’s okay,” he stammers, setting the items down. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ll probably crash if I have a donut first thing in the mornin’.” You smile at him and move to open all your windows and the back door, wanting the stuffy classroom to air out a bit before the children got here.

“I totally get that,” you giggle, walking back over to your desk. “Are you excited about the first day? I always get a little nervous. I also talk a lot when I’m nervous, I’m sure you caught onto that.”

For the first time that morning, Harry laughs. “Yeah, I’m nervous, too. ’ve never taught in the States before, so this is a bit new to me.” He’s playing with the keys hanging from his lanyard.

“I noticed you had an accent, but I didn’t know if it was weird to ask about it. What brings you to California?” You open the box of donuts and take one out, wanting to eat it before it gets cold, and the glaze hardens.

“Uh, I went to University here, but when I graduated, I decided to go back home and teach for a couple of years. I really missed being here though and wanted to come back, so I got my credentials, and uh, here I am,” he tells you with a grin, and you notice he has deep dimples.

“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” you tell him earnestly. “The kids are just gonna love your accent, too!” you joke and Harry laughs for the second time that day.

“If all else fails, ’m hopin’ to charm everyone over with my accent,” he stares at you for a moment before speaking again. “Well, I better finish getting situated. It’s fifteen til, and I reckon the children will be arriving soon, yeah?” He asks. You nod.

“Best to be waiting at parent drop-off too, there are always a few parents that are just as nervous as their babies, if not more, and could use a quick pep talk.”

“Thanks for lettin’ me know. I was thinking about standing out there anyway, just to make a good first impression.” You take another bite of your donut, giving him a thumbs up.

“You’ve got this, Harry. I know you’re not completely clueless since you’ve taught before, but I know the first day can be a little intimidating. You know where I am if you need anything.” He gives you a grateful smile, quietly thanking you before turning to walk out the door. You’re left thinking about your new coworker, only being pulled from your thoughts of him when the first bell rings.

“Good morning everyone, my name is Miss Y/L/N. Are you all excited to get this school year started?” A chorus of high-pitched yeses fills the room, and you smile warmly at your class. “I’m so excited that you’re all here! I have a little surprise for each of you!” You grab the box of donuts and walk back to the rug in the center of the room that the children usually sat on for storytime. Little gasps fill your ears, and they all say, “Donuts!” and “Yummy!”. You smile at the kids again, already feeling overwhelmed with how adorable they were.

“We all get a donut?” one little girl asks, her eyes wide. You nod at her.

“Of course! Everyone will get a donut, sweetie.” You move to get the plastic food gloves you kept so you can safely hand out a donut to everyone. “Okay guys, I’m going to pass a stack of napkins around the room. Take one and pass the stack to the person sitting next to you. Does that make sense?” All the students nod their heads in confirmation, so you grab a stack and hand them to the child sitting closest to you. “Once the last person has their napkin, let me know, and then it’ll be donut time!” You say this over-enthusiastically, and the children squirm in their seats in excitement.

As you go around handing out donuts to each of your students, you learn their names and ask them to tell you one fun fact about them. Most children say things like, “I have a brother/sister!” or “I can run really fast!”, and you find it absolutely adorable. One thing you loved the most about teaching five-year-olds was their ability to think everything was cool. It was comforting to know that no matter what you did, they’d find you cool, and your first-day jitters quickly dissipated. As the children eat their donuts, you read them a story, putting on different voices for all the various characters. You show them how to raise their hand when they have something they’d like to share and remind them to use their “listening ears” when you or one of their classmates are speaking.

When it’s time for recess, you show them how to line up quietly at the door, and assign a line leader and a hall monitor. You remind the children that they will all get a turn at these tasks eventually because it’ll switch every week, and not to worry. As you’re walking down the hall backward (one of your teachers walks that you’d finally perfected), you hear Harry’s voice.

“Okay Room Ten, we’re gonna go out to the playground now, where you all will get to play every recess and lunch. That sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” He asks them, and you hear little voices chattering out to him in excitement. You can’t help but peek into his classroom as you walked by, as his door was open. He didn’t see you because he was busy organizing his class into a straight line, so you keep going. Your class, who, much to your surprise, was walking very quietly, got loud once they saw the Kindergarten play area had a slide and monkey bars.

“We get to play on this?” one of your students, Destiny, questions.

“Yup! This is a pretty cool play area, isn’t it?” They nod and stare at you, waiting for direction. “Oh, you can all go play and run around, get some of that energy out. When the bell rings, though, I want you to listen to the yard teachers because they’re gonna help get you all lined back up so we can go back inside. Deal?” The children give you nods and thumbs up, and you grin at them, telling them to have fun and be nice to one another. As you’re turning to go to the teacher’s lounge to refill your mug of coffee, you see Harry walking down the hallway with his class, and decide to wait for him. He gives his class the same spiel you gave yours and tells them to “Treat each other with kindness” before noticing you waiting for him.

“Hey,” he gives you a grin, looking far more relaxed than he did when you saw him earlier that morning. “How’s it going so far?”

“It’s great,” you reply, leading him in the direction of the teacher’s lounge. “They’re all adorable.”

“Yeah, don’t know what I was so nervous fo’. They’re great. Also, you’re right,” Harry has an amused look on his face. “The first thirty minutes of ’em bein’ there was just them askin’ me to say things because they think I sound funny.”

“I told you!” you exclaim, laughing at him. “A British accent is definitely not something we hear every day, not here at least.”

“I figured,” he replies, and silence falls between you. “Where are we going, by the way?”

You stop in front of a blue door and sift through the keys on your lanyard, finally finding the one you were looking for. “Teacher’s lounge. Have you had the chance to check it out yet?” He shakes his head, and you pull open the door after having unlocked it. “After you.” He shakes his head and steps back, signaling you go ahead of him. You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he gives you a defensive look.

“What? ‘M a gentleman. Ladies first,” he insists, holding the door open. You walk inside the room, trying to refrain from rolling your eyes. There aren’t many teachers in the lounge. You figure they all must be in their classrooms, trying to do some last-minute organization and lesson planning amidst the first day of school chaos. However, a few colleagues that you’re rather fond of are in the room, so you take it upon yourself to introduce them to Harry.

“Hello everyone, I hope you’re all having a relaxing morning!” They chuckle lightly at your sarcasm. “I’d like you all to meet Mr. Harry Styles. He’s the new Kindergarten teacher that took Mrs. Brown’s place.” A look of realization washes over all three teachers’ faces, and they warmly greet him. Harry goes around, shaking each of their hands, voice dripping with charm.

“Lovely to meet you all. Looking forward to collaborating,” he tells them quietly. They begin engaging in polite conversation, so you leave Harry’s side, walking over to the coffee station to get what you came for before recess was over. He joins you shortly after, grabbing a disposable cup. “They were a nice bunch.” He mutters, pouring the steaming coffee into his cup. You hum in agreement.

“Everyone here is nice. The lounge is usually much more crowded than this. Everyone else must be in their rooms,” you flick your wrist up to check the time. “We got some time to sit down and breathe for a bit if you’d like? Unless you wanted to get back to your room.”

“‘M in no rush, trust me,” he tells you, flashing you a small smile. “Let’s take a seat.” Harry walks over to an unoccupied couch and sits down slowly, taking care not to spill his coffee.

“You didn’t want a lid?” you question when you see him struggling. He shrugs.

“Not necessary. Jus’ some extra plastic,” you hum and look down at your lap. You were quickly learning that Harry was not a big talker, and he liked to get his point across in as few words as possible. Him being a Kindergarten teacher contradicted heavily with his rather bashful demeanor, but that just made him all the more endearing to you.

“Do you live nearby, or is your commute long?” you ask him after a few moments of silence. As soon as you ask the question, you internally cringe, feeling like it was too invasive. If Harry thought the question was weird, he doesn’t show it.

“I live in town. I actually walked here today, believe it or not,” he tells you with a chuckle. “Was such a beautiful morning that I figured I should.” Every time you think Harry can’t possibly get any more captivating, he does, and you find yourself biting back a smile.

“How long is your walk?” You cross your legs and then uncross them, a nervous habit that you had. Harry takes a sip of coffee, mulling your question over.

“I’d say it took me about twenty minutes. I was walkin’ at a pretty leisurely pace, though,” Harry shrugs. “How about you? Do you live nearby?”

“I also live in town, but I’m way too lazy to walk, so props to you,” you smile. “The best thing about living around here is seeing your kids out in public. It’s the cutest thing.” Harry smiles, not saying anything else. A silence falls over the two of you again but instead of feeling the need to fill it, you just sit beside him, drinking your coffee. Your mind wanders off to what you were going to do for the rest of the school day, if you had enough groceries in your apartment for dinner or if you should go grocery shopping after work, and if you remembered to pay your bills on time. The bell rings to signify the end of recess, and you jump slightly.

“Ready to go back?” Harry asks, standing up and walking back over to the coffee station. “Think’m gonna get a bit more.” You go to stand by the door, waiting for him to pour another cup of coffee. He quickly rejoins you, and the coffee sloshes a bit, some getting on his hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Hope those lil’ buggers got some of their energy out.”

“Right! Mine was even more hyper than they probably would’ve been ’cause I gave them those donuts this morning,” you laugh. “So, for my sake, I hope so too.” When you and Harry arrive back at the Kindergarten play area, your classes are already lined up quietly awaiting instruction, thanks to the yard teachers. You and Harry both thank them and move to stand in front of your kids.

“Miss Y/L/N,” one of your children calls out from the back of the line. “Can we get more donuts when we go back inside?” You see Harry smile out of the corner of your eye as he’s giving instruction to his class.

“There are no more donuts, you guys ate them all! I have something even cooler than donuts planned for us, though, okay? Now, remember what I told you all about walking quietly, right? Mr. Line Leader, how does your line look? Do you think we’re all set to go back inside?” The child you appointed line leader turns around to look at everyone, occasionally shushing some people. After a few moments, he turns back to you, giving you a thumbs up.

Harry moves to stand beside you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Wanna eat lunch together and do some planning? I feel like it would be a good idea for us to be teachin’ the same things, more or less.” Your body feels warm all over, and you just look at him and nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Harry smiles and places a hand on your shoulder. At a normal volume, he says, “See you then, Miss Y/L/N.”

Upon entering Harry’s room, you’re immediately met with the scent of vanilla and the loud hum of the air conditioning. It was bright, adorably decorated, and surprisingly decluttered. It was the polar opposite of your room, and you found it very welcoming and comforting. “Nice set-up you’ve got going on in here,” you tell him. He jumps in his seat at his desk, not having heard you come in.

“Fucks sake,” he mumbles, face going red. “You scared me. Thanks, though. My sister helped me decorate, I don’t really have an eye for this type of stuff.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.

“Well, if you ever need any help decorating for back to school and your sister isn’t around, I’d be more than happy to help.” Harry smiles and suddenly gets up from his chair, offering it to you.

“Please, take my seat. I’ll just sit in one of the kids’ chairs,” he rolls it towards you, and you shake your head, about to object, but he interrupts you. “It’s okay, Y/N. Their chairs aren’t that bad.” You take the seat Harry was just in, mumbling a quiet thank you. He hums and pulls a tiny chair up beside you, legs scraping loudly across the floor. When he sits down in it, you can’t but burst out laughing.

“Harry, that chair is so tiny! Are you sure you don’t want me to sit there instead? You look so uncomfortable,” you tell him in between laughs. “This is your classroom, after all, I’m just a guest.” Harry shakes his head, cheeks flushed.

“It’s okay, Y/N, really. ‘M perfectly comfortable in this lil’ miniature chair,” he looks at the lunch bag you sat on his desk. “What’s for lunch?” You reach for your sack and unzip it, pulling out a pre-packaged salad from Trader Joe’s.

“I’m very lazy when it comes to packing my lunches,” you admit sheepishly, pulling out a fork. “How about you? Did you eat already?”

“Oh yeah, I had a green smoothie. Not a big lunch guy,” he replies calmly. “Wanna get started with planning? I think we only have about thirty minutes left.” He looks down at his watch to confirm the time. Harry opens his planner, and you see pages filled with his neat, blocky scrawl. He jumps right into talking about the ideas he had in mind, excitement filling his voice that you haven’t yet heard.

The passion and enthusiasm he has for teaching are evident through the way he tells you about the activities he has planned, new materials and teaching methods he wants to try implementing, and things he’s tried before that didn’t work out the way he wanted them to. He asks you for your advice and listens intently when you speak, jotting down notes.

You find yourself having to mentally remind yourself not to stare at him. He was a handsome man– there was no denying that. He had curly brown hair, soft and wild-looking, the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen, and arms covered in tattoos. You also noticed he had the tiniest cross on his left hand. You wanted to ask him about it, but you figured that was a conversation for another time.

“Y/N? Did you hear what I just said,” Harry asks, giving you a concerned look. “Are you alright? I think you just zoned out for a couple minutes or somethin’.” You nod quickly, feeling your palms growing sweaty.

“Oh yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something I have to do later. What did you just say?” You play off how you were just wholly drooling over your new coworker, feeling scrutinized under his piercing gaze.

“Jus’ got an email from the principal. Said we have a faculty meetin’ after school at three. Wanna go together?” He asks. You know Harry’s asking you to accompany him primarily because you’re the only person he really knows so far. However, it still makes you feel warm and special. “He said we’re gonna go over some planning for the Fall Festival. What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s just the back-to-school festival. It’s adorable,” you explain. “It’s like a mini carnival that we have right here on the playground. Every year they have teachers host booths. It’s a great way to get to meet your kids’ parents and bond with the other faculty.” Harry nods, standing up from the tiny chair right as the bell signifying the end of lunch rings.

“That sounds lovely,” he chirps, smiling down at you. “We’re gonna have the best booth out of everyone Y/N, trust me.” He jokes, the corner of his eyes crinkling. This was the most Harry had talked since you met him that morning and you were enjoying witnessing him open up to you more and more with each conversation shared.

“It is,” you stand up as well, gathering your trash and empty lunch pail. “Thanks for having me, Harry. Next time we can meet in my room. I wouldn’t mind making this a daily thing.” As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you physically wince, figuring Harry had to think you were obsessed with him at this point. He looks down, the corners of his mouth upturned when he makes eye contact with you again.

“I’d like that, Y/N. I’ll actually start bringin’ a proper lunch, so you’re not the only one eating,” you smile. “I’ll meet you in your room after school?” You nod in confirmation, walking out the door in front of him.

“See ya later.”

“Did everyone have a good day today?” You ask your class, walking backward to the dismissal gate. You’re met with a chorus of cheerful sounding ‘yeses,’ and you place your hand over your heart in a dramatic fashion. “That makes me so happy, everyone! You’re all incredible little people, and I think we’re gonna have a fantastic year. What do you guys think?” The children chatter excitedly, glad to have made it through their first day of school and see their parents on the other side of the gate eagerly awaiting them, cell phones snapping pictures.

Harry’s already at the gate, waiting for the bell to ring so he can dismiss his class. He’s walking down the line asking each of the children if they see who they’re supposed to go home with, crouching down to their height so they can point them out to him. Some children in his class look a little upset because they don’t see their parents yet. Harry quickly consoles them, telling them they can all play a fun game together while they wait for their ‘Mummies and Daddies.’

You do the same with your kids, and by the time the bell rings and you finish dismissing the ones who saw someone there to pick them up, there was one child from your class who was still waiting and two from Harry’s. He walks over to you, one of their tiny hands in each of his. The boy looks unbothered, but the girl was beginning to cry.

“Hey, Ava, should we ask Miss Y/L/N and her friend if they want to play iSpy with us? The more, the merrier, isn’t that right?” He looks down at her, and she nods, looking down. You figure she’s one of his more shy students he was telling you about earlier.

“Hi, sweetie! I’m Miss Y/L/N, are you waiting for your mom or dad?” She nods, biting her lip. You turn and gesture to your one student who was waiting as well. “Well, so is she! Don’t worry, they’ll be here.”

“I’m Matthew,” the little boy holding Harry’s other hand informs you, shifting from foot to foot. You give him a big smile.

“Hello, Matthew! I love your Spiderman shirt; he’s just the coolest. Jade, do you want to introduce yourself to Mr. Styles, Ava, and Matthew? Remember when we learned about introductions today in class? When you got to introduce yourself to all your classmates?”

Jade nods, a big, toothy grin on her face. “Hi! My name is Jade, and I am five-years-old but my birthday is September 19th, so I’m actually almost six-years-old,” she tells them matter-of-factly. “It’s very nice to meet you!” She adds, remembering the script you gave them earlier. Harry looks down at her, an impressed look on his face.

“Well, it is very lovely to meet you too, Jade! Do we all know how to play iSpy?” Jade and Matthew shout in excitement, but Ava just grips tighter onto Harry’s hand. He looks down at her again. “Do y’ want Miss Y/L/N and I to show you how to play, Ava?” His voice is very quiet, slow, and soothing. She nods, letting go of his hand.

“Well Ava,” you say, looking around for something to start the game out with. “I would say, “I spy with my little eye something green. Then you, Mr. Styles, Matthew, and Jade, would have to look around and name out everything that’s green. If you name something and it’s not it, then I will tell you nope, and you can try again, but if you figure it out, then you’re the winner! Does that make sense?”

She nods, and you see a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Can I go first?” She asks quietly. You tell her, yes, and she looks around quickly, trying to find something to say. “I spy with my little eye something blue!” She has a triumphant smile on her face, and even though you immediately know she’s talking about the sky and you’re sure Harry does too, you both decide to take a step back and let the children take the game into their own hands.

“Y’know, that lil’ introduction Jade gave was really somethin’. I didn’t even think about teachin’ my kids that. Think I’ll try that out tomorrow,” Harry whispers, craning his neck slightly to be at your ear. You shiver at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin.

“Yeah, I feel like that’s always a good first day of school activity for them to do. A lot of them have never really been exposed to people outside of their immediate family, so they’re not too sure how to talk to others.” Harry hums, standing back up straight.

“Mr. Styles,” Matthew calls, running over to Harry. “My mommy is here. Can I go now?” Harry nods, telling Matthew to wait for him so he can say hi to his mother. You watch as he walks away, overhearing as he tells the boy’s mother what a great job he did today and how he’s so excited to go through this school year with him in his class. Ten minutes later, Jade and Ava are gone as well, and Harry locks the dismissal gate.

“I forgot how exhausting the first day could be,” he tells you, letting out a quiet sigh. “Ready to go to that meeting, though? It’s just about three.” You check your watch and see the time read at 2:57 PM.

“Yeah, just let me grab my bag, and we can head over there. I’m really hoping this won’t take too long; I was planning on going grocery shopping after this,” you walk down the hall towards your classroom and feel Harry’s gaze on you.

“Where do you like to go grocery shopping?” he asks after a few moments of silence. “I need to pick up some groceries this week, too. ’ve been eatin’ takeout for the past week, and I’m starting to feel like shit.” You laugh, unlocking your door. Harry stands outside, holding it open while you grab your purse and lunch bag.

“Honestly, I don’t have a preference. I switch it up a lot,” you shrug, making sure all the windows are closed before walking out. “Was there something, in particular, you were looking for?”

“Uh,” Harry scratches the back of his head. “No? Maybe you could text me a list of all your favorite stores, though. Jus’ so I won’t forget.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, ignoring how fast your heart was beating. “Are you asking for my number, Mr. Styles?”

“I guess I am,” he replies nonchalantly. “We’re gonna be workin’ together a lot. Might as well have your number– if that’s okay, I mean.” He looks down at you.

“Yeah, remind me after the meeting,” you tell him, trying your hardest to play it cool. “Don’t let me forget.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

“So Y/N and Harry, you two will be in charge of the pumpkin decorating booth? Is that right?” The principal looks down at his notes and then shifts his gaze between the both of you. You both nod.

“Yeah, I’m excited! I think it’ll be a lot of fun,” you reply excitedly. “We can go to the craft store and get a bunch of paints, but where do you think the best place to get the pumpkins would be?” You pull out your planner, ready to jot down any suggestions.

“You two could try going to a pumpkin patch? They’re starting to pop-up around town,” one teacher suggests. “I’m sure if you purchased a bunch and told them it was for a school event, we could get some kind of deal.” The rest of the faculty buzzes in agreement.

“Y/N and Harry, could you get to a pumpkin patch sometimes this week and see if they can give us an estimate of how much it would cost? Then I could let the PTA know.” You and Harry confirm that it will be possible to do sometime this week, and the meeting continues on.

By the time you’re finally free to leave the meeting, it’s already growing dark outside. Harry’s hands are shoved in his pockets, and he’s looking down at his feet. “So–”

“Do you want–”

You both stop, laughing awkwardly. “You go first.” you tighten the grip on your purse.

“Uh, I was jus’ gonna ask if I could get your number now. Yanno, so we can plan when we’re gonna go get all the stuff for our booth? And you still gotta tell me what your favorite grocery stores are,” he has a playful look in his eyes. For the thousandth time that day, your hands become clammy. There was just something about every interaction you had with him that made you so nervous.

“Oh yeah,” you answer coolly, digging in your purse for your phone. “Just text your number, so I have it.” You hand him his phone, and he stops dead in his tracks, a look of concentration on his face.

“I can’t walk and be on the phone at the same time,” he mutters when he looks back up and realizes you were watching him the whole time. “I don’t know how people do it.” He hands you back your phone. “What were y’ gonna ask me?”

“I was just um, I was gonna ask if you wanted me to give you a ride home? I mean, since you walked to work today and it’ll be dark soon,” talking to Harry made you feel like a nervous school girl interacting with her first crush, and you hated that feeling.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that–”

“It’s no bother, really,” you cut him off, and you realize you sound a little eager, but at that point, you didn’t even care. “I’m sure we don’t live too far from each other.” Harry looks slightly unsure but nods, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“If you’re sure, Y/N. I appreciate it, I owe you one,” he’s following behind you to the teacher parking lot. You silently pray your car isn’t messy inside like it usually is as you approach it. You decide to pick up your pace and walk ahead of him, telling yourself if the passenger side was messy, you’d just quickly throw everything in the back. “Heyyyy, why’re you walkin’ so fast? Are you sure you’ve got the time to take me home?” He takes a few big strides and quickly catches up with your hurried, tiny ones.

“Yeah, of course, I have time,” you respond, unlocking your car as you approach it. “If it’s messy, then just ignore it.” you preface, honestly not remembering the state in which you left your car this morning when you walked into work.

“Don’t worry about it. You should see mine,” Harry jokes, and it immediately puts you at ease. As you’re about to open your door, Harry quickly rushes to your side, opening it himself. “Let me.”

His hand rests over yours, and you quickly pull it away, your body heating up. “Harry, I’m already right here. I can open my own car door.”

“I know you can. But I’m a gentle—“

“You’re a gentleman, I know,” you playfully roll your eyes and take a step back, allowing Harry to open your car door all the way. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t flattered and honestly a little bit turned on. He flashes you a smile as you situate yourself behind the wheel of the car and makes sure you’re all the way in before slamming it shut. You see him lightly jog around to the passenger side, and soon enough, he’s beside you, your car immediately starting to smell like his cologne.

“What music do you like to listen to?” Harry asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“You ask me a lot of random questions, Harry,” you reply, looking behind you as you slowly back out.

“Is it a crime to wanna get to know my new coworker?” you can hear a smile in his voice. “C’mon. What’s your favorite music to listen to?”

You shrug, looking both ways before exiting the parking lot. “Where do you live?”

“I don’t know my address yet. Just take a left at this light coming up. Favorite music?” Out of the corner of his eye, you see him scrolling through his music library.

“You don’t know your address yet?”

“No. I’ll play something random,” he says, tapping his hand on his knee. “You can take a right at that stop sign up there.” You put on your blinker and glance over your shoulder before switching lanes. Harry quickly pairs his phone with your Bluetooth, and a song you’re unfamiliar with blares through your speakers. Neither one of you says anything else, only speaking to each other when he’s giving you directions to his house, and you’re confirming what he said.

After two more songs, Harry says, “S’right up here.” He’s led you to a beautiful apartment complex— one you were looking at when you were moving out of your parent’s home but just couldn’t afford as a new graduate. You expertly parallel park and then turn the car off, a silence falling between the two of you.

“This is a nice complex,” you tell him after a moment. “Really close to school. I see why you opted to walk to work today.”

“Mhm,” he hums. His seatbelt is still fastened. “I understand if you’re busy, but did you wanna come in?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he quickly backtracks. “I mean— it’s just— remember the activity you taught your kids today? About introductions? Jus’ wanted to know if you could walk me through it, that’s all.”

“Oh. Well yeah, I can hang out for a bit.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and reach in the backseat for your purse that you threw haphazardly over your shoulder earlier.

“Will your boyfriend be okay with you coming in, though?” He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?” You’re slightly taken aback and oddly flattered that he thought you were in a relationship.

“I dunno,” his face grows red. “You got all weird when I opened doors for ya. Figured you had a boyfriend.”

“I don’t.”

“Cool.” More silence falls, this time an awkward one.

“Should we go inside now?” you unlock the doors, quickly getting out of the car. Harry follows behind you and waits for you to walk onto the sidewalk before going up the walkway.

“How close do you live to me?” Harry asks, punching in his gate code. He pulls the gate open and gestures for you to go ahead of him. You decide not to comment on it this time.

“A couple blocks away. I could probably walk over here if I was in the mood to,” Harry shuts the gate behind you and walks over to the first set of stairs, taking them two at a time. “I was interested in this complex when I was moving out of my parents’ but I settled on something else.” He hums, stopping in front of the first door at the top of the stairs. There’s a brown ‘Welcome!’ mat outside his door, along with a few potted plants.

“Here we are,” he looks over his shoulder as if he’s checking if you’re still there. “Excuse the boxes. ‘M not done unpacking yet.” He pushes open the door and steps in, quickly turning on the light. You’re met with the same sweet scent of vanilla that’s in his classroom. Considering he was in the process of unpacking, his apartment was reasonably tidy.

“It looks good in here,” your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. You were in your coworker’s house that you just met that day, and you could already feel yourself developing a crush on him. There was obviously no way you’d let this relationship progress past anything strictly professional, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to admire his beauty.

“Thanks,” he gives you a smile, relief washing over his face. “You can set your bag down if you want. Take a seat, make yourself at home.” He leaves the room, and you hear him rattling around in the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink? Wine? Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee sounds great,” you reply. You set your purse down on his coffee table and sit on the edge of his couch, inspecting his living room closer. There were two books on the table, both flipped upside down as a way to mark his page. There were a few more plants inside, similar to the ones in front of his door. There was a framed picture of him with two beautiful women you assumed to be his mother and sister. Harry comes back into the room a few minutes later, two steaming cups of black coffee in hand.

“Here you are, Miss Y/L/N,” he puts on an exaggerated posh accent, and you giggle.

“Why thank you, Mr. Styles,” you respond in the same voice. “Do you have cream and sugar?”

He wrinkles his nose. “I think I might have sugar. Is oat milk, okay? I don’t have cream.” He goes back to his kitchen to retrieve the items before you can tell him it’s okay, and you’ll just drink it black. You thank him, pouring the tiniest splash of oat milk into your coffee. You can feel his eyes on you as you add a bit of sugar, stir, taste, and then add some more.

“So,” you begin after your coffee is made to your liking. “What did you think about your first day? You can be honest since we’re not on campus anymore.” Harry laughs, looking down at his fingernails.

“Uh,” he starts. You notice he says, ‘uh’ a lot. “It was terrific. Not so sure I would’ve felt the same way if I didn’t have you to help me through it.”

“We’re partners in crime now, Harry. We’re the two Kindergarten teachers, and you’re the only other person there my age? We’ve definitely gotta stick together,” you give him a big smile. He doesn’t smile back but looks a bit troubled instead. You wait for him to speak, coming to accept that long pauses were just a thing when having a conversation with Harry.

“Y’know how I assumed you had a boyfriend earlier? I thought after I’d said that–– rather I hoped after I said that you’d be like,” he clears his throat. “‘Why, no! I don’t have a boyfriend. Do you have a girlfriend?’” He put on the worst American accent you’d ever heard to imitate your voice, causing you to laugh. “To which I would’ve replied with a simple ‘no.’”

Now it’s your turn to leave Harry wondering what you’re thinking for the first time all day. You can feel his eyes on you as you look at his couch cushions, noticing a bit of crumbs that you hadn’t seen before. “Are you flirting with me?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“You don’t even know me. We just met today.”

“Does that mean I can’t think you’re beautiful?”

You bite your lip, feeling yourself starting to grow a bit turned on by his forwardness. There was a part of you that would risk it all for just one night in bed with Harry because you just found him that attractive. The rational, adult side of you was screaming, ‘Don’t mix business with pleasure!’. By now, you had both moved closer on the couch to one another, knees nearly touching. “I think you’re beautiful, too.” He grins, setting his coffee cup down. You do the same.

“Would it be crazy of me to tell you that I really wanna kiss you right now?” His face is mere inches from yours, so close that you could smell the coffee on his breath. You shake your head.

“No. I really wanna kiss you too.”

“C’ mere, then.”

Harry leans forward a bit more until his lips are ghosting over yours. You pull at the collar of his shirt, bringing his already close body even closer to yours. His lips are softer than they look, and he’s a better kisser than you thought he’d be, too. He brings his hands up to tangle them in your hair, and that’s when you abruptly pull away, not wanting things to go too far. “We shouldn’t…” He looks at you with sad eyes, but he nods, understanding what you mean.

“Probably not the best idea?” his response comes out as more of a question than a statement, but you nod in agreement anyway.

“Definitely not. I’m um–– I’m actually gonna go,” you stand up, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “Thanks for the coffee, Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see––”

You’re out the door, rushing down the stairs before he can even finish his sentence.

The rest of the school week goes on without either one of you mentioning it. It’s a little awkward for a couple of days, but by the time Friday rolls around, both of you decide the best course of action to take regarding the kiss would be to act like it never happened.

You’re in your room at lunch hanging up your kids’ artwork they made during their ‘Free Time’ this morning, having declined Harry’s lunch invitation for the fourth time that week. You decided to pretend to be busy with work so you wouldn’t be too tempted to go into his room. To most people, you’re sure it looked like you were avoiding him–– and maybe you were. However, you were trying to get over this crush on him in the best way that you knew how.

“Need some help?”

You jump, nearly falling backward off the stepstool you were on. “Holy shit, Harry! You scared the hell out of me!” You feel your body getting warm, and you quickly look away, not wanting him to see how flustered you were.

“Sorry, you weren’t answering my texts, so I decided to come see what you were up to,” he walks over to where you were standing and hands you a piece of art, smiling at it before handing it to you. “You’ve got some artists in your class.”

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking him in the eyes. You hear him let out a quiet sigh.

“Still able to go see about getting those pumpkins ordered after work?”

You had completely forgotten that you and Harry decided today would be the day you’d go get the pumpkin situated figured out for your booth. For a second, you consider making an excuse to get out of it, but you decide against it. This was something that both of you were asked to do, not just him, and you didn’t want the fact that you let your attraction to him cloud your judgment getting in the way of your professional responsibilities.

“Yeah, that works.”

He doesn’t say anything, and even though you’re not looking at him, you can see the gears in his head turning. “Should we talk––”

You’re quite literally saved by the bell, the end of lunch interrupting where you knew he was about to lead the conversation. “I’ll see you after school? Did you walk here again? I can drive.” Harry nods slowly.

“Uh, yeah. he replies. “I walked. Uh, ’m gonna go get my kids. See you after school then?”

“Yup!” you respond, fake enthusiasm in your voice. Harry gives you one more look before walking out of your room. You wait until he’s all the way down the hall before following behind him to bring your class back inside. You knew you were the one making things awkward between you and Harry. However, the realistic part of you knew getting involved with your coworker was one of the worst ideas you’d ever had in your life. For now, you’d just tell yourself that you were probably more into Harry than he was into you and pray that would be enough to make you get over your crush.

“I haven’t been to a pumpkin patch since I was a kid.” Harry stuffs his hands farther into his pockets while yours are tightly hugging your chest. You hum, not saying anything. The car ride there was a little awkward, and you were glad it was so short. You could tell there was a lot Harry wanted to say, but you were glad he wasn’t saying it. You keep seeing him glance at you, but you pretend not to notice.

“What size pumpkins should we ask for? Small ones, huh?” Harry nods, looking around in childlike awe. There was a small petting zoo, booths selling warm drinks and kettle corn, and an obscene amount of children.

You walk around together for a moment before encountering a friendly-looking employee who looked like he could help you out. Harry takes over, explaining the situation, and why you need to order one hundred tiny pumpkins. While you’re waiting for the employee to ask the owner if that would even be possible, Harry turns to face you.

“Y/N? Can we talk about what happened on Monday?” you’re about to tell him that you’d rather not, but he continues. “I felt something during that kiss, Y/N. I’m not sure if you felt it too, but I don’t want things to be awkward between us. We have to get through an entire school year working side-by-side, and if you’re not interested, then I respect that one hundred percent, but I just want––”

“So the owner said that is possible!” The employee that was helping you out comes back with a form and clipboard in their hand. “Can you just fill out some information and let us know what time you need it tomorrow? The owner said he could get it delivered and give you guys a discount since you’re ordering so much.”

“That’s great!” you exclaim, taking the form from him. You were glad to have been saved from your conversation with Harry. You quickly go through and fill out everything you can, telling them they can bill your school’s PTA.

The walk back to your car is silent. You’re replaying what Harry was saying to you over in your head, thinking about what he was going to say before he was interrupted. He opens your car door like he’s been doing, but he doesn’t make eye contact with you or say a word as he slides into the passenger seat.

“Y’can just drop me off,” Harry says quietly. He leans your seat back and closes his eyes. You wait to see if he’ll connect his phone, but he doesn’t, so you turn on the radio at a volume so low it almost can’t be heard. It takes everything in you not to speed back to his place. You just wanted him out of your car. You had such strong feelings for him that it physically hurt, and restraining yourself from telling him how you really felt was growing harder and harder.

“We’re here.” your voice is a little hoarse from not saying anything. Harry slowly opens his eyes and unbuckles his seatbelt, opening the door.

“Right. Thanks for the ride. What time do we need to be at school to set up our booth by?”

“Four. I can pick you up if you want?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He closes the door and walks up to his gate without looking back at you once.

“Hi Miss Y/L/N! Hi Mr. Styles!”

Groups of your students had been coming up to you excitedly all evening. It made you happy to see that the Kindergarten classes were no longer divided. They were starting to hang out with one another. Their parents tell you how their children thought it was just the coolest thing to be on school grounds on a Saturday, and how even though it was only a week into the school year, they were having the best time. It was comments like this that made you fall in love with your job all over again.

Things between you and Harry were going well. It wasn’t awkward, but you think it was because you were both too busy helping children paint their pumpkins. You were glad that Harry didn’t take the bit of downtime the two of you had when no one was at your booth trying to talk about the kiss and instead talked about other random things instead. You find out he loves baking (specifically, bread), he has an obsession with old music, and has about fifty tattoos. He talks to his mom on the phone every day, and he is extremely close to his sister. You tell him about your parents’, your undergraduate experience, your hobbies, and you finally tell him what music you like to listen to.

The festival quickly comes to an end, and you find yourself sad once you and Harry are done cleaning up your booth, knowing that you were just going to drop him off at his apartment and go back to yours to spend another Saturday night alone. You get to his complex almost too quickly, and you almost want to keep going and pretend you accidentally missed it just to be with him a bit longer. Instead, you park.

“D’ya wanna come inside?” He blurts out. Even in the darkness of your car, you can tell his face is flushed. “I mean if you haven’t got plans. I know it’s a Saturday night, so I understand if––”

“Nope, I don’t have plans. I’d love to.” Your hands are shaky as you unbuckle your seatbelt. He quickly gets out of your car and runs around to your side, opening the door for you before you can do it yourself. You almost don’t even notice since it was becoming such a habit.

“I picked up this new bottle of wine a couple days ago that’ve been wanting to pop open. Think we deserve a glass or two after such a long week, hmm?” You wordlessly nod, wholly mesmerized with just how good Harry looked after such a long day of work. His curls fell perfectly across his forehead, his eyes were sparkling and full of excitement.

“A glass of wine sounds great,” you reply with a chuckle. “I’m ready to drink a whole bottle by the end of the week if I’m being honest.” Harry laughs, quickly punching in his gate code. You could see his hands shaking a little bit, but you decide not to comment on it. He takes the stairs up to his apartment two at a time like he did last time you were there, but this time there’s an urgency and clumsiness to his actions that you haven’t seen before. He jams the key in his lock, quickly shoving the door open.

His apartment is a little messier than it was when you were in it at the beginning of the week, but it’s nothing disgusting. He runs his fingers through his curls, moving aside papers that were scattered along the length of the couch. “Sorry, I was doin’ some planning. Make yourself comfortable.” He disappears to the kitchen, and moments later, you hear the pop of a wine cork and the smooth sound of him pouring the alcohol into glasses.

He emerges from his kitchen, handing you a generously poured glass of wine. “Thanks, Harry,” you tell him before taking a big sip. It was sweet, and while you usually preferred a more dry wine, it was still delicious.

“Cheers to the end of a successful first week,” he holds up his glass, and you smile, clinking yours with his. “Thanks for helpin’ me get through it, Y/N. Couldn’t have done it without you.” You give him a timid smile.

“Stop, Harry. You’re a great teacher. I can see your kids love you already,” you take another sip of wine. “I kinda do too. I mean–– that came out wrong. I don’t love you, but I do think I like you.” You didn’t know what came over you at that moment, but something told you now was the time to lay it all out on the table with Harry. He sets his glass of wine down, the biggest smile on his face.

“Really? I thought you weren’t interested. Was kinda startin’ to feel like you hate me,” he sounds a little sad. You shake your head.

“Quite the opposite, actually. I’m really into you,” you didn’t even realize how you’d inched your way towards Harry. “I’ve been trying not to think about how we kissed because we shouldn’t, you know? We’re coworkers. I’ve been trying not to think about it all week, though, and I just can’t get you out of my mind.” He stares intensely into your eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he usually does when he’s thinking.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” he finally asks. You’re in the same position as you were last time, being mere inches away from the other’s lips. Only this time, you smell the wine on his breath, not coffee. You nod quickly, and Harry cups your face in his hands, hungrily pressing his lips against yours.

“You can do more than kiss me, actually,” you tell him breathlessly. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, a shocked look on his face. “When you say anything…” he trails off.

“I want you to fuck me, Harry,” you tell him bluntly. “Please. Been wanting that all week.” He licks his lips, looking at you in a way he hasn’t yet before.

“I can definitely do that,” he replies, resting his hand on your thigh. His large hand is dangerously close to your pussy, and you can already feel yourself growing wet. “Let’s get all these clothes off you then, huh?”

You stand up and quickly start removing your clothes. First, your blouse comes off, and that’s quickly followed by your bra. Harry’s leaning back on the couch, arms resting behind his head. “Enjoying the show?” you ask, quickly pulling down your jeans and underwear. You’re completely naked in front of him in thirty seconds flat, and you reckon that’s the fastest you’ve ever undressed for anything.

“Very much so,” he mumbles, palming himself over his khakis. “C’ mere, Y/N.” he pats his lap, and you move to sit in it, now straddling him. He softly presses his lips against yours, the hunger that was there just a moment ago completely dissipated. This was a much more hesitant kiss, more gentle and tender. “You’re really beautiful, Y/N.”

You giggle. “I know. You’ve told me that before.”

“I want you to know how much I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

Harry nods. “Can I have a taste of ya now?” you notice that his accent sounds a bit thicker than usual, voice a tad gruffer. You nod, swallowing thickly. Climbing off Harry, you lay back on the couch, situating yourself, so it’s a little more comfortable. He looks into your eyes, placing his hands on your knees. “Is this okay, Y/N?” You nod again, and he removes his hands.

“What’s wrong?” your voice has a hint of desperation in it, but after a week of extreme sexual tension, you wanted nothing more than to cum by the hands of this man.

“Wanna hear you tell me it’s okay. I don’t wanna do anything you don’t want,” he’s looking down at his hands.

“Harry, I wouldn’t have given you a striptease and laid back on this couch for you if I didn’t want it. I wholeheartedly give you permission to do whatever you want with me––”

That’s enough for him. He roughly pries your legs open, immediately licking a long stripe up your heat. You cry out, not expecting him to get right into it. You look down at him and groan when you see he’s making eye contact with you, a smug look on his face. “How’s tha’, love?” You nod, tangling your hands in his curls.

“Yeah Harry, please,” you moan. Harry sucks harshly at your clit, pulling off loudly, the sound echoing throughout his minimally furnished apartment.

“Please what, pet?” He’s looking you dead in the eyes, a devilish grin on his face while his index finger rubs small circles on your clit. Your chest is heaving up and down quickly as you try to calm your breathing down.

“Please make me cum on your tongue, Harry,” you try pushing his head back down to your cunt, but he doesn’t budge.

“Think I rather like hearin’ you beg like this fo’ me. Enjoyin’ watching you squirm like tha’, love.” Just as your about to beg for him some more to feed his inflated ego, he attaches his lips to your clit once more, this time adding his ring finger into your tight pussy. “You’re tight. Sure you’ll be able to take my cock?” His voice is muffled, and you just barely make out what he says.

You clench around his finger, and he laughs, the vibrations sending a new sensation across your clit. “Y’like thinkin’ about my cock, hmm?”

“Yeah, want you in me,” you beg, lifting your hips up. He grips onto your hips tightly, keeping you in place.

“Can feel yeh gettin’ ready for me, darlin’. Think you can take another one?” You nod, and Harry gently places kitten licks on your swollen clit while he slowly pushes his middle finger into you. You feel full in a way you haven’t felt in such a long time, and he only had two fingers in you. Once he pumps his fingers in and out of you a few times, he goes back to harshly sucking on his clit, moaning every so often so you can feel the vibrations against your cunt.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning loudly, and you pray Harry’s neighbors don’t hear you, knowing how thin apartment walls were.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, doll,” he mutters, adding another finger inside you. The burn feels amazing, and you place your hand on his wrist, urging him to go faster. “Gonna cum in my mouth, hmm? Gonna let me feel ya around m’ fingers?”

“Yes, please, Harry,” you feel yourself nearly there, your orgasm threatening to overtake you at any moment.

“Give it to me then, Y/N. Cum for me,” he demands. As soon as he says those three words, you’re done for, your body going tense as waves of pleasure roll throughout your body. He doesn’t remove his digits from the your cunt until you’re coming down from your high, placing a kiss to your clit. He laughs as you shudder at the overstimulation. Harry places his three fingers that were just inside of you and his mouth and sucks on them, not once breaking eye contact with you.

“That was really good,” you tell him, crawling on your knees towards him to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw—Harry’s beaming, a triumphant look on his face.

“Not yet. Gotta make y’ cum one more time. I’m a gentleman, after all.” You know he’s messing with you but also serious, so you lean back on the couch, opening your legs once again.

“Are you gonna take off your clothes too? Why am I the only one that’s naked?” Harry laughs, and you hear the clanking of his belt as he undoes it.

“You’re impatient, aren’t ya?” you nod, and he pulls down his tenting khakis and tight boxers. His cock springs up, slightly touching his stomach, and he hisses at the feeling. “Hold on a sec.” He gets up quickly, and you hear him hurry to what you assume in the bathroom, rummaging around. He comes back a minute later with a box of condoms, making you laugh.

“Is that a new box of condoms? Have you been holding onto those all week, Mr. Styles?” Harry rolls his eyes and opens the box, ripping open a condom expertly with his teeth.

“Weren’t you just the one beggin’ for me, pet? I’d watch it if I were you,” he jokes, rolling the condom onto his hard length. He leans down to place wet, opened mouth kisses to your breasts. “So beautiful.”

“Are you gonna take off your shirt?” you ask quietly. “I kinda wanna see all your tattoos.” Harry raises an eyebrow at you but unbuttons his shirt nevertheless, throwing it into the mess of clothes scattered around the living room. You reach your hand up, shakily tracing the swallows on his chest, moving down to the butterfly across his stomach and finally to the ferns on his abdomen. Harry’s staring down at you, watching as you delicately touch his skin. “You have so many.” you finally say. He nods.

“Yeah. Some of them I just got for the hell of it. Felt like after I got that first tattoo, it was hard to stop.” He caresses the skin on your thighs, and you shudder again. “Gonna let me get inside that pretty lil’ cunt now?”

“Please.”

Harry aligns himself with your entrance and slowly pushes into you, sharply inhaling as you clench around his length. “Relax, Y/N.’ve got ya,” he tells you reassuringly. “Can’t get inside ya if you’re all tense like tha’.” You can tell Harry’s trying his hardest not to absolutely wreck you, the vein in his forehead very prominent from clenching his jaw so tightly. You grip tightly onto his bicep, biting your lip as you adjust to his size. You were so wet and indescribably turned on that you felt every vein his thick cock had to offer, and you knew you wouldn’t last long once he started moving. By the looks of it, Harry wouldn’t either.

“You can move,” you tell him, squeezing your eyes shut. Harry slowly pulls out of you and then ever so gently sinks back inside you, bottoming out. He lets out a breathy moan, moving one of his hands up to tweak your nipples. “Harder, Harry, fuck.”

He immediately pulls out of you and slams back inside, the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass echoing in the room. You scream in pleasure, no longer caring if his neighbors hear what you two were doing.

“Like tha’?” He asks cheekily, working up a steady rhythm. You nod, gripping your boobs to keep them from bouncing. Harry shakes his head, forcefully removing your hands. “Nope, none of that. Wanna see ’em.” He takes both of your hands in one of his, pinning them up over your head. His other hand reaches in between your bodies to rub at your clit, and before you have time to warn him, you’re cumming again, squirting all over his cock.

Harry throws his head back in pleasure, his thrusts getting sloppy and frantic, and you know he’s seconds away from his own orgasm. You spur him on, telling him how badly you wanted him to come inside of you (even though he was wearing a condom). He stills moments later, shaking above you as he holds himself up with an arm, not wanting to collapse on top of you.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N. Why did we wait a whole week to do this again?”

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #teacher!h

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13uswntimagines · 3 years

Text

Ghosted (Emily x Reader)

Request 1: sonnett where reader is really good friends with a goalie(your choice) and sonnett gets jealous because reader and goalie play for the same club and Emily is in Europe. Do she goes to Lindsey and reader thinks Emily is going to breakup with her and pushes her closer to the goalie and it’s a whole shit show

Request 2: Can you do a Emily Sonnett imagines where her and the reader are together but the reader use to date someone else on the team ( you can chose) and the comments gets to Emily. And the Reader shows Emily how much she loves her?

Request 3: Something with Jane Campbell please

Author’s Note: I thought these three would work very well together, so I combined them. Also, this one takes an interesting turn in the end and if you look closely enough there are hints to a very interesting dynamic and why reader and jane wouldn’t work out. Let me know what you think. I live for interactions and stuff. They help to keep me motivated.

It had been one hell of a year. It had started with both you and your girlfriend getting zero notice when the thorns traded her to Orlando and you to Houston. Then you had been trapped on opposite ends of the country due to the pandemic. That distance only got bigger when she decided to go to Sweden when Orlando pulled out of the challenge cup.

But the two of you had made it work. Well, at least you thought you had made it work. apparently, Emily thought differently, if the silent treatment you had gotten the second you stepped into camp 3 hours ago was anything to go by.

Hell, she wouldn’t even look in your direction. All you wanted was to hold your girlfriend (cause you hadn’t seen her in person in almost 6 months) and it felt like she didn’t even give a fuck that you were there. And Lindsey intercepted you every time you tried to get close.

You smiled as you approached your blond girlfriend, leaning on the squat rack next to her. Normally you’d wrap your arms around her and kiss her neck, but you didn’t want to overstep with this weird tension happening between you.

“Hey Em, wanna partner?” you asked softly, almost shyly.

Emily didn’t even turn to acknowledge you.

“I’m already with Linds,” She said tensely. Since when had she been so on edge around you?

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to understand what was happening between you and your girlfriend. You glanced down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting.

“Oh, maybe-“ You started, poking the squat rack with your shoe. You looked up, only to find that Emily had already walked away and joined Lindsey on the other side of the gym.

You sighed, finishing your thought into the blank air around you. “we could do dinner or something later. Guess not,”

You blew out a long breath, willing yourself to hold back the tears. She didn’t even wait to see what you were going to say. Your eyes followed her as she hugged the blond midfielder and laughed loudly at whatever she was saying. It was like a knife in your heart.

“What’s going on with you and Miss Sweden?” Hands on your shoulders and the voice right next to your ear should have made you jump, but you were too used to Jane’s scare tactics.

You rolled your eyes and shrugged the keeper off of you, your gaze never leaving Emily. “Honestly, I have no clue,” You sighed deeply. She had never been like this with you before, and you definitely hadn’t expected your reunion to go like this.

“Maybe it’s just jet lag. You know how she gets when she doesn’t get enough sleep,” Jane shrugged, poking at your dimples, trying to get you to laugh. You batted her hand away.

“The question is how you know that,” You said, sending her a scathing look.

She smirked impishly, wiggling her eyebrows. “I live with you, remember?”

You dramatically rolled your eyes, shoving your best friend. “I don’t think You’d ever let me forget,”

The only good thing about your trade to the dash was that you got to hang out with your best friend every day. You and Jane had known each other since college and instantly hit it off as friends. When you had been traded, Jane also just happened to be looking for a roommate and things had worked out pretty well.

“Well, if you’re still looking for a dinner date, I’m free tonight,” Jane hummed, wrapping an arm around you again.

“Been there, done that,” You scoffed playfully, shoving her again, but she didn’t let go of you this time.

So maybe the two of you had tried in college. It was more of a fling than anything else, and it had mutually ended on great terms. You loved each other, but you weren’t in love and that was alright. You decided you were way better off as friends than lovers and left it at that. Plus, you had kinda fallen insanely hard for a certain blond cavalier.

“Not that kind of date,” She giggled, letting you shove her ways this time (definitely taking note of how your lips ticked up and patting herself on the back for clearing some of the clouds on your sunny personality away).

“Whatever you say, now shut up and spot me,”

The two of you were so caught up that you didn’t see the annoyed blue eyes following you from across the room, or the clenched fists and jaw that would have told you exactly what the issue with your girlfriend was.

*****

You tried to smile as you entered the dining room, hoping that you would finally have the chance to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering your girlfriend.

You spotted her from across the room, seated at a table with Rose, Sam, and Mal. You released a breath that you didn’t know you were holding at the absence of a certain blond midfielder. Emily had been attached to her side, and watching them was like a knife in your chest, every interaction a slice at what felt like the tiny thread keeping your relationship together.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” You asked as you approached the table, stopping short of the seat next to your girlfriend.

She tensed, and you noted how her jaw clenched with furrowed eyebrows. She opened her mouth, but before she could respond another body slid between the two of you.

“Yeah, it is,” Lindsey said firmly, setting her plate down right in front of the seat in question. You frowned, and your fingers tightened around your plate. You bit your lip in an attempt to not say the thing that was on your mind. Despite how pissed off you were with the woman, she was your friend too.

You glanced around the table that was now awkwardly staring at you, your eyes landing on an empty seat next to Mal and across from Emily.

“Alright, what about that one?”

“Taken too,” Lindsey said shortly with a shrug. Mal glared at her. “No, it’s not, sit Y/n,”

The team was growing tired of the tension between you, and how sad you looked.

“Thanks,” You mumbled, sliding in beside Mal.

Silence fell over the table, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. You never felt so unwelcome around your friends before.

“Well I better get going,” Emily said after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, shoving the chair back and abruptly standing. Lindsey stood up next to her, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. Your chest ached at the hand placement and how Emily leaned into her.

You shot up too, clearing your throat and extending your hand. “Wait Em, I thought maybe we could talk after dinner?” You said, desperation clear in your voice. The table had never heard you like this before, had never seen a crack in your typically cool and unfailingly in control exterior.

“She’s already got plans,” Lindsey said with an eye roll, and Emily seems to tuck herself further into the taller midfielder. You gulped down the defeat and desperation threatening to crawl out of your chest.

“Oh, um maybe I could join you then?” You asked hopefully.

“Private plans Y/n.” Lindsey snapped, already beginning to guide Emily out of the room, seemingly careless to what you had to say. The blond defender didn’t even give you the courtesy of eye contact as she left.

“Sure, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then. I love you, Emily,” You called after their backs, watching them go.

Everything in you seemed to deflate. It felt like she was leaving with a piece of you like she didn’t even care you were crumbling behind her. You didn’t try to stop the tears as they fell this time, slumping miserably back into your seat.

A warm presence knelt next to you, and soft but calloused hands gently wiped the tears burning down your face.

You met the keeper’s concerned blue eyes and allowed her to pull you into her strong embrace, hiding your face in her neck.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” You sobbed. Jane rubbed large circles on your back with one hand and squeezed you tight with the otherHands-onother hand was trying to hold your broken pieces together.

“I don’t know either,” She said, kissing the side of your head.

You missed Emily pausing at the door to send you one last look, but Jane didn’t. Her eyes bored into the blond defender. If she thought she could just jerk you around like this with no consequences then she had another thing coming.

Jane wasn’t romantically attracted to you, but you were her best friend and she wasn’t about to let you continue to get hurt. Emily might be able to avoid you, but she wouldn’t be able to avoid Jane, the keeper would make sure of it.

****

“Alright cut the Bullshit Sweden, you’ve been ignoring Y/n for a week. What the fuck is your problem,” Jane growled, stepping into the nearly empty locker room and glaring at your girlfriend. She knew you could more than take care of yourself, but this had gone on long enough.

Emily tensed at the new presence, back straightening and eye going wide. She hadn’t bet on the head of the Houston department of defense to get involved.

“Fuck off Campbell,” Lindsey said back, stepping so she was standing protectively in front of her best friend.

“I will not because your best friend there is hurting my best friend,” Jane took another step towards the duo, puffing out her chest.

“Yeah right, she’s barely even noticed,” Emily scoffed, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

“See, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that considering she’s cried herself to sleep every night since she’s been here,” Jane said, taking another terrifying step forward, stabbing her finger wildly into the air.

She had been the one to hold you while you sobbed yourself to sleep because you were sure Emily had fallen out of love with you. The one who watched you agonize over every interaction you had with your girlfriend leading up to camp, trying to find where you had gone wrong. The one who listened to you degrade yourself for apparently driving Emily away and right into Lindsey’s arms. She was watching as you literally ripped yourself apart over this.

“And what, You didn’t enjoy comforting your new girlfriend?” Lindsey scoffed loudly, shoving Jane’s hand (which was practically touching her chest) away.

“What?” Jane asked shocked.

Emily peeked over Lindsey’s shoulder, scowling at the keeper. Anyone with eyes knew what they meant. “Look, I know she’s cheating so you can both drop the friends act,”

Jane oils to help the laugh that bubbled out of her lips. God, Emily was clueless if she thought you two were anything more than friends. Sure you had tried in college, but there weren’t romantic feelings there. You both wanted such different things out of a partner and agreed that you were better off as friends. Emily was your person, and Jane would be damned if anyone said anything different.

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think she wants anyone but you and if you weren’t so far up Horan‘s ass you would know that. If you wanna break up with her to date Miss Portland then grow some balls and do it, but don’t you dare try and ghost the sweetest person in the world,”

“You would love that wouldn’t you?” Emily spat.

Jane rolled her eyes. “No, because it would hurt her more than you already have. She loves you, and I thought you loved her. If you do, then you should show it,”

Emily seemed to soften at Jane’s words. She did love you, more than life itself. She really had to talk this whole thing out with you. Jane didn’t give her a chance to respond, deciding that storming off to find you and make sure you were ready for practice was a more productive use of time (she would never admit that it scared her a little to leave you alone these days).

*****

Emily wasn’t a jealous person. At least she tried not to be. But it was really fucking difficult when it came to you and your friendship with Jane. Well, it was difficult in the beginning, when she had you next to her, but with you so far away it was nearly unbearable.

She hadn’t minded that the Dash moved you into Jane’s apartment, but then the comments started and they wouldn’t leave her alone. Instead of turning to you, talking it out with you, she had gone running to her own best friend. And in her effort to run from the fear that you wouldn’t choose her, she had hurt you in the process.

She watched you from across the field, taking in the slight tilt of your head and slump of your shoulders. You smiled tightly at the keeper as she approached you, but Emily could tell that it didn’t reach your eyes, even from across the field. She also knew it wasn’t the blinding smile you saved solely for her. How hadn’t she noticed it before?

“Jane was a little crude but she’s right you know,” Lindsey said, wrapping an arm around Emily’s shoulder, her eyes easily finding you.

She felt bad about how Emily was treating you.

“About which part?” Emily asked, raising her eyebrow and crossing her arms. Jane had said a whole lot, and she couldn’t find it within herself to disagree with them. It was childish to ignore you, and for her to be oblivious to your obvious feelings.

“Don’t play dumb,” Lindsey scoffed, pinching Emily’s side a little harder than necessary. She didn’t like being the middleman between the two of you. You were her friend too after all.

Emily sighed crossing her arms a little tighter around herself. “I know. I need to talk to talk to her,”

“I’m sure when she finds out what’s bothering you, there’ll be a whole lot more than talking. Isn’t communication one of those rules between the two of you?” Lindsey asked with a smirk, laughing loudly when Emily shoved her. The team knew about your relationship… dynamic and Lindsey was sure Emily was in for it when you realized exactly why the defender had broken your most sacred agreement.

“Shut up,”

Emily’s cheeks flavored up at the implication. He was sure you’d come up with a very… creative… way to aid her in expressing her feelings next time and show her how much you loved her when you found out what this whole thing was about.

*****

You watched Emily very carefully from your perch on the end of the bed. She had dragged you here right after practice, and as soon as the door closed the words were pouring out of her lips.

You sat quietly, letting her finally get out the emotions she had been keeping from you for so long. She explained how the comments on Houston’s latest photo of you and Jane had started this whole shit show, and how terrified she was that you would decide you didn’t want to deal with the distance.

You let her pace back and forth as she told you about how she didn’t want to confront the issue, so she thought ignoring you would be a better course of action. It didn’t give you a chance to tell her that you didn’t want to be with her anymore.

She finally paused, turning to look at you with wide tearful eyes, wringing her hands nervously in front of her.

“I don’t have romantic feelings for Jane,” You said seriously, looking your girlfriend right in the eyes. You wanted her to know how true those words were. She knew that tone and had this been a different conversation it would have sent a chill down her spine.

“I know I just-“ She started, but you cut her rambling off an eyebrow raise and your firm voice“Got jealous and thought that cutting your losses was better than coming to me,”

It was a rule in your relationship- communication was king. The only way things got done was if you talked about them. You talked through every aspect of your relationship, every like and dislike, every limit and desire. This situation broke every rule you had established and that didn’t sit well with you. You couldn’t be the only one initiating (or trying to), she had to do it too (especially if she was uncomfortable with something) for this whole thing to work. It scared you a little that she had just shut down and run off to Lindsey.

Emily nodded slightly, staring a hole in your shirt.

“I thought you had moved on already,” She mumbled.

You stood from the bed, gently using a finger to tilt her head so you could look her in the eyes. You raised an eyebrow. “So you got cozy with Lindsey to make me feel as jealous as you were and then wouldn’t respond to me as punishment?”

“I’m sorry, I just thought it would hurt less,” She mumbled, captivated by your y/e/c eyes and the little swirl of deeper emotion hidden inside.

You nodded. stepping closer so your noises were almost touching and gently grasping her shoulders. “I love you Emily Ann Sonnett, even when you’re being a dumbass and ghosting me,”

She could feel your breath fanning over her lips, only adding to the weight of your words.

“I love you too,” Emily said, and you could see the truth to her words in her blue eyes.

You smirked. “I know,”

You leaned down and finally connected your lips. She grabbed your collar and pulled you closer, pouting all of her emotions into the kiss, trying to show you how much she loved you and how sorry she was for hurting you.

Your lips moved together in a very familiar dance, slow and full of all of the emotions between you. At some point, you had flipped the two of you around so Emily was seated on edge of the bed. You pulled back and began to trail kisses down your girlfriend’s neck.

She tilted her head to give you more room, sighing and moaning as you trailed your way down her chest, stomach, and thighs, placing kisses as you went until you were kneeling between her legs. Your fingers toyed with the waistband of her pants, an annoying cocky smirk plaster on your face when she whined that you were going too slow.

“No, no baby girl. We’re going to work on your communication skills, so I’m not going to do anything unless you tell me exactly what you want,”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #emily sonnett x reader #emily sonnett imagine

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years

Text

Flatmates - Harry Styles

i listened to kiwi while writing it so i strongly advise to listen to is while reading as well. without any further ado, i present you this flatmate!harry fic with some steamy smut!

word count: ~9k

warning: smut

masterlist

You were desperate to find a place to live, to say the least. You’ve always had trouble remembering deadlines and important dates, and thanks to this charming trait of yours, you successfully missed the deadline of the college dormitory applications. After a day of solid panic you started looking for cheap apartments, but living off campus seemed to be something only rich people could afford. Rents were ridiculously high and you were certain you couldn’t afford to spend thousands of dollars for a room smaller than your pantry back at home. You watched ad after ad, making calls all day for a week straight, but at the end, you always went to bed with the thought that you’ll have to live under a bridge through the first semester of your freshman year.

It was until a friend of yours, Rita, who was mature enough to apply to the dormitory in time called you with the best news you could receive.

“This friend of my future roomie is looking for a flat mate. You gave me his number, maybe you could give him a call and see if the room is still available. Just tell him Kimberly gave you his number, I’m sure he’ll offer you the room on a nicer price.”

“Oh my God, you just saved my life!” you gasped, almost feeling like crying. “I owe you big time, Rita!”

You called right away, not wanting to waste any time and maybe have the room already rented by then. A deep, male voice answered the call in a soothing British accent.

“Harry Styles,” he said in a calm tone.

“Hey! My name is Y/N and I got your number from Kimberly. I’m looking for a place to live from September and I was told you have a room to rent?”

Harry sounded a little hesitant at first, asked a few questions about you to have a better picture of you, but eventually offered the room. You quickly agreed that you’d be able to move in at the end of August. You were thankful you had one less worry about school finally.

August rolled around the corner faster than you expected and in no time, half your life was packed up into boxes and suitcases as you and your dad drove two hours on a Saturday to get you all settled in your new home. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen Harry just yet. Though you did search up his name, but he was the kind to never post about himself, but mostly about guitars, landscapes and animals. His Instagram was dry, no trait of what he looked like or even the slightest hint about himself. There was only one photo that featured the outline of a guy, which makes it clear that the person was fully naked, no trace of any clothes hanging on his body, but it was completely dark, so nothing could be really seen. However the tag on the figure made you think it wasn’t him, so it didn’t matter. His Facebook seemed even sadder, barely any posts, not even a decent profile picture. You were surprised to see there are people who don’t really use social media, but you didn’t take it as a bad sign. Harry must be a private person and you had nothing against that.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to move in with a guy you’ve never met before?” your dad asks as the two of you are unloading the car in front of the apartment complex. Glancing up you shrug your shoulders with a little excitement, knowing that you are only minutes away from finally seeing the person you are gonna spend your next months living with.

“He sounded like a decent person, and I really don’t have any other choice, dad. Or do you want me to sleep in a park or something?”

“God, no. You really should be more careful about those deadlines next time,” he sighs kissing the top of your head before shutting the back of the car once everything is set on the ground.

“Don’t worry, I already bought a calendar so I can keep better track of everything.”

When you first told your parents that you’d be living with Harry, they didn’t seem to be a fan of the idea, but they realized you weren’t really swimming in options at the moment so they eventually come to peace that their daughter is going to be living with a guy. They didn’t make a big deal out of it, knowing well you were an adult now practically who can make choices for herself.

The two of you manage to bring everything up to the third floor and you ring the doorbell since you don’t have your keys yet. You immediately recognize Harry’s British accent as he calls out a “coming!” from the other side of the door and a few seconds later it opens, revealing him.

Your first thought is that he is tall. Very tall and oh my! How handsome! His green eyes find your gaze and his dimples come out as he smiles at you happily. This man is surely a nice sight, you think to yourself, but you quickly bring yourself back to reality as he takes a look at all the stuff surrounding you.

“Y/N, why didn’t you call me that you were here? I could have helped you!” Taking a step outside he stretches his hand out for your dad. “Nice to meet ya, you must be Mr. Y/L/N. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” your dad nods at him shaking his head before Harry grabs a box from the floor himself, holding the door open for you.

“Come on in!”

The three of you quickly bring everything inside from the hallway and you finally have a moment to look around. It’s not a big apartment, but seemingly perfect for two people. Walking in you have a small kitchen on the left and a little dining area on the right with a simple table and four chairs around it. Further inside is the living room, it’s nicely furnished very bright thanks to the large windows across the front door. On the left there’s a door that leads to the bathroom and on the right there’s a small hallway, two doors on each side. The two rooms are exactly the same size, so there was no need to have a discussion about who is getting which room. Not that you were gonna go against Harry when he literally saved your life with letting you stay with him.

The place seems tidy and neat, it’s clear that Harry takes good care of his home and that is for sure a relief.

Your room has a double bed, a desk with a chair, a dresser and a built in little closet. Everything is white or a light beige color, nothing extreme and you already have plans about how you want to decorate it to make it cozier.

“I left two shelves free for you out of the three. I have a few hair products, but I figured you’d need more space,” Harry tells you when you put a smaller box into the bathroom that has all your toiletries.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

Your dad sticks around a little longer helping you unpack some of the bigger boxes, then you walk him down to his car before he leaves.

“Please call your mother often. You know how much she worries about you,” he asks as he pulls you into a quick hug.

“Will do.”

“And call us anytime you need help. Two hours is not that far away, I can always come and get you.”

“I’ll be alright, dad, but thank you.”

You watch him climb into the car and he rolls down the windows waving in your way as he leaves from the parking lot. You stand there until he disappears on the corner and then go back up to your apartment.

Harry is sitting in the living room when you get back, some quiet music playing from the Bluetooth speaker as he reads a book. He glances up at you and you flash him a smile closing the door behind you.

“Your dad seemed quite okay with you living with a guy.”

“He had time to get used to it. They’re not that strict though.”

“That’s cool. I was thinking, maybe we could order some food when you’re done unpacking and just get to know each other a little more.”

“That sounds great!” you smile, but can’t ignore how fast your heart is beating in your chest. Harry surely has an effect on you that you’ll need to gain control over if you don’t want to make living together hard for yourself.

It takes quite some time to unpack everything and find the right place for your stuff, you don’t even finish by the time the food arrives so you decide to leave the rest for tomorrow.

The Chinese food is all set on the table when you walk out and Harry is getting two plates for the two of you.

“Settled in?” he asks as you take one of the chairs and he sits across you.

“Not fully, but I’m getting there,” you chuckle as he hands you your order. “Thank you.”

You talk over the food, just getting to know each other and you finally get a better picture of Harry. It’s his third year of college, he is studying music and pedagogy, intending to one day use music as a helping tool for kids who have learning difficulties. He is a big fan of collecting vinyls and quite passionate about trashy rom coms.

“Really?” you chuckle when he mentions how his Netflix queue is filled with romantic movies.

“Guilty pleasure,” he nods smirking.

You tell a little about yourself too and he seems genuinely interested, which feels nice. You would have hated if he found your interests boring and negligible, but that’s not the case.

“How come you couldn’t find a roommate for so long?” you ask the question that’s been in the back of your mind for quite a while now. Both of you are done eating and you’re cleaning up the table.

Nothing really stood out about Harry just yet, it’s quite a mystery for you why he couldn’t find someone to live with him.

“Well, you could say I’m a little picky in this field. Lived with my best mate first year, and though I absolutely love him, he was horrible to live with. Felt like his personal maid the whole time. When Niall moved in with his girlfriend and I had to move on my own I promised myself I would choose carefully. Lived with a PhD student last year, he was pretty great, but he moved out when he graduated, and I couldn’t really find someone I liked since then.”

“Glad I passed then,” you chuckle as you take the dishes and start washing them while Harry stands next to you, leaning against the edge of the counter.

“You seemed like a decent person to live with, I hope I won’t be wrong about that,” he chuckles, but you can tell he is still a little scared you might turn out to be a total asshole.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be too much trouble. I’m quiet like a mouse and clean up after myself.”

“That’s all that matters,” he smiles. “Alright, I have some things to finish, I’ll be in my room if you need help with anything.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

He waves in your way before disappearing in his bedroom.

You spend most of your Sunday unpacking what was left and running errands, buying groceries so you don’t have to go to the store every other day during the week. You occasionally meet Harry in the kitchen or the living room, but you both just do your own thing and it’s totally fine by you.

School starts quiet smoothly, Harry was kind enough to give you a rundown of where you’ll find your lecture halls so you don’t really get lost around campus, easily finding your way.

Friday afternoon you and Rita are sitting at a café near campus to discuss the first week of school. You don’t have any classes together, so only grabbed lunch two times all week, but didn’t have more than twenty minutes together before one of you had to run to a class. Now you are both comfortably sat in a booth with two cappuccinos and plenty of time to talk.

“So, how is living with Harry?” she curiously asks.

“He is great! Though we don’t meet that much. He has a band so he has practice three times a week, spends the rest of his time at home reading or watching TV.”

You ate dinner together twice this week, but you haven’t really had the courage to join him in the living room when he was watching TV. It sounds stupid but you figured maybe it would bother him if you were out there with him. And since he didn’t invite you either, you just stayed in your room mostly.

“Kimberly told me he is hot, is that true?” she asks with a smirk as she takes a sip from her hot drink. You immediately feel your cheeks heating up.

“Well, he surely is a good looking guy,” you breathe out.

“Lucky you! There’s not much of those in an all girls dorm,” she pouts and you chuckle. “So are you gonna make a move on him?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you shake your head laughing.

“Why not?”

“Because we live together and if he rejects me that would be so awkward for the rest of our time living together.”

“But you can’t know for sure if he would reject,” she points out, but she can’t bring up one thing that would change your mind.

“It’s better not to take the odds. I don’t want to end up on the street.”

As the days go by, things start to get busier in your everydays. Assignments and papers start to pile up so you have to start working on them if you don’t want to leave everything to the last moment. You become a regular in the library, the atmosphere is great for you to get into the flow and get a lot of work done.

It seems like Harry is in the same shoe, he is often in and out of the apartment, sometimes only spends home just a couple of minutes before he leaves again. However they slowly get accustomed to each other, learn the ways the other likes things and work up a schedule for things. Harry learns that Y/N likes to take a shower twice a day and washes her hair usually on Wednesdays and Sundays, so he doesn’t try to take too much time in the bathroom on those days. He also notices how she doesn’t have time to wash the dishes after herself on Thursdays when she just runs home to have a quick bite before she has to leave for another lecture, so they came to a silent agreement where Harry cleans up after her on Thursdays while she takes up on the dishes on Saturday when Harry leaves to band practice at eight.

They work well together and soon enough all of Harry’s doubts about Y/N fade into nothing and he realizes he has made the right choice with her.

Usually she stays at the library until seven on Mondays, but this week they are closing early because they are rearranging a whole department, so Y/N leaves a little after five. She pays a quick trip to the grocery store before she heads home. Opening up the door she immediately hears the music playing, one of Harry’s vinyls is twirling around in the record player and she hears the water running in the bathroom. Setting her bags on the counter she starts unpacking the groceries.

The music and the running water pushed the sound of her arriving down, Harry didn't realize that you were home early when he opens the bathroom door, singing to himself wearing absolutely nothing as he wants to go and grab a pair of clean underwear, but he is shocked to see you standing in the kitchen.

“Shit!” he snaps, hands immediately flying to cover himself as he sprints back to the bathroom quickly grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

Your cheeks are heating up immediately even though you didn’t see anything you weren’t supposed to, the counter top covered him just right above the critical line, but it’s the first time you’ve seen his upper body completely naked.

Even though it was just a spit second, the sight of his many tattoos and the defined V-line leading down to his crotch burned straight into your mind, leaving you flustered and shy all of a sudden.

“Sorry! I should have let you know I was coming home early!” you call out turning around, as if he was about to walk out naked again. Harry chuckles lightly as he returns, this time a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Don’t be silly, you don’t have to check in when you come home. It was my fault, I shouldn’t just walk around naked assuming you wouldn’t be home.”

You should, you think to yourself gulping as you turn around and dare to look at him again. You don’t see less than just a few seconds ago, his chest is glistening from the dampness, his curls are still wet and you are having a hard time not to stare at the tattoos on his lower stomach, so you busy yourself with the rest of your groceries as he walks into his room and returns in a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asks disappearing in the bathroom, but he leaves the door open and you hear him shuffle around, probably fixing up his hair. He uses some kind of mousse that keeps his curls perfectly and also happens to smell like mango and some kind of citrus.

“Um, not really.”

“We’re playing at this bar with the band, wanna come and watch us?” Walking out of the bathroom he switches the light off before walking to the couch and opening up his Netflix account on the TV. His invitation surprises you, but it also feels nice he wants you there.

“Oh, sounds fun! Can I bring someone?”

“Of course! I can have a table reserved for you, if you’d like,” he smiles at you before turning his attention to the screen.

“That would be great, thanks.”

You feel like after your little encounter it’s probably not the best day to join him at the TV, especially because you can’t stop yourself from blushing every time you look at him. The sight of his naked torso pops up in your mind every time and there’s no way you can just casually sit on the couch with him without your body lighting up on fire.

Rita is excited when you tell her about the invitation, you don’t even have to convince her to go with you since she is dying to finally meet Harry. When he leaves in the early afternoon on Saturday he assures you that there’s gonna be a table reserved under your name, and off he goes to practice, leaving you alone for the rest of the day since he tells you he won’t be back before the concert tonight. Rita comes over around six and the two of you get ready together.

“You have to wear something spicy,” she wiggles her eyebrows at you while you sit at your desk applying mascara to your lashes.

“I don’t want to overdress, it’s just a bar.”

“Yeah, but Harry invited you. I bet he wants you to see him play.”

“Of course he wants, why else would he invite me?” you ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“You don’t get it,” she chuckles turning to you, hands on her hips. “He wants you to see him play because it feeds his ego. Maybe even turns him on.”

“Stop acting like there is anything between us. We are flatmates and that’s all.”

“I think he wants to be more, you’re just too pussy to make a move yourself,” she shrugs turning back to your closet.

“Stop calling me a pussy for not wanting to make it awkward for the two of us to live together. I’m pretty sure Harry doesn’t see me as anything more than just the person he lives with.”

“Then we have to change that. And I think this is the perfect dress for that.”

Rita pulls out a little black dress you bought about a year ago, but never really got around to wear it. It’s so tight, pushes your tits up way too much for your liking, you’re not even sure why you bought it in the first place.

“I’m not wearing that,” you shake your head.

“Are you afraid he might get a boner from you in it?”

“Rita!” you snap at her, but she just chuckles.

“Look, if you’re so sure he doesn’t want you like that, why does it matter what you wear?”

She has a point. It’s not like this dress will change anything and it would be nice to wear at least once in your life this stupid dress if you bought it.

Grabbing it from her hands you throw it to the bed and start undressing as she claps in victory.

You remembered right, the dress leaves close to nothing to the imagination when it comes to your figure. The fabric hugs your figure tightly, and you put on a lacy bralette that peeks out at the top of the dress, kind of covering some more from your skin, since the dress doesn’t do much in that field itself. Rita tries to convince you not to take a jacket, but you throw your denim jacket on, feeling the need to have something give you the slightest sense of being covered.

You arrive at the bar twenty minutes before the concert starts and it’s a good thing Harry reserved a table for you, because the place is packed. You’re not sure if it’s because of them or it’s just a regular Saturday evening.

The little stage is all set up, but you see no sign of Harry anywhere as the two of you settle at your table with a drink. Luckily, the bartender did not ask for an ID, he was too busy looking at your chest. At least there’s one good thing in this dress.

The drum set at the back has the name of the band on it and you smile reading it. The word ‘Stylish’ is printed on it with bold blue letters, referring to Harry’s last name, who is most likely the front man of the band.

The place is buzzing and the two of you enjoy being out at a bar concert. When the lights go down you finally spot him walking out of the back followed by a guy and two girls.

“Welcome, folks,” he greets the audience, his accent filling up the place over the chatters. A round of cheering answers him, making him smile. “Thank you for coming out tonight, we hope to entertain you in the next hour. Our name is Stylish and now let’s get down to business,” he smirks and just as he takes a step back from the mic, the band starts playing. Harry grabs a guitar himself before stepping back to the mic and then he starts singing.

They play a mixture of covers and original songs, the transition between them is so smooth you sometimes forget it’s a whole different song that’s playing. Harry is clearly enjoying the spotlight, his presence on the stage is so natural and capturing, you often catch yourself forgetting about the rest of the band.

One song follows the other and you don’t even realize how fast this hour passes by. Harry sometimes stops in-between songs, entertaining the audience with small jokes and just casually interacting with them.

“Our last song is up next, so let me take a moment to introduce the band,” Harry speaks into the mic while softly playing the guitar so it’s not completely quiet as he talks. “At the drums, the amazing and talented Sarah Jones!”

A round of applause fills the bar as Sara waves around smiling widely, before Harry moves on to the next member.

“Playing the piano, the wonderful Charlotte Clark!”

Charlotte plays a short melody on the keys matching up with what Harry has been playing, before she also waves at the audience.

“The guy who is a way better guitarist than me, Mitch Rowland.”

Harry’s comment makes the audience laugh and Mitch just nods shyly, a smile pulling on his lips under his mustache.

“And this handsome Brit who sometimes acts like a comedian,” Sarah starts leaning closer to her mic. “Harry Styles.”

It’s no surprise that Harry gets the biggest cheering and he smirks sweetly, his fingers still strumming on the guitar. The clapping and screaming slowly dies down and as Harry steps back to his mic they start the last song.

It’s quite an upbeat, funky song, you just can’t resist dancing around on your chair and seemingly Rita is enjoying herself as well, cheering with her beer in her hand. The song comes to an end and they all line up at the front of the stage bowing down together as the whole bar cheers on them as one person.

“Woah, this was… something else,” Rita breathes out once they disappear at the back and chatter fills up the place once again and the lights come back.

“They smashed it!” you nod in agreement. You figured they are good if they get asked to perform, but this was way beyond what you were expecting.

Looking around you are hoping to see Harry somewhere, but they must be celebrating somewhere at the back. Maybe he won’t even come out, you think to yourself as you finish up your beer.

“I’ll get us another round,” you tell Rita as you make your way to the bar.

There are quite a few people waiting to be served, so you squeeze yourself into the crowd and hope to get to the front soon.

“So how did you like it?”

You jump in surprise when you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind you, and turning around you see how close he is standing to you.

“Hi! I didn’t even see you sneak up on me,” you chuckle making him smile as he squeezes himself next to you. The two of you finally reach the front, but the bartender is serving someone a little on the left so you have to wait. “I loved it, you were like a proper rockstar up there!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles and his dimples show up on his cheeks. The bartender finally gets to you and Harry is quick to order for the both of you. “’S probably better if I place the order since you’re not twenty one just yet.”

“Didn’t have any problem ordering the first time,” you smirk smugly and Harry raises his eyebrows at you before his eyes wander down your body for a second.

“I bet you didn’t in this dress.”

Suddenly, you’re very aware of how daring your outfit looks, so out of reflex, you pull your jacket tighter on yourself, Harry’s smile quickly fades as he realizes that he made you uncomfortable with his comment.

“I meant that you look really pretty. Definitely makes you appear a little older though.”

“My friend wanted me to wear it, I would have been fine with something else,” you admit as the bartender places your order in front of you and Harry pays for the whole thing.

“Glad she convinced you,” he grins down at you and you can feel your cheeks heating up once again.

He helps you carry the drinks to the table and Rita quickly puts her phone away when she sees who you are returning with.

“Harry, this is my friend, Rita. Rita, this is Harry,” you introduce them and Harry shakes her head smiling.

“Nice to meet you,” he nods kindly.

“Oh, same goes for you,” Rita smirks and you roll your eyes at her.

“I’ll go get the rest of the band, do you mind if we join you guys here? There are no empty tables.”

“Sure,” you nod smiling before the crowd swallows Harry.

“For fuck’s sake, you have to make a move on him, Y/N!” Rita turns to you as soon as he is gone.

“Would you stop?” you chuckle.

“No! This dude is so hot I forget my name when I look at him! And you live with him! You can’t miss this chance, Y/N.”

“I’m not missing anything. We live together, it’s not worth it.”

“Not missing anything?” Rita looks at you as if you were mental. “You are literally missing everything!”

“I’m done with this conversation,” you tell him just when Harry appears again, this time with two of his bandmates, Sarah and Mitch are following him smiling, hand in hand.

“Charlotte had to leave early, but this is Sarah and Mitch,” Harry introduces them as they join the two of you at the table. “And this is my flatmate, Y/N and her friend Rita.”

You all shake hands as Harry sorts out the extra beers he has ordered so everyone has a drink on their hand.

It’s no surprise, but Sarah and Mitch prove themselves to be just as cool as they seemed up on the stage. And the best thing is that they don’t shy away from sharing funny stories that include Harry.

“So have you been looking for a new place to stay, Y/N?” Mitch jokes. “I’m sure you’ve had enough of Harry by now.”

“Very funny,” Harry laughs at his bandmate’s comment.

“To be honest it’s pretty fine so far. He is a pleasant person to share your home with,” you say with a soft chuckle.

“What’s one thing you hate about living with him?” Sarah asks and Harry pretends to be hurt over the question.

“Who said there’s anything she hates?”

“Shush, I was asking her!” she hushes at him making you laugh.

“I really can’t point out anything in particular. Maybe he has been very careful, luring me into believing that he is the perfect flatmate so I get stuck with him.”

You stay for a while, just chatting and having a good time until the bar starts to empty out and you decide it’s better if you head home as well.

“We have to take care of the equipment, are you leaving or do you want to wait for me?” Harry asks you.

“We’ll just call an Uber, don’t worry about it,” you smile at him.

“Alright, see you at home.”

You say goodbye to Sarah and Mitch and part your ways with them as you and Rite head outside.

“I hope you noticed how Harry was looking at you,” Rita smirks at you when the two of you are sitting at the back of the Uber.

“What are you talking about?” you sigh leaning your head against the seat.

“I caught him staring at you quite a few times.”

“He was just probably looking at me when I was talking. Don’t try to talk something into it that’s not true.”

“Alright, I’ll stop,” she replies holding up her hands. “But I still think you are missing out on some amazing dick.”

You awkwardly glance at the driver who is hearing everything you say, but Rita seemingly doesn’t mind that you’re not alone.

“You know what? We should give Tinder a try.”

“What? Why?”

“If you don’t want to make a move on your hot flatmate, we need to get some satisfaction from others.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Oh, you are not,” she chuckles. “But you will be when you match with the hottest guys on campus.”

You let Rita believe that she convinced you to sign up for Tinder, but you get out of the car with the intention of never downloading the app, like ever.

Walking into the apartment you grab a clean, oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties since your sleeping shorts are all dirty, but you were planning to do the laundry tomorrow. You decide it’s not a big deal and the shirt will probably cover enough of your body.

You take a quick shower to get off the thick smell of the bar that’s stuck on your skin, taking your time moisturizing yourself once you’re done. When you get dressed you see that the shirt does cover your bum, but if you lifted your arms up it surely shows a big portion of your ass, so you’ll have to be careful if Harry arrives.

You’re lounging on the couch watching a rerun of House M.D. and scrolling through your phone when Harry arrives.

“Hey there, rockstar!” you greet him teasingly and he just chuckles shyly.

“Is it gonna be my new nickname?”

“Well, you really were one tonight, so I think yes,” you nod making him laugh. Walking further inside his eyes stop on your bare legs and he is quick to notice that you’re not wearing any pants, like you usually do. You immediately tug on the end of the shirt to cover more of your skin, but it’s not really working.

“Ehm, I’ll go and take a quick shower,” he informs you before disappearing in his room first and then rushing into the bathroom.

Looking down at your attire you decide it’ll be better if you threw on some sweats. Harry clearly got a little uncomfortable seeing you so bare, so it’s better to cover up. You’ll just take them off when you go to bed.

Harry doesn’t take too long in there, and when he joins you on the couch you are pretty sure he took a cold shower since no steam followed him when he left the bathroom. His eyes flicker to your now covered legs, but he doesn’t say anything, just makes himself comfortable next to you.

“You like it?” he asks nodding at the TV.

“Yeah, he is such an asshole, but it’s funny,” you huff. “Hey, I took a few pictures tonight. Wanna see if you like any of them?”

“Sure,” he nods pushing himself up a little as you unlock your phone and show him the photos you took of him and the band while performing.

Some of them ended up really cool, you were able to catch the lights and their movements just the right way, especially one stands out where he was holding out a note, basically screaming into the mic, he really looks like a rockstar on that one.

“Can you send me this one?”

“Done,” you smile at him and glancing over you see that he opens the Instagram app on his phone. You watch him crop and adjust it a little bit, then tag his bandmates and finally, he posts it.

“Wow, this is the first picture on your page with you actually on it,” you tease him.

“So you’ve been stalking my profile?” he smirks at you.

“I wanted to check you out before I moved in, but your social media was no help in that.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of posting that much, but this was a cool picture.”

“It’s an honor to know that I took the first one featuring you.”

“Actually, this is the second one, but it is the first one where my face is visible,” Harry tells you before turning his attention back to the TV, but the gears start to turn wildly in your mind, trying to remember which picture could be the other one.

Later, when you’re lying in your bed with your door closed, you pull up his profile and stat scrolling down. Most of the pictures fall out, because they have absolutely no trace of any human being on them. But then you stop at the one that features a black silhouette of a man, the one you thought wasn’t him.

Opening up you tap on the tag and see that it leads to Mitch’s profile, but now that you’ve met him, you’re pretty sure it’s not him in the picture. So you take a closer look and as you go over the small details, like the line of his neck, how wide his shoulders are and the untamed curls, you soon realize that it is indeed Harry in the photo.

You push down a moan when realization sets in, because that means that you’re staring at the naked silhouette of Harry and it immediately starts a fire between your legs.

“Jesus,” you whisper as you let yourself stare at the photo a little longer. You weren’t expecting it, but it’s surely making you feel some kind of way.

Locking your phone you throw it to your nightstand before you bury your head into your pillow. You have to press your thighs together quite tightly to make the throbbing sensation stop so you can finally fall asleep. Well, it takes some time before that happens and it’s quite torturous.

Unlike how you planned, Rita finally gets you to download Tinder and give it a try. She helps you set up your profile, and though at first it feels incredibly awkward, you slowly adjust to being out there on the virtual market.

You start swiping left and right whenever you are bored during classes or you’re having a break from studying. Your matches start to pile up and soon enough you start getting messages as well. You reply to the ones you like or find funny and creative, giving them a chance, but not many end up going too far. Somehow the conversations always die down and you lose interest in the person.

Only one guy gets as far as asking you out and getting a yes as an answer. Jordan is a physics major and seemed like a nice and funny guy through the messages, good-looking too, so you decided to give it a go.

So Friday evening you dolled yourself up, put on a nice blouse with your favorite skinny jeans and black heels, ready to head out to your first ever Tinder date.

As you walk out of your room you find Harry in the kitchen in his basketball shorts and a simple black t-shirt making himself a cup of tea. The shorts are hanging low on his waist and as he reaches up to get the hones from the cupboard you get a glimpse of the soft skin on his lower waist. You quickly look away before you could have any further thoughts about what else is under the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, where are you heading all dressed up?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“I actually have a date,” you admit nervously as you grab your keys and put it away in your purse.

“Lucky guy,” he smiles and you can feel your cheeks heating up again. There’s just something in the way he compliments you, it makes your knees go jelly.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later? I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” you tell him grabbing your jacket from the hanger next to the front door.

“Have fun,” he nods before you walk out.

Jordan proves himself to be quite frankly the same guy you got to know through messages. He takes you to this Mexican themed bar and you are just chatting over some exciting looking cocktails, but you find yourself zoning out sometimes.

What is Harry doing right now? Is he staying at home? I should have asked if he had any plans. Maybe he is hooking up with someone right now.

You find yourself thinking about way more than you probably should and it’s making you lose your shit. So maybe this is why, or because Rita told you to just go with the flow, but when Jordan asks if you want to go up to his place you say yes.

It’s as awkward and bad as you were expecting, unfortunately. There’s a reason why you don’t hook up with every random guy you go out with once. You are totally on different pages, but when you are lying under him on his bed, you just know there’s no way out.

It’s not that he forces you, because you’re sure he would have stopped if you asked, but it would be so awkward to just walk out because you weren’t feeling the vibe. So at least one of you should enjoy it.

You should deserve an Oscar for that orgasm you fake, it’s so believable. Jordan doesn’t seem to notice that you felt absolutely nothing, just frustration and impatience, he tries to make you stay the night, but you save yourself with a lie that you have to wake up early in the morning so it’s best if you head home.

Your frustration just grows on your way home. You were really hoping to get laid tonight, so maybe that could stop you from fantasizing about Harry, because your thoughts have been wild since you found out that he is the one on that Instagram picture. It doesn’t help that he has been walking around shirtless quite a lot.

Shameful or not, you even touched yourself once thinking about him. You were home alone after a particularly boring day so you thought you’d just get yourself off. Before you could realize where your thoughts have wandered, you were moaning his name as you came hard. You couldn’t look into his eyes that day when he came home, he probably thought you were nuts, basically running away from him.

It’s almost midnight when you get back home, you were expecting Harry to be asleep by now since he has band practice in the morning, but you are surprised to see light coming from his room. As you close the front door, kicking your heels off he walks out, of course, without a shirt, his glorious body on full display.

“Hey, how was your date?” he asks as you step to the fridge to get yourself something to drink. You’ve been so damn thirsty since Jordan was… done with you, you could have asked for some water at least, but you just wanted to leave as fast as possible.

“Ugh, don’t even ask,” you whine, leaning against the counter.

“That bad?”

“Worse,” you roll your eyes and Harry chuckles softly.

“Come on, it couldn’t be that bad if you came home so late.”

“Well, it did start off nice, but I shouldn’t have said yes when he asked if I wanted to go to his place.”

“Oh.”

“Worst sex of my life, I wanted out the moment we arrived, to be honest,” you honestly say, feeling a little weird that you’re talking to Harry about it, but you just want to get it off your chest.

“Then why didn’t you just leave?”

“Dunno, I just… I was hoping for just a little satisfaction, but I guess I asked for too much,” you sigh finishing up your water and you walk past him with the intention to grab your pajamas and have a shower that would wash away the happenings of the night, but Harry’s voice stops you.

“Not everything is lost just yet.” Turning around you give him a puzzled look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He bites into his bottom lip and lets his eyes travel down your body, his intent gaze sends a shiver down your spine. When his eyes return to your gaze your heart is wildly beating against your chest.

“I mean that… I can make you feel good, if you want.”

Your mouth hangs open and your eyebrows shoot up at the blunt offer he just made. At first you’re not even sure you heard him right, but as you replay his words you realize that you indeed heard him crystal clear.

“Are you messing with me right now?” you ask, feeling like it’s all just a joke. He did not just offer to satisfy you because you complained to him about how bad your date was.

Harry takes a few steps closer to you, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

“Not really. You want to get off and I would love to be the one to help you with it.”

“But… we live together,” you say and realize how stupid this just sounded, but you hope he gets what you were trying to say.

“So? Does that mean we can’t fuck?”

The way he said that makes your legs go weak for sure. You’ve been fantasizing about things similar to this, but those were nowhere near to actually hear him propose the idea of fucking.

“But… it’ll be weird, won’t it?”

“Only if we make it.”

He walks closer, closing the distance between the two of you and he cups your cheek in his hand as his eyes flicker down to your lips.

“Harry…” you breathe out, but you already know you gave in. There’s no way you can say him no, not after weeks of dreaming about the exact same thing.

“Just stop thinking,” he tells you before pressing his lips against yours.

He kisses you hard and you gladly let his tongue push into your mouth within a second, kissing him back with the same passion. You wrap your arms around his neck as his hands travel down on your sides until they reach your ass and they give it a bold squeeze, making you moan into his lips. You feel him grin as his hands move over to your thighs and he urges you to jump and so you do, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Though you keep your eyes closed, kissing him hard, you can tell he brings you to the couch, laying you down to your back, holding himself up above you. He starts kissing down your jawline and neck, sucking and biting on the sensitive skin. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and you lift yourself up a bit so he can pull it off, throwing it away to somewhere behind the couch. While his lips are sucking on your breasts wherever they are bulging out from the lacy bra, his hands work fast on your jeans, undoing the button and the zipper, tugging them down until you can just kick them right off.

“Matching set? You were really counting on having a good time tonight,” he mumbles against your tummy as he kisses his way down on your body.

His right hand reaches up and cups your breast before it slides under you and easily unclasps your bra. You quickly slide the straps off and throw it to the side, so now you are lying under him only in your panties, whimpering and panting at every kiss he leaves on your body.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he hums glancing up at you, sitting between your legs as he slides just one finger over your soaking wet panties, running it along your throbbing center.

“Fuck, I want you,” you breathe out.

“How exactly do you want me?”

“Jesus, just eat me out, Harry!” you shamelessly moan and he smugly smirks before he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down, throwing it to the ground.

Now you’re lying completely naked in front of him, and he pushes your knees farther apart, looking down at you with lustful eyes.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he growls as he gets closer and without a warning, he licks into you.

You moan in sensation as he starts sucking on your clit, his tongue working perfectly against your bud. Your hands find their way into his hair and you grab a handful of it in each. Oh, how many times you’ve thought about doing this!

“Harry!” you cry out when you feel him push a finger into you, slowly pumping it in and out a few times before he adds another to it. He quickly picks up his pace as he keeps sucking on your clit, getting you closer to your orgasm with every lick.

“Fuck, I’m so close!” you moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggle to even breathe.

“Cum for me, baby,” he mumbles against your wet clit and just a few more pumps later you came, screaming his name.

“Fucking hell, Harry!” you breathe out when he climbs up on you smirking.

“You think you can handle another one?” he asks, pecking your lips softly. Looking down you see how hard he is and even if you were on the verge of dying you would have said yes. There’s no way you let him get up from this couch unsatisfied after the orgasm he just gave you.

Instead of saying anything, you push on him until he is sitting on the couch and you have your knees on his sides.

“I think you are a little overdressed, aren’t you?” you ask teasingly as you bring a hand down to his erection, cupping it through his shorts and underwear.

Harry cranes his neck so his lips could meet yours again as he lifts his hips up, pushing his shorts down along with his boxers. You sit back down to his lap and his erection presses against your wet folds making you moan into his mouth.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” you ask breathlessly, but Harry shakes his head.

“I would last, I just want to fuck you,” he growls and you swear to God that was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Condom, we need a condom,” you tell him, still kissing his lips.

You get off him and he quickly runs into his room, shortly returning with a condom between his teeth. He rips the package on his way and falls back to the couch, rolling it on carefully. When he is done you swing your leg over him and get on top again, holding onto his broad shoulders. He grabs the base of his cock and lines himself up to your center and you give yourself a moment to admire his naked beauty right in front of you.

You look into his sparkling eyes and leaning down you kiss him hard as you slowly ease down to his length, his cock slowly filling you up fully.

“Oh fuck!” he moans at the feeling of you around him. His fingers dig deep into your waist as you stay still for a few moments, adjusting to his length. “You alright?” he asks breathlessly. Your eyes meet his and you nod a little before you start moving.

It takes a few moments to find the right pace and get yourself comfortable, but when you finally do, you just can’t stop. His hands are on your ass as he guides your hips a little and you feel the rings on his fingers against your heated skin. He buries his face into your neck nibbling and kissing on the soft skin wherever he reaches.

“Fuck, you look so fucking hot, Y/N,” he grunts when you let your head fall back, feeling your orgasm slowly building up again.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum again,” you pant, picking up a faster pace, desperate for release.

“Cum for me, baby. Let me make you feel good!” he moans wrapping his arms around you as he holds you still, stopping you from moving, but instead he starts thrusting into you, his cock buries so deep into your pussy, your eyes roll back into your head from the feeling.

“Yes! Don’t fucking stop!” you scream as he keeps fucking you hard.

It doesn’t take too long until you fall completely apart and cum again, your legs basically turning into jelly. Just a few thrusts later Harry cums as well, thrusting deep into you a few more times as he moans into your neck.

You lie completely numb on him, his fingers gently stroking your naked back as you try to come back to reality. When you lean back and your eyes meet again you are still speechless.

“I’ve literally wanted it since the day you walked into this place,” he admits with a soft chuckle.

“Really?” you giggle shyly.

“Oh, really. Seeing you around, sometimes without a bra under your shirt completely killed me most of the time.”

Your cheeks are heating up, you didn’t think he noticed when you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Don’t be so shy, you have amazing tits, you are not allowed to wear a bra anymore around here,” he teases you grinning as you laugh and leaning down you kiss him shortly.

“I had quite a few fantasies about you too,” you admit making him raise his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Mhm, especially after you walked out of the bathroom naked, even though I didn’t even see your dick then.”

Harry chuckles lightly as he pushes his hair back from his forehead, resting his head against the back of the couch.

“So…” you shyly start, ”what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… we live together and we just fucked. What does this mean for the future?”

“Well, I thought that next time we could do it the right way. I could take you out on a proper date, and then fuck you on the kitchen counter.”

You laugh at how blunt he is, but you love the idea he just proposed.

“Okay. Sounds fine by me.”

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