#but that also means it's not helping anybody but her any more

[theroosterfairytaler]

Little sheep - Oneshot | Thomas Hewitt x Female reader

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Summary: She has only worked in the slaughter house for a month at least, barely meeting any of the employees unless absolutely necessary. But when she did go down to check in on the workers, she certainly didn't disappoint the tired employees. She simply aided any of them. Even making one butcher feel at least a little bit relieved to be around a kind soul.

Thomas Hewitt was an oddball amongst his community, not necessarily because of his height or quiet personality, but because of his face, and also how he tends to carry himself. Thomas can be very scary, especially when he tries to be. That glare of his could make a person instantly regret their word choices.

He stood there in front of his work desk, his back looming over her, half of his face obscured by a leather mask. He has his reasons for being this way. He doesn't talk in view of the fact that his voice would just hurt since the disease had managed to affect his vocal chords too, not just the face. Even if he could speak, he doesn't have much to say. And if he wanted to communicate, it's usually not worth listening to. He's a simple man with simple needs. He just wants to be left alone to do his job in peace. But you... he noticed she wasn't acting like the people of the town, or like anybody he had met so far. She was not like the others who looked at him with fear and disgust. There's something in her eyes, a spark of curiosity that Thomas hasn't seen in a long time, or at all in general. It's almost... intriguing.

"Hmmph." He let out a deep grunt to clear his throat, trying to push away the unfamiliar feelings rising inside him. He wasn't here to make friends or have deep conversations. He was here to work, and that's all there is to it. He began to chop the pig meat once again in a more frustrated way, not quite understanding why she was acting so differently around him so far. The choppings were practically echoing through the empty halls of the butcherhouse. But as he was working, he can't help but glance back at her secretly through the dirty glass windows one more time, wondering what it would be like to have someone see past the monster everyone thinks he was.

She hadn't tried to say anything mean to him. She was just passing by to check every employees work status. If anybody was slacking off or did something incorrectly. She wasn't an inspector, but a mere secretary for the boss. Mostly handling the paperwork and other things that Thomas's boss could care less about performing on.

"Don't mind me Hewitt, I'm just walking by, it's sixteen minutes left until the day ends by the way. Don't strain your hands to much by then."

Thomas paused mid-chop, her words catching him off guard. He turned back around slowly, the mask rustling with the movement. He dosen’t convey anything at first, just stare at her with his piercing gaze, trying to figure out her intentions. She wasn't like the townsfolk, that much is clear. Most people would've scurried away by now, intimidated by his presence. But she doesn't stand her ground either, her voice was steady and calm. Thomas can see the sincerity in her eyes, the lack of malice or judgement. Just a simple statement, a reminder of the time. It's...refreshing.

He did a curt nod, a small gesture of acknowledgement. He dosen’t say thank you, because he dosen’t think he'd ever said those words to a non-family member before. But he appreciates the information nonetheless. Thomas turned back around and continued working, his mind churning with thoughts he'd never had before. Thinking that she was so kind, (Y/n). So kind and understanding for him. And he thinks... he thinks he likes that. He dosen’t feel paranoid over it, she dosen’t make him second guess her intentions.

She simply left him after that, walking to the other stations as she checked on the other male employees. Having this space being dominated by male employees could be annoying at times, especially when these men tend to cat call her every once in a while. While the boss doesn't ever let her forget her gender, and also sometimes look at her in a certain way.

From the corner of Thomas's eye, he watched her walk away, her figure disappearing from his sight as quickly as a serene sheep. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought. Her presence has left him feeling... unsettled. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there's something about her that draws him in, makes him want to know more. Thomas shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He doesn't have time for this. He has a job to do, and he can't afford to let his mind wander like this. He turns back to his work, his hands moving with practised ease as he continues on his tasks. But even as he works, Thomas can't shake the feeling that something has changed. That she has changed something inside him, even if only slightly. He doesn't know what it is or where it will lead, but he knows one thing for sure - he will be seeing you again, little sheep. And he couldn't wait.

Author's note: I wanted to write a oneshot about Thomas for a really long time now, but I wasn't sure what to write that hadn't already been done before. So I decided to write something simple, yet had the potential to have future parts if well received.

[cxlandine]

helio thoughts//tw religion, christianity

i know this is likely an unpopular opinion since a lot of this fandom has religious trauma, but i would kill for some redemption for helio or some positive helioic representation. it'd be just good, complex worldbuilding if it were solely fiction, but since it's so referential to christianity that ally literally says jesus instead of helio on several occasions i think they either have to really differentiate it or maybe add some complexity to the current 'all 'helioics' are bigots, your faith is evil' angle. because in fiction you can do that, but real religions aren't that simple. im not religious myself, but there have been times where i've been in really bad situations and the most welcoming, caring people are pastors. there is a good side to christianity, and in freshman year kristen wasn't a bad person. she believed in all the good things those pastors did, she helped victims of human trafficking, she fought against her family's racism even before she met her friends. her family was horrible and she was indoctrinated into a cult with the harvestmen, but her faith wasn't bad. religious trauma is not inherent to religion, it's abuse that people use religion to justify.

since s1 i have desperately wanted a good character to be introduced who worships helio like kristen did in freshman year with love and acceptance because that's who they believe helio is, and i don't want them to be proven wrong. tracker didn't give up on galicaea after kristen told her what she was like in the astral plane and worked to change her worship, and i think it would be really interesting to see someone like buddy go tracker's direction with helio instead of just rehashing kristen's character arc.

[camzverse]

vanessa shelly is sooo sp6. u dont even know. its insane

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 6

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

DEFINETLY NSFW! Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

For somebody that filled her romance novels with plenty of smut… Sky wasn’t exactly as experienced as one may expected. 

Actually…she was woefully inexperienced.

There had been Admon…and Admon it had been.

The rest of the stuff in her books…well, that was just her fantasy wildly spinning stories about how sex should feel. Informed by plenty of books she had read, other authors, and of course…there were the two people that got to read every book she wrote before it was published: Orla, her publisher, and her friend Ressina, who was nice enough to take the pen to every thing she wrote that was woefully inaccurate. 

Because nothing ever felt to her like she portrayed it in the books.

Maybe that was normal. Maybe it was because of course her books portrayed something…better than reality, an escape from it. But still…sometimes Sky had just wondered…

As Azriel carried her towards the bedroom, Sky couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. It wasn’t that she didn’t want this, she did, more than anything. But the truth was, she was…nervous.

She had written about this moment countless times, had described it in vivid detail in her novels. But now that it was actually happening, she felt…insecure. What if it wasn’t as good in real life as she made it out to be on paper? What if she did disappoint him?

(Sky knew that she had disappointed Admon numerous times…that she seemingly had never been enough for him…had been so bad at it in fact that he had instead slept with her sister…which was a whole other kettle of fish that she really didn’t want ot think to close about right now.)

Sky tried to push those thoughts aside, to focus on the here and now. 

Azriel was here with her, he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. She could feel it in the way he held her, the way he looked at her. And yet, that nagging feeling of doubt still lingered.

And then there was the fact while he had admitted to sending his shadows to search for her… Sky was still keeping a rather big secret.

“Az…Azriel…” she said hesitantly.  “There…there is one thing you should know about me.”

Azriel paused, setting Sky down on the bed gently before turning to look at her. 

"Go on," he prompted her gently, taking her hand in his as he sat down next to her and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You can tell me anything, Sky." She believed him. he wouldn’t judge her. She was sure of that as well. 

“You…You k…know how…how I…I write… ro…romance no..novels?” Sky asked him, biting her lip.

Azriel nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes, I do," he said, leaning in closer to her. "You told me.”

“I…I am Sellyn Drake,” she blurted out.

She had never outright admitted it to another person. 

Ressina had been the one who had send off her first manuscript to be published…and Orla had met with her…these were the two people in existence that knew that Skylar Alden was also Sellyn Drake. And Skylar had always been comfortable with keeping it that way. 

There was no need to tell anybody else. 

Which was why it worked so well, that Ressina was an artist and could paint the bookcovers for her. No need whatsoever to let anybody else see the hesitant first drafts until she was sure this was where she wanted to go. Just Ressina. Just one of her very few friends. If not her only. 

Azriel stared at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "What?" he asked, completely taken aback. "You're...Sellyn Drake?" There was no…outright disbelief in his voice, just shock. 

*We know! We made Master read your books!* the shadows cooed. *Lady Death, The Priestess and The Shopkeeper love them too!*

She had no idea who any of these people were but…

Azriel's eyes widened even further as the shadows spoke up. "You...you knew about this?" he asked them, turning towards the shadows in disbelief. "You knew. That’s why you gave me her books to read!”

This was just getting better and better.

Sky, who had been watching Azriel and the shadows’ exchange with a mixture of nervousness and embarrassment, couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. 

“Do…Do they always…” she couldn’t even put it into words. 

Azriel sighed. “They like to meddle,” he said darkly. “And this time they were particularly persistent.” He shot a reproachful look at the shadows, who cowered a little under his gaze. "I won't lie, they did manipulate me into reading your books. And when my shadows do something they are rather...convincing."

She swallowed. 

“Did…did you…li…like them at…at least?” Sky asked hesitantly. 

Azriel hesitated for a moment before answering. 

"I...I did," he admitted earnestly. "Your writing...it's brilliant, Sky.” Her heart soared at his words. She treasured them, hoarding them away like a dragon. But he wasn’t done. “The characters, the emotions, the way you make the reader feel everything...it's incredible. I couldn't put them down."

Sky grinned at his words, feeling a swell of pride in her chest. "I…I'm glad you..you li…liked them," she said softly.

*Master especially liked the…*

“Shut. Up.” Azriel snapped, his ears reddening and Sky started laughing. She could just about imagine what the shadows wanted to tell her at that moment. 

Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm going to kill them," he muttered under his breath.

"They…they are ju…just try…trying to help you, aren't they?" she asked softly, squeezing his hand in hers. Only now she noticed the violent scars that marred them, the texture of raised and bumpy skin…but she didn’t care. Not one bit.  

*Of course, we are,* the shadows said, like any other idea was simply blasphemous. *We gave Master the best information we could. So that Master would know what you like.*

Sky probably shouldn't find it as adorable as she did. But the lengths they had gone to...the way they had made Azriel read her books so that he would know what she liked...nobody in her life had ever gone to these lengths just to find out what she liked.

"I swear I am not a total creep," Azriel told her with a grimace.

Sky laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "No…no, no, you're not," she assured him, squeezing his, hands gently. "I…I ac…actually think it's… quite… sweet. In a weird, sli…slightly invasive kind of way. But sweet nonetheless."

"I think you are the only female that could possible think that," Azriel muttered, glaring at the shadows that didn't seem apologetic in the slightest.

Sky grinned, leaning in closer to him. "It’s… endearing,” she finally settled on. “Maybe even a lit…little bit charming," she promised him earnestly.

Azriel looked at her incredulously, his expression softening a little. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" he asked her.

Sky shook her head. "No. No, I'm not," she said, her voice unwavering. "I…I mean it, Azriel. It iss actually really sweet that you would go to… such lengths just to try to un…understand me better. And you ad…admitted to it. And not just after the mating bond was accepted but within hours of meeting me." 

Azriel didn't keep it a secret, even when he could have, and she would have been none the wiser. 

"I don't know what I ever did to deserve you. But I'm not going to question it," he whispered. 

She swallowed. That's what she was thinking. The exact same words. 

Sky pulled him down, letting his forehead rest against hers.

"I know that...that I am supposed to cook you something...but how disappointed would you be if I gave you one of those caramel bonbons in my purse to accept the bond instead?" she asked him softly, meeting his gaze. 

His eyes widened and he stared at her in pure, undiluted wonder. 

"I could not possible be dissappointed by whatever you offered me," Azriel whispered. "But...are you...are you sure?"

"I am being utterly selfish," she whispered. "Yes. I want you." She didn't care that people would have thoughts about it...that she was rushing into this. 

They were probably right. 

But Sky really didn't care. Sky only wanted him. Sky was ready to throw caution overboard and rush into this headfirst without a thought about the consequences, if that meant that she would get her mate.

"Then let's be selfish together," Azriel whispered.

With shaky hands she reached into her purse, finding one of the caramel bonbon she kept in there...unwrapped it out of the paper and then...then she offered it to him, lifting it to his lips.

Azriel looked at the bonbon, then at her, and for a moment she thought he would say something. But then his mouth opened and he took it from her hand... He chewed it, swallowing carefully, his gaze never wavering from hers. For a moment, they stayed suspended in that moment of tension, the only sound their breathing. And then, he leaned in, closing the distance between them, and kissed her as if she was the most precious thing in his entire world.

A Mating Frenzy had always been protrayed as animalistic in every book she read. So of course, Sky had written the exact same thing.

But it wasn't...not really.

Not for them. 

And being with Azriel was also a far cry from being with Admon...mostly because then it had often been...embarrassing and painful. 

Admon had always found something to criticise on her body...foreplay had been nonexistent, even when she had tried...and while he had been more than willing to use her mouth to find his own pleasure he had never returned that favour.

With Azriel it was different. Every touch, every caress, every kiss made her feel things she had never felt before. It was like her body was coming alive for the first time.

All her senses were heightened, every nerve in her body singing with pleasure, and Sky couldn't get enough of him. She wanted more. No, she needed more. As Azriel trailed kisses down her throat, she arched her back, pressing herself against him, her hands roaming over his body, exploring every inch of him that she could reach.

"Can I...Can I touch your wings?" she asked breathlessly, not wanting to...cross some unsaid line.

"Please," Azriel breathed out. "Yes, Sky, please." He lifted his wings, extending them out behind him, giving her free rein to touch and explore to her heart's content. As Sky's fingers brushed against the contours of his wings, Azriel let out a low, guttural moan, his wings twitching and shuddering at the sensation. They were massive and pitch black.

"They are beautiful," she whispered, running her hands over the silky black skin, feeling the warmth radiating from them.

He shuddered at her touch, his wings arching and trembling beneath her gentle caress. he leaned his forehead against hers as he gently tipped her back against the bed and she went willingly, wrapping her hands over the gleaming talons at the tip of his wings as she kissed him.

Azriel growled softly in response, his hands sliding up beneath her dress, opening the lacing in one fluid motion. As the dress fell open, revealing her body beneath, Azriel pulled back for a moment, looking down at her with dark, hungry eyes. "You are so beautiful," he breathed, his gaze roaming over her body.

She didn't even have the time to feel self-conscious, not when she was drowning in the waves of desire that shot across their bond from him. Not when her whole body seemingly trembled against his and she kissed him again, opening her mouth to his tongue.

He slipped open the dress and she opened her mouth, halfway ready to tell him how he could get the corset she wore off, but he already opened the lacing. "Why?" he asked her softly, as he saw the red indents left on her body, and she grimaced.

"Claire," she whispered.

She wore corsets usually for support, because her breast could get heavy and painful without the proper support...but she never laced them as tightly as she did when she saw her family. Or her sister. Then she pulled them tight, trying to squash her body to be something…something her family could stomach, something they maybe wouldn't comment on...she always failed.

Azriel hissed softly, his fingers lightly tracing the red marks on her skin. She knew that they looked horrible, and yet he looked...angered? Almost furious. His expression softened as he looked back into her eyes, his fingers gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Why would you do something like that to yourself, Sky?" he murmured, his eyes searching hers. "You are beautiful. You don't need to change anything about your body." He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to a particularly hard imprint the corset had left.

Sky swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in her throat as emotion welled up in her chest. No one had ever said something like that to her, had ever made her feel like she was good enough just the way she was. She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she just nodded, feeling a single tear slip down her cheek. Azriel wiped it away with his thumb, his other hand coming up to cup her face tenderly.

"You are perfect," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Just the way you are. Don't ever let anyone make you feel otherwise. Not even your family." Sky leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and just focusing on the closeness, the warmth, the feeling of being cherished and protected.

With every word he spoke, she felt a weight lifting off her shoulders, her fears and insecurities melting away. She realized that maybe, just maybe, she had found someone who truly saw her, the real her. Who accepted her exactly as she was, flaws and all.

It was so easy to sink into that. So easy to trust him. So easy to just kiss him, as she pushed the shirt he wore over his shoulders...to feel acres of gold skin, dotted with scars and dark markings...to bare him for her view and see how utterly gorgeous her mate was.

He growled softy as she ran her hand down his chest, tracing the scars that marked his skin. His body was a tapestry of pain and survival, yet she wasn't deterred. She only found him more beautiful for it.

"Mine," she whispered, pressing her lips to his chest, to one particularly nasty scar. "All mine." She could feel his heart pounding beneath her lips, the steady beat matching the rhythm of her own heartbeat. Her hands trailed down his chest, his stomach, until she reached the waistband of his trousers.

It was so easy.

So easy, to shed clothing until they were bare...so easy to press against him and feel warm, perfect skin...so easy to relax underneath him as he stretched over her...so easy to simply cup his face as she kissed him...as her legs wrapped around his hips and he groaned and she whimpered as she felt him...hot and hard and huge, pressing against her...She was dripping wet without him even laying as single finger on her beneath the waist.

Azriel didn't look unaffected, his breath coming in ragged pants, his eyes fixed on hers as they were blown wide and dark with want. He didn't move, didn't kiss her, didn't pull her closer. He only waited. Waited for her. 

"I need you," she whimpered. "Please. Please, Az." He let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, his hips rocking gently against her, teasing them both with the heat and friction between them.

Nothing hurt. Nothing ever even threatened to hurt...Even as she could feel him notch against her there...even when she could feel herself lewdly stretched open on his cock...

It was so soft and gentle and sweet and…

It was everything Sky had ever wanted. 

Not the rough kind of fucking...not the animalistic coupling she wrote half the time...but she had wanted this. She had wanted sweetness and adoration and...love...and to be wrapped up in her mate's arms like she was a precious, precious thing. She had wanted whispered praised against her skin and to be touched like she mattered...

"Sky," he whispered, his hands running up her side, his touch was soft and soothing, worshipping her body. He kissed her, slowly, deeply, and there was something...almost overwhelming about it.

About the way he made her feel. The way he made her feel loved and adored. The way he made her feel cherished. Her hands wandered up to his back, tracing the muscles shifting beneath scarred, scarred skin.

She could feel him trembling, feel the tension in his body as he held himself back, but still, he moved in slow and gentle thrusts, taking his time. He worshipped her - every little gasp and moan, every curve of her body. He traced her shape with his fingertips and lips, exploring her as though he was trying to memorize every inch of her body.

She didn't know how long they stayed that way, their bodies as one, but Sky didn't care. She was surrounded by him - the heat of his skin, the sound of his breath, the way he whispered her name like a prayer. Sky could feel the love and devotion pouring through the bond, washing over her in waves, and she knew that this was exactly where she was meant to be. With him, in his arms, completely and utterly whole.

It nearly came as a shock as she came.

A breathless moan fell from her lips as her orgasm rushed over her, her body arching as she called out his name. He kissed her through it, murmuring praise against her lips as he held her close, his own release following soon after.

They stayed there for a moment, tangled together, both of them breathless and sated. Azriel's wings slowly wrapped around them, cocooning them in a warm, protective embrace that made Sky feel safe and cherished in a way she had never experienced before.

***

There was not one inch of his mate's body that wasn't utterly beautiful. From the tips of her arched ears, to her beautiful eyes...to the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist and the soft flesh of her belly and the flare of her hips...she smelled so good too...especially now that their scents had started to mix, and he could breath in caramel and hazelnuts and cedars and the sweet, beautiful scent of happiness as she laid underneath him. His head was bedded on her stomach, as she drew short fingernails through his messy dark hair. He nearly wanted to start to purr as she scratched at his scalp.

Azriel felt...content.

More content than he ever remembered feeling. He was wrapped up in her, his mate, with her gentle hands in his hair, and he felt utterly and completely at peace. He didn't care if they never moved from that bed again. He didn't care if the world outside their little cocoon burned. So long as she was by his side, he was content. He had never felt like this before. He had never felt this...happy. This...whole.

"I need to go feed Hector," Sky told him softly, trailing her fingers through his hair.

"Can I just have the shadows kidnap him and bring him here?" he asked, not wanting to move.

"You can't go kidnapping my cat, Az," she chided him gently, but even as she said the words, she didn't stop drawing her fingers through his hair, and Azriel didn't move. He was far too comfortable.

"Why not?" he complained.

"You'll terrify him," she said with a laugh. "Besides, do you have cat food here?"

"I'll have the shadows find some Tuna," he mumbled.

"Do…Do they just ac…acquire whatever you tell them to?" she asked him with some amusement. 

And lots of things he didn't tell them to, as well. They thought he didn’t know. 

Azriel raised himself on his forearms, looking down at Sky with a glint in his eye. "You have no idea how many things I've acquired that way," he told her with a grin.

She lifted her hands, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down towards her, resting her forehead against his. "You're a menace," she murmured against his lips.

"Your menace," he replied, kissing her softly.

Sky smiled, a warm, slow curve of her lips that made his chest feel tight. "Mine," she agreed, her voice soft. "But no kidnap…kidnapping my cat. He's at home."

"We could make this our home," he protested softly. "Move in with me."

Azriel had no fucking clue what was even coming over him. They should have slowed down, stopped to think...but neither of them seemed to want to.

They just…they seemed utterly content to crash through what other people considered a normal timeline and just be together right now. 

He just wanted to be near her. He wanted to share a life with her, a home. He wanted to curl up with her in front of the fire on a cold winter's night, and spend lazy Sunday mornings in bed with her. He wanted to take her flying, and watch as she wrote and listened to her read the words she wrote. 

And he wanted - Gods, he wanted her to want that too. He held his breath as he waited for her response.

For a moment, she was silent, and Azriel wondered if he had stepped too far, asked too much too soon. 

But then, Sky smiled again, her eyes sparkling with emotions. 

"...Al…Alright," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll…I’ll move in with you." 

Azriel couldn't help but grin as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Really? You mean it?" he asked, still unable to believe his ears.

"Really," she echoed with a laugh, before her expression turned serious. "But I…I have one co…condition." 

Azriel raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "What is it?"

"If I move in with you..." she began, wrapping her arms around his neck. "All my books need to come to," she told him seriously.

Azriel laughed, leaning back in to kiss her softly. "All your books can come, if that's what you want," he said. "As long as you're here, I don't care what else you bring."

And then the shadows unceremoniously dumped a screeching demon on the bed with them.

Sky let out a surprised yelp as Hector landed next to them with a thud, quickly scrambling away from the cat - and from under Azriel's weight. Azriel, for his part, sprang up, his wings flaring out in alarm. For several long moments, the three of them just stared at each other. Hector, his mismatched eyes glowing, his fur puffed up to twice it’s normal size, and Sky, her expression a mixture of surprise and affection as she looked at her pet. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Well, that's one way to introduce the two of you. Az, meet Hector."

...Gods, the shadows had really not been lying when they said that the cat was the ugliest thing they had ever seen.

Azriel slowly lowered his wings, eyeing the creature that was half-cat and half-demon. "He...looks like he wants to kill me," he said slowly.

Sky laughed, reaching out to scratch Hector's head. "He's just grumpy because he got teleported here so suddenly," she told him. "And he's not used to strangers." Hector's fur slowly flattened, and he began to purr, rubbing his head against Sky's hand. "Besides, he'd never hurt anyone," she added, looking up at Azriel with a smile.

Somehow Azriel highly doubted that.

Sky picked Hector up, cradling the cat in her arms as his purring grew louder. "See? He's not so bad," she told Azriel, moving towards him, and Azriel had to resist the urge to back away. "Hold out your hand, let him sniff you. He just needs to get used to you."

Azriel hesitantly held out his hand, trying his best to ignore the way Hector's eyes seemed to glow with an eerie light. After a moment, Hector moved forward, sniffing at Azriel's hand. Azriel felt the soft brush of whiskers against the palm of his hand, and Hector nudged his head against him, purring louder.

"See, he loves you!" Sky said enthusiastically

Azriel let out a laugh, slowly scratching the top of Hector's head. "I think he's just trying to lull me into a false sense of security before he scratches my eyes out, you know."

She rolled her eyes, "You are the most handsome cat I know," she cooed at him. "And you won't ever scratch out Azriel's eyes. No, you won't.”

Azriel would not quite go as far as describe the cat as handsome...but then...his own scarred hands weren't particularly beautiful either.

So Hector and him had that in common.

And the fact that they both wanted to cuddle with Sky. Actually, he was pretty sure that the cat hated him just for taking away his monopoly on that.

But Azriel would have shared a house with the King of Hybern if that meant that he got to have Sky in his bed.

She smiled at him, her eyes warm and adoring. "I knew you two would hit it off," she said, holding Hector in the crook of her arm. The cat stared at Azriel for a moment, as if sizing him up, before leaping off Sky's lap and disappearing under the bed with a soft patter of paws. "He'll warm up to you eventually," Sky assured him, but Azriel wasn't so sure about that.

He pulled Sky in closer to him, slipping back underneath the sheets with her, kissing her forehead. "I'll win him over, eventually," he promised her. At least, he hoped he would - he didn't particularly enjoy the idea of having to wake up with his throat being sliced open by an angry cat.

He would buy that damn cat all the Tuna in the world if that made Sky happy.

[neowinestainedress]

wave | lee donghyuck

pairing: lee donghyuck x fem reader genre: college au, academics rivals to lovers, kinda fake dating, forced to work together on a project, smut, fluff, humor (idk), music major!haechan, music major!mc | not really requested but thank you 💌 anon for the inspo summary: your indifference toward Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, becomes rivalry when he decides to sabotage you. The battle turns into a war, the war turns into a plan, and the plan, well, the plan fails miserably... or succeeds wonderfully. After all, it’s all about points of view. Or, Haechan thinks he found a way to distract you and be better than you, but doesn’t think it thoroughly and screws it up. warnings: smut, mentioned weed consumption, alcohol use, fingering, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, public sex, jealous sex, bickering, teasing, etc | inclusivity notes: reader wears different hairstyles (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type (but haechan lifts her a few times), no mention of skin color, no use of y/n wc: 22.4k (out of 42k)

a/n: finally i’m back! i started this fic more than a year ago so seeing it finally come to life means everything to me. i had so much fun writing it, so i hope you’ll love it too. please, let me know with comments, reblogs (that also help reach more people), or anon. i love knowing what you think. enjoy! also if there are formatting mistakes please let me know cause i’ve been having problems posting this and i copied it without editing it once again.

masterpost (with visuals and playlist) (i can’t post the link or else the post doesn’t show up in the tags, but you can find it on my profile)

Being number one in your academy isn’t a want, but a need.

You didn’t spend your entire life crafting your skills and splitting yourself between the books and the training room for all of that to be swept under the rug when you finally made it to your dream university; Neo Arts Academy.

Surely, with the prizes promised to those on top, you aren’t the only one with that racing passion to drive you through each day. Tons of people try their best, and even put their health at risk to reach the biggest success, but you manage to focus on yourself and keep your life in a pretty healthy balance.

You managed to focus on you… until something, well, somebody, started to come into your way.

Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, his stage name —if he ever made it big in the industry he wanted to be already known.

You never paid him much attention. Honestly, you never paid attention to anybody, your only goal was to take care of your small garden and top everybody else, but when his competitiveness got the best of him, you just couldn’t push him in the back of your mind.

Apparently, his goals are the same as yours, and that isn’t a nice thing considering how competitive your world is. You first truly glanced at him during a songwriting lesson, when he huffed a bit too loudly behind you while he announced to his friend, probably named Mark, that he sucked at writing songs. However, you only chuckled mindlessly that time and went on with your day.

That was your first year there and everything went fine. Then the second year arrived and you applied for your minor degree in dance and that was when Donghyuck’s presence started to be louder. You had nothing against him, but you quickly learned he couldn’t stand you for some reason. Rumours were quick at flying around, being passed from mouth to ear and you knew them.

You simply couldn’t care.

Yet.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. He could never do that. After all, he doesn’t even know you. But he does know something about you. He knows your name, and how it is always on top of his in any ranking. He knows you will always win the contests he wants to win so badly. He knows you are good at theory and practice. He knows he just can’t win with you.

He also knows nothing can touch you. Not because you are unreachable and believe you’re superior to others. Actually, you are very modest about all your academic success, but you always walk straight on your road with the goal perfectly in the line of view.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. Though, lately, he has a strange feeling in his body every time he sits at his desk to study and his only motivation is to surpass you. Nothing different than the first months there, he got pretty soon you were going to be a tough but nice competitor, but fuck he never imagined you would be so hard to beat. Now that after a year he never won or got the top grade and always came second after you, you aren’t motivating him, you are driving him insane.

He doesn’t have many distractions, but he has friends, some hobbies outside of university, and even a part-time job. But you? Is there something that is distracting you? Is there anything that could distract you? He has no idea, not now that he is watching you walk into the room, ready for the classical ballet history class —yes, of course out of all the minors, you had to choose his— and sit a few rows in front of him, all alone as always, taking out your lilac book note and your pen.

Haechan has no idea, but he is going to find out something that can easily distract you and push out of your path.

You know people think of university as a moment to socialise, but being on your own has never been a problem for you. You have contacts with some of your hometown friends, and most importantly, you don’t mind doing things alone; you can go to the cinema when you want, you can pick whatever restaurant you like, you can take a walk, or stay at home.

You’ve always been comfortable in your bubble, and you’d like to keep it that way, but life has strange plans.

“Damn, always on a rush.” You recognize Haechan’s voice, but you don’t bother turning around because you’re sure he’s not addressing you. You think it’s weird he’s sitting next to you, but you blink the surprise away and grab your tablet from your bag. “Whoever put music theory at 8:30 in the morning on a Monday needs to go to jail.”

You chuckle at his comment, subtly rolling your eyes before opening the note app to go where you left it in the previous lesson.

“You write a lot.” This time you’re quite sure he’s talking to you, so your neck turns to look at him and you find him closer than you’d like him to be.

“I annotate, it’s just the essentials.”

He scans the notes quickly before scoffing. “The essentials? I don’t write as half as that.”

“Well, I think this is essential, but we all work differently,” while you’re answering him, you don’t even notice that his friend is not beside him, and you get lost in him for a second, mostly in the scent that’s filling your nostrils now that his brown jacket is so close to you.

“The professor talks too fast, how the fu— how do you get everything?” He stops himself from cursing and backs away, finally making you breathe some air that is not filled with his intoxicating perfume.

“I rewrite phrases. And, to be sure, I record the lessons, so I can re-listen to them in case something doesn’t make sense when I study them. And then I also re-write the not—”

“You record the lessons?” He almost snarls with his eyes bulging out of his skull as he, once again, stands too close to you.

“Is it illegal?” Your head tilts to the side as genuine curiosity blooms on your face.

“No, it’s… it’s…” he sighs, throwing his head back and cursing something under his breath in a tight dialect you don’t recognize. “I never thought about it.”

“Oh, well, it helps me a lot. Sometimes when I’m too tired to read I just play the lessons and memorize stuff while I do other things,” you smile, moving your hair to one side of your neck before grabbing the pen when the professor walks in. “You should try.”

“Oh, you can be sure I will.”

Haechan can’t be so stupid. He can’t believe he can be so stupid. Why didn’t he ever, ever, think about that? That’s a smart idea, better than crying and cursing when he tries to understand what he wrote down on paper when he revisits the notes, or asking Mark if he wrote some phrases he had marked down with several question marks or dots to fill —dots that he never fills.

But he’s still sure he can’t be a terrible student, he had always been on top of his classes, always aced them and his study method worked… but what if yours worked better? Given the results of the past year, and the start of this one, the answer is clear: yours do work better.

But he doesn’t think that it’s the only reason you are beating him in everything. What if you have other tricks?

Haechan is going to find out.

You always believed your only competition was yourself. You never liked to engage with other people and fight them or fear them. But Haechan had given you no choice.

It was an open threat at you when he purposefully told you a different day to turn in an assignment when you were sick, you had no choice but to fight back.

That was when Haechan truly became your rival. He had always been, you two were always at the top, fighting for the first place and the big prizes, but now it was a matter of pride.

Haechan had officially made it on top of your blacklist, at least he could arrive number one in something, not like there was a big competition to be in there, in fact, you didn’t even have one before he pushed your last nerve.

Fucking it up with you wasn’t Haechan’s plan, he wanted to befriend you and trick you into giving him some magic tricks, but things went… wrong. With Mark by his side, it was impossible to sit next to you. During songwriting you got up and sat on another seat in the middle of the lesson with the excuse of ‘not seeing from afar’, and he couldn’t approach you in any other circumstances. So, when you got sick for three days, he thought he could, for once, steal your spotlight.

He wasn’t sure you were sick, but he was sure enough you weren’t going to miss lessons days to study or work on projects; you never needed extra time, unfortunately, he knew it well. So the only thing that could lock you in your place was an illness of some kind. He did feel bad when you came back four days later and asked him if you missed something, he could see you still weren’t at your best, and he could’ve tried his luck by telling you the truth, hoping that the precarious state you were in was going to make you come up with a terrible essay on an instrument of the 18th century, but his eagerness got the best of him, and he lied.

So he had officially screwed his plan of getting closer to you.

“You are an asshole,” you scream, slamming the books in front of him on the table in the garden, not caring about his friends staring at you in shock. “And don’t look at me with that face of ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ because you know what I’m referring to.”

“I don’t, though…” he whispers, trying to keep a distance between you because you look scary —half bent on the table, furrowed forehead, pointing finger— and he thinks you are very motivated to reach over his neckline and strangle him.

You roll your eyes, groaning in annoyance. “You told me Professor Kim left an essay for Monday, I thought I could use the weekend to do an amazing job and he called me to his office because I was three days late.”

Haechan gulps, and the table goes silent, you feel his friends’ gazes on you but they are the last thing in your mind.

“Mind to explain?”

“I… I didn’t do it on purpose?”

“You have to ask me if you are an asshole because your mother didn’t put a brain in your skull?”

“Hey, take it back!” He warns with a pointing finger, glaring at you.  

“No,” you retort, crossing your arms on your chest and standing up straight. “You sabotaged me.”

“You are making things up. Maybe you should be in the creative writing major,” Haechan taunts, a shit-eating grin on his face.  

You gasp offended, clenching your fists to avoid wrapping your hands around his neck. “You — you — ugh,” you huff. “This paper was graded! And you knew it, it’s part of the mid-course work he adds to our final grade. Why would you do that to me?”

“You think I did that on purpose?”

“When did you turn it in?” You ask and when his eyes widen you scream at his face. “See! You turned it on time. I fucking hate you!”

“I didn’t answer,” he tries to defend, a challenging edge in his voice, getting to your nerves more than the look on his face.

“First of all, I can see it in your face. You’re trying to look surprised and even scared, but you’re having the time of your life because, guess what, you can’t surpass me if you don’t play your stupid games.”

He snorts offended, gulping before leaning closer. “You think I can’t beat you?”

“It’s not what I think, it’s what the rankings say, it’s what our professors say, and it’s what all the external opportunities I’ve got say. But if you want to try to prove facts wrong, bring it on,” you shrug, grabbing your things and taking a step back. “No more dirty games from now on, Lee Donghyuck. Trust me, you don’t want me to start playing them too, you might not even see the top three if I do.”

The months to come are fire. You should keep minding your business but as soon as he opens his mouth in class you can’t press your lips together and fake it. You try, every time, but you fail.

“I just mean that the melody is what attracts people,” he argues during a discussion in the songwriting class.

You huff, shaking your head. “People care about the lyrics more.”

He scoffs loudly and the professor glares at him for the reaction but he still goes on. “People won’t listen to a song if the production sucks.”

You turn around, eyebrows pressed in a furrow. “And they won’t listen to a song if the lyrics are dumb, or tell a bad message.”

“Really? Catchy pop music is a thing even if you want so badly to maintain the purity of the art of music with only lyrical depth.”

“I love catchy pop songs, but there’s something objective in music and something subjective, if you paid attention to any of our classes you should know, right?”

The class holds back a laugh and the professor coughs, making you utter an apologize, more addressed to her than your enemy.

“Oh, trust me, I paid attention to class,” he retorts, mockingly smiling at you. “And we’re not talking about the quality but the appeal. People remember the rhythm of the song or the tune more than they remember the words.”

“And words can hold so much meaning for someone they will stick to them forever. Also, lyrics can have different interpretations and if you’re a good writer you can make one song fit for more occasions.”

“That’s dumb,” he says, looking at you up and down after scoffing. “Notes can transfer different emotions, what you said just doesn’t make sense, please.”

“Can we tone it down?” Professor Park warns, glaring at the both of you.

You nod and mutter another apology before speaking up again, “I believe that a good melody can easily attract people at first listen, but if we talk about the long run, a memorable song also needs good lyrics. And Mariah Carey herself said how being a songwriter makes your career last more, so I think it’s telling coming from one of the best voices ever.”

“I think you both make a great point,” the professor cuts the conversation off before you can jump at each other’s throat again. “It would be interesting to make a deeper analysis and maybe break down songs and compare data over time. If it was possible to keep the decorum…” she whispers the last word and you want to disappear because you hate the scene you gave. “But we need to move on with our lesson, so, as I was saying…”

Out of all the heated discussions you had in class, the one about the importance of production and lyrics, led to your worst nightmare, working on a project with him. Professor Park was so nice to pair you together because she wanted to see how your different points of view would’ve worked in the song you had to write and produce and even if you smiled and said, ‘it will be really motivating,’ to avoid yelling at her face, now you want to die.

You’re sure the first two knocks on the door don’t even reach the other side; your hits are too weak and the small apartment in that complex is too loud for anyone to hear. Is this the environment you have to work in today?

You roll your eyes and knock again, this time making sure it’s impossible for them not to hear you. You wait there only for a few seconds and then the door opens, revealing a boy your age you can’t remember.

“Oh, hi,” he cheers, big toothy smile beaming at you. “You must be here for Hyuck, right?”

You hum, nodding and murmuring, “Yes, I have to work on a project with Haechan.”

“Come in.”

You step inside the house and look around briefly before your eyes fall on the table in the small living room; there are books everywhere, headphones on the ground, boxes of food and empty water bottles, and most importantly talks too loud for four boys that were supposedly studying.

“Mark, can you lower the music?”

“Music is what I’m studying, I can’t,” the man you know well replies. “Why don’t you keep your pencil close to you? Jesus, there’s graphite everywhere.”

“You’re so annoying, I can’t go in my room, Jeno still didn’t take down the light boxes,” the brown-haired replies, sending a death glare to the boy at his side who quickly replies to his defence.  

“Hey, I finished shooting half an hour ago and now I have an essay to write, leave me alone.”

“They’re entertaining, aren’t they?” Haechan’s voice brings you out of the haze of his bickering friends, their conversation fades in the background while your anger level rises just seeing his face when you turn around.

“Surely more entertaining than you,” you retort before taking a step forward, pretending to know where to go in that house.

Haechan rolls his eyes, thanking his friend who opened the door —Jaemin— and coming next to you. “You don’t know where my room is yet, so if you’d like to follow me.”

You trail behind him, waving at the men around the table but it’s clear that none of them even noticed your presence. Luckily for you, Donghyuck’s room is at the end of the corridor and the mess that goes down in the other room is not hearable enough to make your day a living hell.

“So, do you have anything in mind?” He asks after you sit at one of the chairs at his desk.

You shake your head, fixing your skirt and pulling out some things you might need from your bag. “Wanted to hear from you first. Since the melody is so crucial, we should start from that,” you mock in a fake-sweet tone, and you feel his glare on your skin.

“You truly are a pain in the ass, you know?” He scoffs, moving his hair out of his face, gaze fixed on you.

“And for what? Because I agreed with your theory?”

“If you have a melody in mind it’s easier to make the words flow.”

“If the melody has nothing to do with the idea, you only have some notes and not a song.”

Now that there aren’t rows of chairs dividing you, the heated argument has led you face to face, literally. And you feel your heart pound in your chest from the anger and, also because it’s weird to be this close to a stranger you can’t stand.

“Okay, Miss Taylor Swift, why don’t you enlighten me and show me what you got?”

You glare at him but he’s unfazed, holding the eye contact proudly. “My lyrics will be better than your production.”

“And are those lyrics in the room with us?”

“God,” you groan, throwing your hands in the air and your head back. “You drive me insane.”

“And you are pretentious and still never prove all the things that that little, bratty, annoying mouth of yours says.”

Deep creases show on your forehead, and you have to turn around because if you see his face for a second more you will slap him. But you want this project done, you have four weeks to turn it in, but you want this torture to be over as soon as possible, so you know you have to put the pettiness aside.

“If we want a great result and good grades, we need good lyrics and a good melody,” you say, calmly facing him again, slowly watching as his face softens. “My words and your production. I don’t care what comes to us first, if you think it can be useful, we could even brainstorm some tunes and catchphrases and then build it around it.”

“Now you’re making some sense,” he exclaims, smiling widely before patting the top of your head. “So that head is not empty.”

“Oh, seriously? I’m trying to have a truce, and you fuck it all up again?”

“No, sorry, I just think you’re really smart when it comes to college but a bit annoying when it comes to life.”

“You’re just mad you can’t beat me.”

“I can,” he retorts smugly.  

“Then why don’t you do it?” You tease, cocking your head to the side.

Haechan scoffs, lips twitching in a quick smirk before he wets them. “I didn’t yet, but are you so sure I won’t?” He whispers, breath colliding with your lips and nose brushing yours, your brain doesn’t even register his hands on your legs right away, only when his fingers caress your bare skin right above the hem you wake up from the haze of having him so close.

“Time will — time will prove us,” you say, turning to the desk and scratching your neck. “Time will tell us, not prove us.”

Haechan snickers, moving closer to see on your tablet where you opened the notes, and smiles smugly. He thinks he found a way to distract you.

The project isn’t done in the first week, and to put a cherry on top, Professor Park decides to make it the big project for the end of the class, adding a cover for the single, a plan to sponsor it, and, if someone feels brave enough, even to record it. Even if you wanted to, a thing this big, and now with so much weight on the final grade, can’t be done in one week.

Yet, you think you’ll have to deal with Haechan only on your weekly meet-ups for that project and during lessons, you never imagined you would have to deal with him even during your library study on Wednesday.

“Why are you studying in the middle of the week?”

“You know, if I had to replicate a sound every time we start a conversation it would be ‘and now, I just want to sit back and relax and enjoy my evening, when all of a sudden I hear this agitating grating voice,’ and that is the sound that plays in my mind, actually.”

“Grating? Really?”

“Well, it’s the quote but it fits,” you reply sternly, bringing your attention back to the book. “Also, the question is not, why am I studying, but why aren’t you? How will you beat me if you don’t?” You wink, laughing under your breath. You don’t even need to see his reaction; you know his jaw tenses and his nostrils flare for a brief second every time you tease him.

You hear the chair in front of you scratch on the floor, and deeply hope he’s not sitting on it. But Haechan is sitting on it, staring at you as if he could steal the information from your brain and pass it to his.

“I am studying.”

“No, you’re not,” you reply, eyes widening when he rips a page from your notebook and a pen from your case. “So, what have you learned since now?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes to the sky and instead run a hand on your face while sighing deeply. There’s just no way to get rid of him, right?

“You don’t even know what I’m studying.”

“Sound design,” he replies promptly, and you look down to see if he could’ve gotten a grasp from your books but there’s a paper on it and there’s not much written on it. Haechan smiles and moves to the chair next to you. “It’s because I started it too, there are too many notions, it would be a suicide to wait for the finals.”

“Oh, so you do something else other than think about me,” you tease, nudging him with your leg.

“Hey! I don’t think about you,” he replies firmly, frowning.

“Sure,” you huff, waving him off. “So, what do you know?”

“Well, all the basis we learnt last year, so the definition of sound, the path it follows, how it’s perceived based on the medium and how fast it travels through them, slowest through gases, faster through liquids, and fastest through solids, and that temperature effects it as well.”

You smile, content with the reply but you want to test him more. “What about the five characteristics of sound?”

“You think that’s a difficult one?” He asks, almost disappointed at the easiness of your question.

“Well, if you want to impress me so bad, I could ask you to list all the types of compressors?”

“You already know that?” He questions, quirking a brow, trying to think why he doesn’t remember them. “Wait, we didn’t do that in class.”

You laugh. “See, you’re witty. No, we haven’t done that yet, but since you love producing so much, I thought you knew it as personal knowledge.”

“Why do you talk as if you don’t want to do the same job as mine?” There’s a bit of annoyance in his tone, but there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes.

You shrug, pressing your lips together before diverting your gaze.

Haechan gasps. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what you want to do, yet, because I won’t believe it.”

“It’s not that I don’t know,” you reply, a low huff leaving your lips. “I’d like to try different things out, being a PR manager sounds interesting too. And I’m also pretty good at dancing, so that could be a career path.”

“It’s a shame we didn’t start practical courses, I would love to see you dance.”

“Yeah, sure, so you can mock me some more,” you groan.

He shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t enroll in a program if you weren’t absolutely perfect at it, so I can’t come at your skills.”

“You’re so kind, I think I might love you,” you mock, moving closer to him and pouting before pushing him away with a light push on his chest and focusing on your papers again.

“And by the way, I know the characteristics of sound,” he says, right next to your face.  

You smile and think to yourself that this might be fun. “Good, go on and tell me.”

You don’t get why Haechan’s roommate bicker so much. Not that you could lecture them when, as soon as you walk inside his room, your talks won’t be much different than theirs (worse, probably). But you think you and Haechan, at least, have a reason to fight so much. His roommates are… weird. They are close. They all are, in an annoying way almost, always moving in packs and breaking their back to meet up even if their institutes are scattered around in the Academy. Yet, they get heated pretty easily when they sit in the living room, and you can only blame it on stress as you chuckle, standing against the countertop with a glass of water in hand.

“Donghyuck left you all alone?” Jeno enters the kitchen, distracting you from Renjun screaming at his painting and Mark cursing while he tries to come up with a melody for a small assignment you decided to not worry about —you have Haechan to worry about now.

“Yep, told me to be here at 2 pm just to be in the shower instead,” you reply with a tight smile on your face that makes him laugh and scroll the black hair out of his face.

“My fault,” he explains while pouring himself a glass. “I convinced him to stay at the basketball field when we finished and he couldn’t meet up with you smelling like rotten leftovers forgotten under the august sun.”

“Creative writing?” You ask after you chuckle at his description.

“Nope, photography, Renjun’s worst nightmare.”

You laugh. “It’s because you leave all those big things around his room, right?”

“Our room,” he says, empathising on the first word.

“Okay, communism king, your room but I don’t think your comrade is happy about it.”

Jeno laughs, and hums before gulping down a sip of water. “I’m not rich yet to afford a studio so he’ll have to deal with his bestie working, sweating, and crying his way to the top.”

“You could’ve been a nepo baby and have everything handed to you.”

“Sucks not to be one. I wouldn’t even bother being in Uni, just leaving my best life with my camera and daddy’s money.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Haechan says entering the kitchen, hair still damp and casual housewear on.

“None of your business,” you reply, placing the glass in the sink and walking to the door. “Come on, we have a song to create. It could be our first Billboard number one.”

Haechan sighs, snatching the bottle of water from Jeno’s hand, briefly confused at his grinning face, and then follows you quickly.

“Are you trying to hit on my friends?” He asks, closing the door behind.

“Would you mind?”

“Yes, I’d hate having to deal with you in our group hangouts.”

“You already deal with me. More than you should since you always come to me even when we could not be together,” you say, tilting your head to the side, and sitting on your assigned chair. “Are you perhaps jealous? Do you want me all to yourself?”

“Nah, you can go and fuck all of them right no—”

“Okay,” you don’t even let him finish and you’re at the door, but he springs after you and stops you.

“What are you doing? I was kidding!”

“Why? Since when you can tell me what to do?”

Haechan groans and drags you back to your place, but he doesn’t sit just yet, he’s bent over to be close to you. “I need you here with me to work on this goddam song, and then you can go and have a gangbang in the living room, I don’t care.”

“You’d be mad you won’t be part of it,” you joke, having the time of your life watching his pissed-off expression as he stomps loudly back at his place. “Accept that you will never win with me, and maybe you won’t be so triggered every time we talk.”

“Shit, it’s late,” you murmur, lifting your head from the lyrics you’re trying to write down. Now you got the theme —it’s a love song that you hope won’t turn lame— and even a faint idea of a tune, and while Haechan tried to get inspired by other songs and tried instruments he wants to add to the track, you worked on the words.

“Don’t you think we’re trying too hard?” He whispers, placing the guitar on his bed before standing up and stretching.

“What do you mean?” You ask, lifting your neck so you can look at him after you turn around on the rotating chair.

“Music should come to you, it should be… spontaneous.”

You’d want to roll your eyes, mostly for the spontaneous part, but he’s right. Most artists don’t think about the songs they make, the song comes to their mind when they’re not thinking about it.

“Yes, but do you think we’re doing such a shitty job with this?”

He shakes his head, walking closer to you. “Not totally, I just think that if we want to be on top, we have to work around it differently.”

You gulp when he hovers over you and grips the side of the chair tightly. “Like?”

“We should… relax. Take our mind off of it and just wait for it to come,” he glances at the desk, studying the crumpled tries you gave up on and the only three phrases you were happy with written on the tablet. “We should get inspired,” he whispers, and you’re once again so focused on his face that you don’t feel his hand on your thigh, under the long black skirt you’re wearing, it surely must’ve been on you for a while if the fabric was already crumpled up and his fingers teased the hem of your panties between your hips and stomach.

“Is — is this how you inspire people?” You ask, glancing down with a rising chest but for some reason not pulling away.

“Don’t know, I’ve never done it before,” he chuckles, slowly moving closer to your core, observing the small signs of your body. “Should we see if it works?”

You hate him. You should be working on that lyric for the last half hour you have left. You hate him. He’s making it impossible for you to stick to your ‘minding my business’ plan that had worked through all your school years. You hate him, you do, and yet you nod, humming a feeble ‘yes,’ in response.

“Good,” rolls out of his lips, and it sounds so different from his usual tone, you can’t help but feel hot.

Your nails sink in the chair when his fingers slip right against your clit after he had your consent and starts teasing it.

“So, it’s a love song…” he says, and you frown, heart pumping louder as for a second you think he led you on and you looked like a pathetic horny loser, but his hand is still playing with your pussy and his face is still close to yours. “Chose that because you have somebody in mind?”

“We literally picked it for a reason last week, you —”

“God,” he shushes you up, pushing the panties to the side and teasing your entrance, it’s already damp, but not enough how he wants it. “Can you stop being so rational for once? I know why we picked it; remember I’m trying to inspire you.”

“Wait, you really think some fingering can inspire me to write a love so—” your words shut down when he places a hand on your mouth, eyes widening but pussy leaking an embarrassing amount of cum.

He quirks a brow in surprise and, shortly after, a smug smirk curls his lips. “Oh, so you’re into that?”

You can’t reply, but even if you could’ve, you’re not sure you would’ve said anything.

“So, anybody in mind?”

You shake your head. Your love life has been anything but exciting, and after a few tries, you were sure it wasn’t what you needed to focus on, especially because nobody sparked your interest. Nobody was worth moving your focus from your studies.

“Great, so I guess that’ll have to be me.”

“What?” You mutter muffled, closing your legs and moving on the chair.

Haechan rolls his eyes in his skull, keeping you in place. “Oh, come on, you can fake it for a few minutes. Don’t act disgusted, I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he says.

“Not yet.”

“I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he retorts after he pushes into you with two fingers, staring right into your eyes.

You bite back a moan and a curse under your breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to think,” you say. “Just, prove it to me. If you’re good, I’ll be inspired and I’ll come up with the lyrics, if you suck, we’ll go back to our original method.”

Haechan hates that he constantly has to prove things to you, and he hates even more that he does it, almost as if he’s your dog and he has to follow your orders while you keep him on a leash. But if this will work to come up with a great song, and in his outer-songwriting-course-plan to distract you, he won’t complain.

Honestly, he couldn’t complain even if it only meant to finger you. He might want to fight you every time he sees your face but, damn, what a face.

“Shit,” you moan. You don’t want to give him too much satisfaction, but he knows what he’s doing and it’s been way too long since someone touched you like that. Damn, even since you touched yourself like that. Maybe the whole ‘staring at your goals’ was taking some funny things away from you.

“Do you want to turn the song into a Hozier song?”

You huff, you just asked him one thing and his mouth is running again doing the opposite. “You wish you were this good to inspire a Hozier type of song.”

“Really?” He taunts, pressing his thumb on your clit, starting to tease the throbbing nub in circles.

“Yes,” your voice trembles, but your face shows confidence.

Haechan snickers, quickening the pace of his fingers, watching you fight against yourself to not show how much you’re loving it. “One second of this mouth on your pussy and I’d make you change your mind,” he whispers right against your ears, hot breath fanning your skin. “It’s a shame you don’t deserve it.”

You groan, head rolling back in disappointment, and that makes him laugh.

“You have to think twice before running that mouth, babe. Especially with me.”

“Never,” you talk back, opening your eyes and regretting as soon as they meet his. His gaze is too intense, and your brain is too far gone to keep it up.

Haechan only grins, enjoying your wrecked face and the sounds your pussy is making as his fingers keep working on you. You might try to deny him, but your body is speaking to him, and deeply so are you. It’s in your eyes, and your lips trembling, and in the beautiful moans that are rolling out of your tongue.

“Are you close, brat?”

You don’t have it in you to complain, or retort, the orgasm is right around the corner and you fear he would ruin the experience if you said something out of line.

“Answer me,” he orders, lightly slapping your thigh.

“Yes,” you breathe out, biting your lower lip to prevent the whole house from hearing you.

“Good,” he replies, smiling proudly and starting to move faster in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot every time he reaches the base, and torturing your clit with his thumb. And when it’s too much for you, you come. Body trembling against the chair, and legs pushing up as the shocks of pleasure run through you.

“Acid when you talk but sweet to taste,” he hums after pulling out his fingers from his mouth and you only glare at him as you quickly try to get yourself together again. 

“It’s late,” he says, staring at the clock. “Go home and let me know if this was useful somehow. And not by replaying it in your mind at night wishing I was there with you.” He winks and you slap his shoulder hard. “What the hell!”

“I won’t come up with anything on purpose, and I swear if you keep being so annoying, I’ll be terrible at this.”

“You would never, this makes up like 80% of our final grade.” He challenges you with a glare.  

“If I go down, you go down with me,” you retort, face to face, fiercely looking into his eyes.  

“It’s not smart of you.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you smile sweetly before it drops from your face. “It’s a threat.”

It’s not like you’re trying to avoid him after what happened, but that’s exactly what’s going on. You don’t regret the act per se, you just can’t believe it was so easy for you to agree to do that with him. And you know he will use it against you for eternity.

A very dumb move from your side to give him the possibility to tease you even more and about something you couldn’t defend yourself from.

But if you try your best to change corridors when you see him from afar, walk quickly back to your dorm room, and sit on the opposite side in class (you fail at keeping your mouth quiet, but you need to discuss with him during lessons), it seems like he’s doing everything he can to be on your path.

“I’m starting to believe you’re a stalker,” you huff, clearly scaring him when you stop abruptly in the middle of the library and make him stop in his tracks.

“I’m not.”

You raise a brow, staring at him until he huffs and throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, fine, I was following you but only because I wanted to know what you will study.”

“Why do you care so much about what I study?”

“So I know how to beat you?”

“Isn’t it more exciting if you beat me only using your brain by putting some knowledge in it without seeing my cards?” You say, pushing a finger on his chest and making him walk backwards until his back hits the bookshelf behind him.

“I think sneaky games are funnier, though,” he whispers, hand moving to rest on your side. “Especially with you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, and taking a step back, freeing yourself from his hold. “The games you’re playing are not sneaky. Why are you always in my business?”

He shrugs. “Why not? So, what are we studying today?”

“We are not studying together.”

“Why? Isn’t it funny? The same study method, same hours, but one of us will be better than the other. That’s a truly equal comparison.”

You run a hand on your face and keep walking to find what you need. “If you didn’t distract me every two seconds, I would’ve already been like five pages into my studying session.”

“Oh, please, you are wondering around the library anyway. I’m just keeping you company.” His body follows yours like a shadow, his heat radiating so close to your skin that you think you might go insane.

“I don’t want your company,” you say, moving your eyes swiftly over the books in front of you as you try to find what you are looking for in the sociology section. When you finally find it, reminding yourself you have to buy it so you can annotate directly on yours, you walk back to your table, but Haechan is still beside you like a puppy on a string. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I could, and I’d want to, but I can’t,” he says, sitting at your side, smiling widely when you glare at him.

“This is a useless lesson for you,” you try to dismiss him.

“Is it? Because we have the same ones.”

“Jesus, okay, fine,” you give up, throwing your head back and raising your voice enough to make some heads turn in your direction. His biggest talent is to exasperate you. “But we give ourselves a timing, and then when we’re done, we’ll have to answer five questions.”

“And who answers to them all?” He asks, there’s a taunting edge in his voice, and a grin on his face.

“Is the best,” you reply as if it’s obvious.

“Yeah, but there should be a prize.”

“Being better than you is the prize.”

Haechan scoffs, and he hates to admit in his mind that he finds your snarky remarks so fucking hot, if you weren’t in a public library and if his job on earth wasn’t to detest you, he would’ve already had you bent on the table.

“I love how you’re always so sure of being better than me.”

You snicker and send him a flying kiss. “Honey, I am better than you.”

“Wait, I just left out a detail!” You almost scream when you compare your answers for the nth time because you can’t believe he has done slightly better than you.

“That detail is important,” Haechan replies unfazed by your indignation.

“No, it’s not. We would have the same score if this was graded,” you insist, feeling more angered than you should. It’s nothing serious, it shouldn’t be serious, but with him, there’s your pride on the line.

“But this is between me and you, so I win. Also, my phrasing in the second answer is better than yours.”

“Shut up, it’s not.”

“It is, and you just have to admit you lost,” he insists, leaning over, staring at you with a challenging raised brow.  

You swallow, eyebrows furrowing, and then you sigh. “Your advantage is minimal. And you only won a battle, because I’m winning a war.”

“Fine, Napoleon, I still won and you’re coming to my place even Saturday so we can do this some more.”

“Hey, Napoleon sucked! He lost the most important battles, the only ones he should’ve won.”

“That’s why I called you that,” he winks, clicking his tongue mockingly.  

“Oh, you think you will win the war? You’re wrong, honey, Waterloo is yours.”

Haechan laughs, standing up after putting his things in his bag. “I’m waiting for you on Saturday…” he says and before you can complain he starts singing, “Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war…”

“Oh, shut up!” You say, hitting his arm as you push him away, but he giggles and walks away continuing with the tune.

“Waterloo, promise to love you forevermore. Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to…”

And you think that if only he didn’t try to sabotage your final grades in Music History, you might even find him funny.

Haechan hates you.

If he was sure he didn’t before, he is sure that he does now.

He can’t wrap his head around the fact that you, Miss zero social skills, and negative 100 friends, can be so good at debating. On every fucking topic. You’re well-spoken, witty, smart, somehow it looks like you know everything about everything. And even when you don’t know (and you always specify it — which he shouldn’t find so hot, but he does) you always come up with perfectly thought theories and analyses coming from the small knowledge you have on the topic. The thing he also hates is that you never sound like you’re showing off your skills, it’s just really nice to listen to you and —when he’s not the one intervening against you— you’re the sweetest person ever and everybody in every class absolutely adores you.

He wonders if you’re a robot. Maybe you’re some sort of artificial intelligence sent there to conduct studies on humans’ stupidity, and he was unlucky enough to start a fight with you. You just don’t seem real. And he’d love to dig deeper but he doubts he will find anything relevant.

You might be smart, but you also look incredibly boring. He tried to find out if you had interests, or anything that could distract you, but his research led nowhere. The biggest problem is that he hates you, but not to the point that he wants to get you suspended from University, so he has to find another way to make you slip.

Apparently, you’re playing the same game, but even at this, you are thinking faster and smarter.

“Where the fuck are all my anthropology notes?” Haechan mutters as he looks through his library, moving books and notebooks around, thinking he has gone insane. “Mark!” He screams, rushing to the desk to search again but he knows where he left everything; on the second shelf of the small library in his room, on top of the music theory book that hasn’t moved since a week.

“Yes?” His housemate peaks from the door only with his head.

“Did you mistake our notes?”

“What notes?” Mark furrows, backing away from his friend who looks out of his mind.

“The anthropology notes,” he says, voice full of annoyance because, why does Mark never know anything? He’s in the same course and, yet, he’s always somewhere else with his head. 

“Man, I don’t even take notes during that lesson.”

“What do you mean you don’t? Ugh, never mind,” Haechan groans, rolling his eyes because he can’t believe he can’t count on anybody. “Have you seen them somewhere?”

“Nope,” Mark replies, entering the room. “I mean, I don’t know what they look like.”

“You know right we have a test tomorrow? The winter break is close, and some courses have it. You are studying, right?”

“Yeah, just not every…thing…”

Haechan rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Why don’t you like it? I mean, I know it’s not really music related but it teaches you so much about other cultures and there’s a whole part about how music is different from culture to culture.”

“Next semester, we didn’t get there, yet. It’s a bunch of complicated terminology and theories I just don’t get,” Mark defends. He never understood why Haechan loved studying so much. He is only there for the music, and a few other theoretical lessons, but some courses don’t make any sense to him.  

“So you plan on being terrible tomorrow?”

“I just want a decent result; I don’t strive for perfection like you and your girlie.”

Haechan almost chokes on his saliva. “My girlie? Who’s my girlie?”

“That girl in class you always get into heated arguments with, and then she comes here and I’m pretty sure you make out when no one’s watching,” Mark says so calmly it infuriates Haechan more than if he was teasing him.  

“Shut the hell up! She’s my mortal enemy and while you have been paired with Yangyang for the song project, Professor Park thought it was nice putting her and me together.”

“Yeah, you can still make out with your mortal enemy,” he snorts, hitting his friend with a playful elbow hit.  

“Mark, shut up and leave, I have to study,” he tries to cut short, pushing his friend out of the room.  

“With what notes?”

“I don’t know. I left them on the shelf, and nobody entered my room since Saturday when she — Oh, my God.”

When your name resonates in the empty classroom after you’ve taken the anthropology test, your blood freezes for a second.

“Haechannie,” you cheer cheekily, turning around and pushing your tote bag far up your shoulders.

“Don’t,” he warns, lifting a finger to stop you from starting anything. “I have to talk to you.”

“Sure, the test was easy, right? You might have beaten me this time,” you say but you have to hold back a laugh when you scan his furious, pissed-off expression.

“Yeah, if you studied, it was,” he retorts venously.  

“And you surely studied,” you say, faking innocence.  

“You can study when you have something to study on,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, and you do,” you still play dumb, but when he calls your surname, you know he’s not joking anymore. “Yes?”

“Do you, perhaps, know where the fuck my notes are?”

You look around, shrugging. “Where are your notes, Donghyuck?”

“I don’t know, I’m asking you for a reason,” he retorts, plastering a fake smile that doesn’t reflect in the darkness of his pupils.

“They might’ve mixed up with my stuff when you invited me over Saturday?” You sing-song, tilting your head to the side and shrugging.

“Might’ve,” he repeats, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “It was just a coincidence.”

You shrug again, pushing your lower lip in a pout. “Sometimes… things happen.”

“And if it wasn’t on purpose, why couldn’t you just text me?”

“Because I didn’t notice,” you reply innocently, batting your lashes, knowing it will get on his nerves even more.  

He groans, closing his eyes to calm himself down before he speaks again, “then how do you know?”

“Don’t know, just making assumptions,” you say. “It turns out I’m really good at it.”

“I swear, I — I want to… I want to —”

“To what? Choke me because I got my revenge? Oh, it turns out it’s really not that funny when someone plays with you?” You mock, and in doing so you get closer to him.

“Goddamn,” he groans before your back meets the hard wall of the room and his lips meet yours in a heated kiss, his hands on your body and yours limp at your side as you’re too shocked to react. “I want to — I want to kill you, actually.”

You smirk, chuckling straight at his face. “Filled the space with the wrong letter, ‘cause you’re kissing me.”

“Maybe my kiss is lethal, maybe there’s poison on my lips.”

“Oh, you’re so romantic you’d die for me?” You coo, placing a hand on your heart.

Haechan groans, throwing his head back. “Why are you always so, so, so, God,” he curses, running his fingers in his hair. “I want my notes back, now.”

“I don’t have them,” you say, grinning because he looks wrecked. You know it wasn’t very morally mature for you, but it was only fair. Also, you know he doesn’t arrive last minute with anything, he had already studied everything and you’re sure he had answered everything on that paper, he just couldn’t revisit.

“My notes back when you pass by for the project or it’s war.”

“It’s already war,” you retort when he walks past you to leave.  

Haechan turns around, locking his gaze with yours. “Oh, honey, it can get so much worse than this.”

You felt like testing your luck when his notes weren’t back on his desk, but you had no idea it could get worse than that, until it got.

When he deleted an essay from your computer and you had to remake and finish the work of five days in five hours, so you cancelled a project he was working on for another assignment you had. And then he erased the recording of a course from your phone, so you ripped his notebook in front of his eyes (and his roommates too). The list of petty things is long, and you’re not really proud (you’re sure not even Haechan is) of what you did, especially when things started becoming personal. You two want to destroy each other, but you are honestly just killing yourselves in the meantime.

Your book slams closed so hard that you almost zip your hands in it, and by protecting your fingers you lose track of where you’ve been. “Get lost,” you whisper bitterly as soon as you recognize the hand that did that.

“No thanks,” he replies, sitting next to you.

“I’m trying to read a book in the quiet of the library, so can you leave me alone?”

“It’s a public space, I can sit wherever I want,” he replies, leaning back into the chair, and widening his legs under the table. You know ‘cause you feel his knee push against yours and you have to retract your leg to avoid the contact.  

You glare at him, breathing deeply through your nose because you can’t make a scene here. You two almost got kicked out of a class two days ago, and that was humiliating enough. So, you think that ignoring him is the best thing you can do.

“Wow, so you have a bit of self-control and don’t talk back. Never thought I’d see that day,” he replies sarcastically to your silence with an amused grin that curls his lips.

You hold back a scream and huff loudly, “I truly need you to get fucked right now.”

“Nevermind,” he jokes, pulling a tight forced smile and you close the book again, now too annoyed to even focus on the words on the paper. “I came here in peace, by the way.”

“Yeah, your peace is war in my country,” you reply bitterly, trying to shift away but those damn chairs make the loudest sounds at the smallest movements.  

“That’s because you’re full of prejudices.”

You inhale deeply, rubbing your temple to soothe the headache you know is about to arrive. “Haechan, tell me what you want and then leave me alone.”

He smiles, happy you are finally willing to listen, before he clears his throat. “Okay so, I have to say that some of this is funny. I mean, only the debates and these random talks, but I’m not the biggest fan of all the other stuff we’re doing, so why don’t we bring it back?”

“Bring it back? As in?” You question, raising a brow in confusion.

“I liked it better when we would just compete without tearing ourselves down. If you cancel, ruin, or save one of my projects with the word boobs in it before sending it to the professor another time, I will go insane.”

You hold back a chuckle. You have to admit it was your lowest move, but it was quite funny when Professor Choi had a whole talk in class about being careful before sending out finished projects and exposed him in front of the class.

“No, it wasn’t funny,” he mutters sternly, watching you fight with all the muscles of your face to don’t break into a laugh.

“No, sorry, it was,” you defend, voice trembling, threatening a chuckle to come out. “Like Iloveboobsdemo1 is the best thing I’ve ever come up with. That could be the title of our song.”

“If you want to get expelled from all the academies in the world that would be a perfect idea,” he says, trying to be serious because seriously it wasn’t funny, but when you stare into each other’s eyes for too long none of you two can hold back the laughter anymore. “Okay, fine. It was funny, but I don’t want that to happen again.”

“So? Do you give up?” You taunt, tilting your head after placing it on your palms.

“I’m not giving up, we are changing strategies of our combat.”

“Oh, okay. You will lose anyway in the end, so if this can be more beneficial for me in the meantime, it’s fine.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples, and you chuckle. “Don’t laugh,” he whispers distraught. “I… could you sometimes at least pretend to give me some kind of chance of winning with you and not feeling like you’ll always have the last laugh?”

“I just replied.”

“No, a reply would’ve been ‘Yes, Haechan, don’t worry, we can change it.”

“Too wordy,” you comment, waving him off with a movement of hand.

“You said like ten words more,” he replies, voice breaking in his throat in a whine, but you decide to act as if you don’t notice.  

“It still flowed better. See, that’s why the lyrics are in my hands. You’re really not good with words.”

“You keep doing that,” he groans, slamming a hand on the table, attracting some curious eyes on you before you glare them away. “But it’s fine, okay, so… no more dirty games? No more sabotaging?”

“Yes, no more. Well, not like this, but we can still play a bit, right?” You ask, retracting your hand right when you’re about to hold his to seal the deal.

“Yes, but nothing weird, or you know what I mean.”

You hum, reaching out again and shaking his hand. “It’s a deal, then?”

“It’s a deal.”

The deal somehow turns into Haechan always being next to you. He’s like a shadow, sitting next to you in class, studying with you in the library, and so on. You don’t mind him when he minds his business, but he rarely does. Especially during lessons when you need to focus on what the professors are saying.

You roll your eyes when Haechan sneaks a paper next to your notebook and you read ‘how would a dog wear pants’ with two badly drawn different options on it.

“Does it look like the right moment?” You whisper under your breath, side-eyeing him, and trying to keep your focus on the lesson. You see him nod and decide to mark the second option, thinking that he’d be happy with it, but he has the urge to hear a whole dissertation on something that will never happen, right now.

“Why?” He asks as if you’re not in the middle of a lecture.

“Not now.”

“But this lesson is boring,” he whines, poking your side with his elbow.  

You huff, covering it with a cough when you realize it is too loud, and then take a sip from your bottle of water.

“You didn’t answer,” Haechan insists, this time poking your arm with the cap of the pencil. 

“I picked one,” you mutter, pointing at the paper with your head.  

“Elaborate and change my mind.”

“You think it’s the first one?” You say in disbelief, the utter shock causing the tone of your voice to be louder than you expected.

“Any problems there?” The Professor asks, and you feel your blood freeze.

“Mh, no, nothing, my pen has no more ink, I was asking for another one,” you lie, thanking God you two are sitting far in the back of the class and the Professor can’t hear and can’t see that your pen isn’t dead at all. So, with a suspicious nod, the middle-aged man goes on with the lecture while Haechan giggles beside you.

You glare at him, and he shrugs raising his hands. “If you kept quiet, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“If you let me concentrate on the lesson instead of asking dumb questions, it wouldn’t have happened,” you retort, and he laughs under his breath again, but doesn’t ask more questions. He still ruins your notes with ugly flowers and other drabbles and you let him be because at least he’s being silent and paying attention.

“So, you really are giving up,” you say when the bell rings and the class starts emptying.

“What makes you think that?” He asks, putting his things in his bag, just like you.

“You didn’t write anything down.”

Haechan shrugs. “Why would I? I have your notes.”

“No, you don’t,” you say but before you can realize he rips the notebook from your hands and snaps a picture of the two pages you wrote. “Hey! That’s not fair. That’s my work.”

“Your amazing summarizing skills and my artistic skills. I don’t gift beautiful sunflowers to just anybody.”

“Beautiful sunflowers?” You snicker, starting to walk down the stairs, pushing the notebook into your bag as Haechan follows at your side. “If Renjun saw them he would have a heart attack.”

“Can’t compare Vang Gogh to Picasso.”

“Keep Picasso out of your mouth,” you say threateningly.

“Still, aren’t you happy you will think of me while studying?” He bats his lashes, and you hold back an entertained grin.

“Can’t wait to go through the absolute most painful ulcers every time I glance down on those things.”

He gasps offended, bringing a hand on his chest. “See, this is what happens when you spend all your days on socials and your brain doesn’t know how to appreciate real art anymore.”

“You are so annoying, and distracting. Next time if you sit next to me, I’ll push you off the chair,” you warn, and only when a colder blow of wind hits you, you realize you’re walking back to your places together.

“Right!” He says and you think it’s the good time he leaves you alone, but no, he’s not done. “You didn’t explain why the dog would wear it only on its hind legs.”

“Is it really that serious? Why do you want to know so badly?”

“It’s funny. I’m sick and tired of hearing you only discuss music, sociology, and the media and other stuff.”

You sigh. But you still have a bit to walk, so you might as well have to deal with him and his hypothesis about dogs. “Because pants have to cover your lower body, so legs, and ass and everything else. If you wear them like the first option, half of the ass is out. And also, the back limbs correspond to our legs, we’re divided in half horizontally, not vertically.”

He doesn’t reply right away, processing your answer. And you think you broke him.

“Oh!” You exclaim. “Zootopia, animals wear clothes like the second picture.”

“Really? You had a whole statement that made perfect sense and then you added a cartoon to your thesis?”

“But it still makes sense,” you argue back. “And, most importantly, I made you agree with me,” you wink before stopping when you reach your complex.

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” he gives up before looking behind you. “You live here?”

You nod, searching for the keys in the tote bag, and you think it’s time to stop pretending that’s Mary Poppins’ bag and throw away some useless stuff.

“I thought there were only rooms here,” he states, looking at the big complex a few meters away from the university.  

“There are common dormitories, and then there are some one-room flats. I got one with a scholarship when I graduated. It’s less expensive than an apartment and I get a small place all to myself.”

“Oh,” he whispers. He doesn’t know why he thought you had roommates. “So, you’re alone, alone?”

“No, you can’t come in,” you say.

“I didn’t ask that,” he frowns, offended you would even imply that. “I thought you… well, oh, never mind.”

“Yes, I’m alone, so I can do whatever the hell I want. If I want to cook, I cook. If I want to stay up all night to study, I do that. If I want to dry the clothes in the middle of the living room, that is also the bedroom and the kitchen, I do that.”

“Is it really that small?”

“It’s decent, I guess. It’s spacious enough to live in it comfortably but not big to the point I have to waste days cleaning it.”

“Maybe we could study there, no loud roommates screaming in the living room.”

“I like the mess of your place, and I’ll be there Friday.”

Haechan rolls his eyes. “Come on, I hate the library. Can’t we for once study at your place?”

“I never invited you to my studying sessions,” you groan.

“But you love it.”

“No.”

“Yes, you have an orgasm every time you know something better than me.”

“Please, shut up,” you wave him off, starting to walk away.

“I don’t care, I’ll be here tomorrow,” he screams when you’re too far, clearly running away from him.  

“And I’ll be at the library!”

You never go to the library, to be honest, you were just unlucky enough that the washing machine thought it was the right moment to leak all over the floor and Haechan found you at home with your coat on the couch, the tote bag next to the door and your jeans half soaked as you tried to fix the mess on the pavement.

From that moment, your meet-ups become more and more periodic, whether it’s at your place, his or at the library. You hate to admit it, but the competition drives you forward, and you love seeing his face every time you defeat him somehow.

“Are you busy this Saturday?” He asks while he strums with the guitar to come up with a chord progression for your song.

“Yeah, why?” You reply, poking the cap of the pen to your cheeks, drifting your eyes on him.

“Want to go out with me?”

“What? Saturday is my day to study and do my things like I want to,” you say. It was the only day, along with Sunday, you had to fix all your notes without being wrecked from the lessons of the day, or listen to lessons while cleaning the house, and so on. You tried to squeeze everything there so Sunday could be your free day and you could dedicate it to your hobbies and to write for the magazine you worked for, nothing too serious, just some money to add to the survival costs that your parents would send you, and the monthly entrance you had when you would get called to help a dance studio downtown.

“Great, we’re going out tomorrow.”

You huff, slumping back on the chair. “No, we’re not. I’m busy.”

“You can take one afternoon for me,” he replies, placing the instrument next to him. “Come on, it will be fun.”

“Where would you even take me?”

Haechan smirks. “It’s a surprise.”

When Saturday afternoon arrives, you don’t know how to feel. You spent the whole night trying to find a positive thing about it, and the good thing is that for once you are leaving the house to do something funny —you hoped so— not all by yourself. The bad thing is that the person you are going to do this thing with is Haechan.

You try not to worry about it too much, he’s not that bad when he wants to, and he’s funnier than you’d like to admit, so maybe taking a small break from the obsessive studying and tidying, will do you some good.

When you hear the knocks on the door, you grab your coat and your bag and head to open it.

“Hi,” he says. “Anything to fix before we leave?”

“Don’t say that, they will hear you and break all together.”

Haechan laughs, briefly looking at your body, mostly covered because it’s still cold outside and you have way too many layers on you. “Toy Story for home appliances?”

“Yeah, that would be my life,” you reply, closing the door behind you and walking outside of the complex. “So, where are you taking me?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he says. “Don’t expect anything big, I just don’t want to hear you nag about it.”

“Hey, I appreciate almost everything.”

“Yeah, it’s the almost that worries me,” he says. “Hop in the car.”

“You have a car?”

“Yeah, it’s right in front of your eyes,” he answers, gesturing to the space next to you.  

You turn around, holding back a laugh when you see the old blue car, it’s surely a Hyundai, you have no idea about the model, but you know for sure it’s falling apart. “This is the car?”

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m poor.”

“It will get us killed,” you say opening the door, letting out a breath of relief when the handle doesn’t stay in your hold.

Haechan rolls his eyes and sits in. “Can you don’t be overdramatic for one second?”

“I’m stating facts. Are the airbags still working? Is the oil level high enough? The battery? And the water for —” Your eyes widen when his lips crash on yours. At first, it’s a harsh attempt to shut you up, but then his lips shily go for more, moving along yours with a small flame of need.

“I won’t kill you, but please shut up,” he begs when he pulls away, sooner than you want to, later than he should’ve.  

You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness and the way his kiss made you feel lightweight. You might occasionally still want to wrap your hand around his neck but he’s quite good at being a charmer.

“I’m giving you the privilege to pick the music,” he says once you’re on the open road, the lights of the city shine against the windows and the other cars pass beside you.

“Yeah, can I connect my Spotify to the car? Oh, wait, this model from the future directly brings the singers into your backseats so you can have a live concert,” you joke after seeing the car radio.  

“Wanted to take the metro?”

You laugh. “No, I’m just… why did you say that as if I could connect the aux or the Bluetooth? It was funny.”

“Fine, you’re forgiven,” he says. “Just play it through your phone.”

You hum, already deep into the scrolling of your music catalogue. “Can I put my driving playlist?”

“You have a car?”

“No, I have a driving playlist.”

“Why would you have a driving playlist if you don’t have a car?”

“Because right now it comes useful,” you wink, pressing play without waiting for his answer.

Haechan smiles, quickly glancing at you before his attention is fully on the road. “Baekhyun?” He asks with surprise when the second song starts. “You listen to Baekhyun?”

“Everybody should listen to him,” you reply, already getting defensive because his next words could be the last straw of your ‘relationship.’

“Oh God,” he whispers.

“If you tell me you’re a hater I’m jumping out of the running car and changing the trajectory of your life forever,” you warn, turning to the side to have a better view of him.

“Me? A Baekhyun hater? He’s my father! I just can’t believe you have some sort of sense and taste.”

You slap his shoulder, making the both of you break into a light-hearted laugh.

“You scared me for a second,” you say, placing your hand on your beating heart.  

“Sorry. So, it turns out we have one thing in common,” he jokes, creases creating at the corner of his eyes as his features soften and a genuine smile blooms on his face.

You shrug. “I mean, we have many things in common, actually. That’s why we get along so badly. Maybe it’s true, opposite attracts and that’s why we don’t attract.”

“I think we do attract… proved it a few times.”

“Once,” you reply immediately.

“Twice, with the kiss…”

“You did that to shut me up.”

“I don’t shut up just…” anybody… “I felt like kissing you.”

You smirk, loving watching him struggle. “Nothing wrong to admit you find me attractive,” you tease.

“Unfortunately, your mouth ruins everything.”

“My mouth is the thing that attracts you the most about me, or else you wouldn’t keep lingering around me like bees on honey.”

“Bees make honey, they’re not attracted to it. Bears are.”

“Yeah, you look like a bear, you know?”

He glares at you, and you laugh. “Bears are cute.”

“And attracted to honey.”

“And do I look like honey?” You ask teasingly. “Wait! You always call me honey!”

“It’s a mockery honey, not a sweet honey. You’re not my honey.”

You think about it. “You’re not my honey… could be a line of our song.”

“No academy talking today. It’s forbidden. You have to forget about uni.”

“Fine, I’ll forget about it just for today.”

The dates with Haechan, you can call them dates, right? Well, anyway, whatever they are, they become more common. At first, you tried to reject his weird, most of the time, last minute, proposal, because they would throw in the air all of your plans, but after a while, you somehow still found a way to go back on track without screwing up your academic goals.

“Why don’t you stay?” Haechan asks. It’s another Friday afternoon, and you two met up to go on with the song’s project. Much to your dismay, you have to admit you are the one who’s holding you two back. It’s like words can’t come out of you, not like you want to, at least. But Haechan’s not mad at you. Actually, you like the atmosphere around you when you lock in his room for those sessions. One time, he even made you try edibles to see if you could come up with something, but you ended up making out on the floor instead, so you stopped going for that path.

“I don’t know,” you say, huffing when you glance at the words in front of you and remind yourself that they don’t make sense. “I was thinking of going home and maybe listening to your tracks and…”

“Come up with something?” He drags the chair closer to you and steals your papers to read them. “It’s not as bad as you made it to be.”

“Yeah, it’s a good song, but it’s basic. And I feel like it’s a bit… cliché.”

“You do know that everything has already been written?” He jokes, but it’s not a teasing remark, it’s the truth, and he’s genuinely trying to lift your spirit.  

“I know, but it’s not my style, this is not how I usually write, I —”

“You write?” He stops you and only then you realize what you said. “Like, you have written songs before?”

You nod, shame pervading you when he stares at you with an expression you can’t comprehend. “Are you going to make fun of me?”

“No, I just thought you preferred lyrics over production, but I had no idea you were a lyricist.”

“Now, lyricist… I try, sometimes…”

Haechan smirks, poking your tummy making you cover it with your arms. “So there is something you’re insecure about.”

“Oh, I knew you were going to have a ball about this,” you groan, rolling your head back.

“No, hey, it’s just… I’ve never seen you like this about something you do. You are confident, usually,” he explains with no hint of mockery in his voice.

You sigh, looking at your feet tapping the ground and then look back at him. “It’s just… very personal,” you confess. “I think it’s clear I don’t have lots of friends. I used to, back at home, but here I’m alone. But even back then I’ve always felt like there was something I couldn’t completely let out. That’s why I love dancing, I can express myself in a different way, but I found out it still wasn’t enough and when I started playing the piano again I… started writing. It started almost as a joke, and it was a cheesy break-up song when my ex cheated on me, like the cheap version of drivers license,” you joke and he laughs with you.

“But it was still better than this, I guess?”

You hum, shaking your head. “Nah, my first song was a mess, but then it was like I just couldn’t stop writing, so my songs became my diary. Every time something happens, I write about it.”

He hums, moving the chair closer until your legs intertwine. “So, to write a love song you would need to fall in love?”

You’re taken aback by his question, and don’t reply right away. “No, I just need to be inspired. I’ll watch some movies, and it will come to me.”

His face twists in mild disgust as he shakes his head. “Movies are fake, it’s better to live things on your skin.”

“I don’t have time to date, and I can’t just find someone that easily,” you say laughing. “But don’t worry, I won’t make us fail. I’ll try to edit this and make it work if I really can’t come up with anything else.”

Haechan is not convinced, it’s clear in his face and the way his leg is bouncing nervously, but he doesn’t get back on the conversation. “Are you staying?”

“I have some notes to edit and —”

“You have tomorrow,” he cuts you off. “Come on, I have to do it too.”

You groan, hating the way you can’t say no to his big eyes staring at you. “Fine, but not too much.”

It’s useless to say that none of you get those notes written better.

“God, are you fucking Professor Kim?” Haechan growls, grabbing your wrist and stopping you in the college corridors right out of Music History class, the last lesson of Tuesday.

“What?” You babble out, surprised by his angry tone and his speculation.

“No cause you’re his favourite and it’s driving me insane,” he utters under his breath, glaring at you.

“I’m his favourite?” You tease, tilting your head to the side, loving the fire that turned on between you two. It had been three calm months, the bickerings were too intellectual and you missed this.

“Yeah, I gave him the exact same answer and he found the tiniest thing to say I wasn’t right, just so he could hear yours instead and praise you.”

“Oh, poor baby boy, Professor Kim didn’t give you head pats and now you’re mad?” You pout, patting his head in a mockery gesture. 

Haechan groans, throwing his head back, and pushing you into the nearest empty class, closing the door behind.

“Haechan, what are y—”

“Shh,” he says, shushing you with a stern gaze and a squeeze of your wrist. “You passed by his office the other day, didn’t you? Needed extracurricular help ‘cause you didn’t understand something,” he mocks with a high-pitched voice. “Taught you how to play his flute in a historically accurate way?”

You’d love to laugh at his terrible blowjob-music reference but when his gaze darkens, you only chuckle, and that’s enough to drive him mad.

“God, for you is just a game, isn’t it?”

“You really think I fucked Professor Kim?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure he fantasizes about having you bent over his desk and, fuck, it drives me mad.”

“You wish he fantasized about having you bent on his desk?” You joke, smirking.

He groans. “No, I hate the way he looks at you, and talks to you, the last thing he had to do today was to call you a good girl in front of the whole class.”

Your lips curl in an amused grin, but your heart —and something else— flutter at the way he says ‘good girl,’ you try not to show it and go on with your teasing. “Not my fault I’m good, and I’m interested in his subject.”

“Your fault you lick his boots,” he groans, pushing you flat against the door, standing so close to your nose. “I know you’re smart and you don’t need to ride a dick to be first in class but…” he stops, inhaling your scent, and leaning against your forehead.

You lift his head with two fingers under his chin, and lean in, whispering, “you still want to see me bent over a desk, and you want to be the one railing me, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply, not verbally at least. The only answer is a guttural moan and two arms lifting you, making your legs wrap around his waist as he kisses you roughly.

“Hyuck,” you moan into the kiss when he starts walking toward the desk, sitting you on the edge.

“Yeah?”

“We can’t — we — this is, we can get expelled…”

He snickers. “Be quiet and nobody will even hear us.”

“What if they lock us inside?”

“Shut up,” he groans again, kissing you another time as his bag drops on the floor. “You drive me so fucking mad, you have no idea.”

You snicker under your breath, but your heart loses a beat when his hands roam on your thighs, moving closer and closer to your heat. “Wait,” you whisper.

“Wait, what?” He hums, cupping your chin and lowering your head, staring straight into your eyes. Haechan scoffs when your thighs squeeze against each other and he can see you gulping. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispers, leaning closer to your lips, making you believe he’ll kiss you, but you only get a taste of his thumb rubbing over your full lips, “don’t act like you don’t want me.”

“Haechan!” You scream when he rips off your tights, the tear of the fabric resonating in the room as you look down in shock. “I’m gonna kill you,” you groan but he’s not bothered in the slightest.

“They were getting in the way, and I get rid of everything that gets in my way,” he says with a smirk.

You laugh mockingly. “Then why am I still here?”

His brows furrow and a small pout forms on his face but he shrugs it off. “I’m taking care of you, I told you,” he groans, kissing you harshly. “You’re not winning the war.”

“Oh, and your military strategy is to fuck me?”

“Yeah, until you forget everything.”

You huff loudly when he finishes ripping the tights from your legs, the only pieces left the ones trapped in your shoes, and you’re glad the skirt is long enough to don’t make you freeze on the way back home.

“So much better,” he says proudly, staring at his work of art, letting his hands wander on your now bare skin. “And, now, let’s find out if there’s a way to shut you up.”

You look at him in anticipation, waiting for his next move as if your life depends on it. And you hate to be so eager, you hate you fantasized on it more than you should’ve, but you want to know what his lips feel like. And it’s almost as if Haechan hears your secret thoughts.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He taunts, kneading his fingers on your flesh.

“Nothing,” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than what you are.

Haechan laughs at you, shaking his head as he slowly gets on his knees, looking up at you. “You are always so fucking proud and annoying.” His hands rest on your knees before he pushes them far apart, forcing you in place as you uselessly try to close your legs. He tsk, shaking his head. “Don’t act ashamed, I’ve already felt you, and tasted you.”

You don’t reply. It’s hard to keep eye contact but this is bigger than sex, this is a game between you two and, he might not beat you in class, but he’s beating you right now.

His laugh brings you back to earth and you hate the smug smirk that’s sitting on his face. “So you do get quiet, thought I needed to give you a taste of my mouth to shut you up.”

You open your mouth to retort but the stern glare that flashes on his face is enough to put you back in your place.

“Good girl,” he says and your body trembles before you can even try to hide it. “Should I get a better taste of you?” He stares at you, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come, not like he wants to at least. “Use your words, babe. You know how to run that mouth when you want to, so, beg for it.”

“Fuck, no,” you retort, trying to move away but his hold on you doesn’t give any signs of loosening up.

“Okay, then,” he says, slowly standing up, and grabbing his bag. “See you around.”

“What?” You squeal, grabbing his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” he replies, shrugging.

“That’s not fair,” you reply, and he snickers.

“What? Are you wet? Do you want me?”

You don’t expect that reply and struggle to find the words, even more now that he’s standing between your open legs, keeping them apart, and his eyes are staring down at you, pinning you down in place. “I don’t want you,” you lie, swallowing the gulp in your throat when his right hand sits on your waist. “I just… I want to fuck.”

“Oh, do you? Well, there are plenty of people here, I’m sure many of them would want you. You know, even if you don’t pay attention to anybody, people look at you,” he whispers, caressing your jaw with his other hand. “First on the list is Professor Kim. Don’t you want to feel the thrill? Come on, go to his office now, so I can have something to hold against you forever.”

You chuckle. “Yeah? Want to blackmail me so I can do all the essays for you? Maybe you’ll get the best grades like this,” you tease, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt and making him groan.

He licks his lips, staring at yours, and you smirk. “I don’t need you to be first, and you know it.”  

“Do I?” you tease. “Want to be first at something?”

“Don’t,” Haechan warns, eyes darkening even more while the tent in his tight pants becomes even more evident.

“What? You can be the first one who fucks me on a desk if you quit playing hard to get.”

“I’m not playing hard to get,” he replies, leaning even closer, your bodies are pressed together and you can feel his hard dick press against you. “I won’t be the one begging, especially to eat you out,” he groans, cupping your chin unexpectedly. “Don’t act as if you didn’t think of this before. I’ve seen the way you get lost in my fingers when we study together. You see me twirl a pen in my hand and you wish I was inside you, don’t you? And when we argue? There’s always a small fragment where you lose focus and stare at my lips. Where do you want them, honey?”

Your brows furrow but your entire body reacts differently, a small shake, while wetness pools down your panties, soaking them even more, and your eyes close because you can’t bear his smug glare.

“I said,” he urges, giving a quick squeeze to your chin, “where do you want my lips?”

“On — on me,” you breathe out, voice muffled by the firm hold on your face.

His lips twitch as he leans closer and kisses your cheek. “Here,” he says, holding back a laugh when your eyes widen. “That was where you wanted them, right?”

“Oh, fuck off, you know what I meant,” you huff.

“No, I’m the dumb one, remember? You are smarter than me, you know everything. I’m always a step behind, I need you to guide me step by step,” he mocks in a condescending tone, pouting.

You take a deep breath. “I hate you.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs. “But if you use just three magic words I’m sure you’re going to love me for a while.”

You don’t want to give up but you’re on fire, and you fear that the more time passes by the more someone could find you out.

“I’ll ask nicely one last time,” he whispers against your lips. “Then I’ll ask you to do something for me and you’ll lose my lips for the second time. Where do you want them?”

“On my pussy,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

“Fucking finally,” he laughs. “Was it so hard Miss big brain?”

“Stop mocking me!”

“Mocking you?” He asks, getting on his knees again before grabbing your panties to pull them down. “I might hate you but it would be dumb to not recognize your qualities, right?”

You don’t reply, you have other things to worry about. For example, your mortal enemies kneeled between your legs in an empty class of your Academy, staring into your soul, ready to eat you out.

“So, since you’re so good with words, here we go again. Beg.” Haechan craves putting his lips on you just as you do, but this is the only moment he can have some power over you. And after the humiliation of today’s class, he has to make you pay for it a bit. Or maybe he just wants to hear that even if you’d choke him and slap him, you still want him.

“Please, Donghyuck, please,” you plead, looking into his eyes.

He’d love to hear you beg for him more, but the way your cunt is dripping on the desk is already enough to tell him how much you want him, and for now, it’s enough.

When his lips come in contact with your skin your legs immediately hook around his shoulders and you can feel the chuckle on your wet folds.

“Eager, honey?”

“Just, please, eat me out already,” you barely have time to finish that he stops playing around and starts moving his mouth on you. Your head falls behind while your thighs squeeze tighter around his face. Your hands clench on the edge of the desk as you try to keep your balance, but it gets harder with every lick of his tongue.

“Keep quiet, the door is closed not locked,” he reminds you, pulling away from you just to pick up again.

You try to don’t be too loud, but he’s better than you expected and maybe this was the wrong time to try this out. You should’ve simply begged him to fuck you, but now that you’re in the middle of this, the last thing you want is to stop him.

One of your hands is brave enough to let go of the hold on the desk and reach his hair to push him closer to your body, surprising him.

Haechan always thought you were much more shy than this, honestly, he didn’t even hope much for this to happen. But you surprise him, not only you let him have you in a random class at your university but you are also pushing him closer.

“You are eager,” he muffles against you, he can’t pull away when you’re pressing him down with so much force, but the way you’re acting is setting him on fire. He loves hearing you moan and whimper, not a word coming out of your pretty lips to confront him, just bliss on your face and voice. And that pushes him to give you even more, putting his entire self into eating you out until he almost drags screams out of you, making both of you forget where you are.

You’re not sure how many minutes pass by but when the orgasm rushes in your body you feel it’s too close. You’d probably force him down for another round if you were in any other place but you don’t feel brave enough.

“So? Disappointed?” He asks, cleaning his chin as he stands up, reaching you again. “Don’t lie, you’re still dripping down the desk, you’re even more turned on than last time.”

“I’m not,” you lie. You know you are, and Haechan knows it too.

“What is it? The thrill of being caught? My skills? Just me, or something else?”

You don’t know why you reply with what you reply, but you do. “Maybe someone else,” you tease, not even sure he’ll take the bait, but he’s too caught up in you to see the games you’re playing.

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“See, I always believed you were perspicacious and could catch details, I can’t believe you didn’t get it. You’re so sure Professor Kim wants to fuck me, ever thought I want him too?” You bat your lashes and Haechan tries to silence a groan, but you feel his fists clench at your sides.

“Don’t play with me, I’m not falling for this.”

You shrug. “Fine, I’ll still think about him while you fuck m—” he shuts you up with a rough kiss, pushing you down the desk with a quick movement that makes your heart jump to your throat.

“He’s not even that hot,” he groans, turning you around before bending you on the desk, and pulling your skirt up around your waist. “And he’s not even that old, there’s not even the charm of the dilf.”

“He’s smart,” you talk back, not sure how much you can pull your luck.

Haechan scoffs, slapping your ass. “Not smarter than me.”

“You’re not the professor so…”

“A degree means nothing,” he says, his chest pressing against your back. “What’s that you like so much about him?”

You chuckle. You’re not sure if he’s playing into your game or is just so easy to fool, but either way, you decide to keep going. “Everything. Don’t you see him?”

Haechan groans. Out of all the people, out of all the professors, he has a very personal beef with him that started at the start of the year and the way you just praise him so much —even outside of this specific situation where he got you’re messing up with him— drives him insane.

“Because he’s the best at everything? Isn’t he?”

You nod, expecting him to talk back but the only answer you get is the sharp sound of his belt being pulled away from his pants and smacked against your ass. “Fuck,” you curse, hating the way your body buzzes with pleasure at the impact.

Haechan chuckles. “I wonder what he would think of you if he saw you like this.”

“He wouldn’t think,” you say. “He’d act, fucking me like I deserve instead of wasting time like you.”

When his cock fills you up with no warning you almost scream but his hand is quicker at reaching your mouth.

“Yeah, would he fuck you better?”

You groan in his hand, but your brain goes blank with each thrust into you, pulling his hips back before he snaps them forward, so forcefully that you slide upward on the desk and he has to pull you down so that your hips don’t hit the wood.

“Answer me,” he urges, making a makeshift ponytail with your hair to force you up. “Would he?”

“I… I don’t know,” you cry out, feeling him deep inside of you, filling you perfectly.  

“You just have to test me until I snap, don’t you?”

“He seems —fuck— fitter than you.”

Haechan snickers mockingly. “Yes? You want to be thrown around? Like you’re worth nothing? Do I have to do that to make you feel good?”

You shake your head, ass perking up, your feet on their tips as you try to keep balance.

“No? Is being fucked in a class enough for you? Does it satisfy your needs?” He hisses, eyes rolling back when he focuses them where your bodies meet, your cum dripping down his length and balls. He can’t believe how turned on you are. “Thought you were innocent but look at you.”

“Not my fault you don’t catch details,” you retort with a small bit of sanity —not really— you have in you.

“Details? Or maybe you’re just an actress. Making everyone believe you only think about grades and studies and here you are, drooling while I fuck you over a desk. Begging for my dick.”

You don’t even realize you are drooling down the desk and when you’re about to clean your chin, Haechan grabs your hands and pins them in place behind your back.

“No,” you whimper, falling flat with your chest pressing down the wooden table.  

“Yes, honey,” he mocks. “I want to see you become a mess for me. Should I take a snap of you like this? Send it to Professor Kim so he can see he will never have you like this?” He whispers against your ear. “Think I don’t know it was all a play? Not only you don’t like him, but you wouldn’t risk your reputation for a terrible fuck when you have a brain like yours.”

Your pussy clenches. It’s the way his voice sounds like velvet, it’s how deep it’s hitting you, it’s in his words, and the way it turns you on that your number one rival, the one that despises you, still knows your value.

“Still, I’m pretty sure he wishes he could see you like this,” he adds, biting your earlobe. “A shame he can’t, right?”

“Y-yes,” you mumble in a pathetic wail.   

“But maybe I could still keep it to myself,” his hips start moving with more force and you can’t hold back your moans as you clench around him. “Yeah? Want me to take a photo of you like this?”

You wish you could reply but words just don’t come out of your lips, brain emptying and eyes rolled back in your skull.

“Maybe another time,” he says, breath getting ragged as he keeps fucking into you with determination. “Don’t really want to pull away to take a pic of us.”

“There — there won’t be —fuck— another time,” you reply, forcing yourself to speak.   

Haechan snickers. “The mess between your legs tells me otherwise,” he mocks, reaching in front of you to play with your clit, making you shake. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you deserve good things, even a good fuck from me.”

“Too much,” you cry out, feeling your eyes getting wetter as the orgasm starts choking you.

“No, you just haven’t had a decent orgasm in ages,” he retorts.

“Shut up! You know —shit— you know nothing.”

“Honey, I can only imagine you playing with yourself, but your hands or toys don’t come close to me,” he says, so smugly you can feel the smirk on his face.  And you can’t even retort because —as much as you hate it— he’s right.

“Come here,” he says, putting a hand over your shoulders to pull you closer to him. “Are you close?”

You nod, biting your lower lip until it bleeds because you’re sure the sound of your ass slamming against his hips is already a giveaway of what’s going on inside this room. You clench around him when he bites down your shoulder to muffle a louder groan as his hips start moving faster as he chases his climax.

You feel your legs give up as the second orgasm hits you and you hold against the desk again because you don’t know where else to hold on to. Haechan tries to keep his curses low, sticking his face in the crook of your neck and you feel you could come again just by his voice alone; his moans the pretties sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Oh god,” you breathe out when he gently lets go of your body and you can relax on the hard surface again, squirming in discomfort when he pulls out of you.

“I hope you didn’t tear my panties apart, too,” you say, rolling on your back, making him laugh.

“Don’t move, you’ll stain the skirt, it’s the only clean thing on the table,” he says, grabbing a napkin to prevent you from making even more of a mess.

“And who’s fault is that?” You ask, glaring at him.

“You should just thank me for the orgasm, better, two orgasms, I gave you.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, but still letting him clean you up, after all, the cum was his, so it’s his place to clean it. After you’re sure you won’t ruin the last untouched piece of clothes you have, you sit up, taking your —uncomfortably— wet panties to put them on.

“So…” he whispers as he cleans up the rest of the mess on the table and shoves your broken tights in his bag, “it was just for fun, right? You have no intentions with Mr…”

You break down laughing. “You’re so easy to fool. You seriously think I’ll ever let him see me like this?”

Haechan scoffs, finishing fixing his clothes before walking to the door. “It’s not about what you would do, is if you think of him.”

“I don’t,” you reply, following him even if you feel like your legs could give up any second. “I wonder if your jealousy was also a play,” you tease, nudging him as you two walk down the corridor to leave.

“It wasn’t jealousy, you would just have terrible taste if you truly liked him, and I have beef with him.”

You chuckle, deciding to believe him.

“Wait,” he says, stopping to search for something in his bag.

“I’ll go for the door, reach me,” you say, starting to head on, you’re not even sure you two could be there at that time. “Lee Donghyuck,” you curse when you try to push open the front door. “What did I say?”

He walks toward you nonchalantly and shrugs. “Yeah?”

“They locked us in!”

He smiles, shaking his head, and grabbing your hand. “Can you run?”

“What?” You blink a few times, trying to understand how his question fits the situation.

“After I fucked you like that, can you run?”

“Shush,” you scold, fearful someone might hear, you’re not sure who since you seem to be completely alone, but better safe than sorry. “And no, I don’t know, I… why would we run?”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, reaching out his hand for you to take.

“No,” you say resolutely.  

“Good,” he smirks before he starts running into the corridors, giving you no chance but to follow him, cursing and damming every life decision that led you here, with cum threatening to leak out of you after you finished having sex in the class of your Academy and are now running to go God knows where, locked inside the institute.

“Hyuck!” You scream when he runs up the stairs and you swear you never felt so much adrenaline rush in your blood but when he looks back for a second and shows you his big bright smile with his hair falling in his face perfectly, you swear the world stops and all your worries are lifted from your shoulders. Maybe you trust him. Maybe you need to be this carefree sometimes.

Your heart jumps in your throat when he pushes open an emergency door and the mild breeze of March runs over you. You breathe in deeply, pushing into your lungs the air and the first early spring scent, letting the wind play with your hair and your clothes while your hand never lets go of his.

And then you both start laughing. Never looking back, and terribly looking forward, watching your steps as you run down the emergency stairs. You laugh, and you’re happy and you can’t believe your fingers are still intertwined with the ones of your mortal enemy.

When you reach the ground floor, hidden in the back of the palace where the sun doesn’t shine, there are still some tears spilling out of your eyes. You two pant, trying to catch your breath, and look at each other before you have to look away or else you will start laughing again.

You can’t believe you followed him blindly.

Your hands are still intertwined.

With each passing day, Haechan is convinced he has a perfect plan. It’s all part of the original plan, but if he gets you to try out romantic things, not only will he distract you from your perfect grades but he will also make you come up with a song that will give him a perfect score.

There are some small details that Haechan didn’t even consider. Detail number 1: where this could lead you two and your relationship. Detail number 2: that while distracting you, he will inevitably distract himself. But he doesn’t get it until it’s too late.

Haechan can’t remember when you started to dress up so much every time you hang out. You always dress well, or maybe he is biased for thinking that even the most basic white turtleneck shirt and cargo pants when you are too done with life to put up your skirts, dresses, or cutely styled other types of outfits, look amazing on you. Yet, during these last few dates, you started doing more, playing more with your hairstyles, trying different make-up, and always looking perfect in whatever clothes you put on your body.

Haechan hates you. Now more than ever because this was supposed to be your silly little race to the top of your second academic year and yet here he is, feeling his heart pound in his throat as you walk toward him. With your hair in a slicked-back ponytail, a freaking heart-shaped side part, your short red dress, while the white cardigan covers your arms and shields you from the light breeze, and your red short heels tap on the asphalt and bring his attention to the white socks that reach you right below your knees, while your hand clench around a heart-shaped bag.

He hates you because he wants you too badly and he’s terrified this is crossing the lines of bland and stupid physical attraction.

You smile, calling him Hyuck and he’d love to scream because he can’t be so smart and yet so dumb at the same time. But he tries to ignore it, and smiles back at you, addressing you with your surname so he can put some distance between you. You don’t even get mad anymore, it makes you smile tenderly as you lower your face to the ground and tangle your arm with his to walk to the car. Now he hopes that the old sardine can will make you two blow up, not to kill you, but to don’t make you accept a date from him anymore.

But that old car struggles but doesn’t crash, and drives you to the restaurant safely.

“This place is so pretty,” your voice rings in his ears, bringing him out of the thought he’s struggling with since you walked out of your apartment.

“Yeah, it’s musically themed, thought it was a good idea.”

“And the dishes also have song names? That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” your face lightens up when you scan the menu and in reflection, he does too.

What the fuck are you doing? He curses when he catches himself lost on you, too focused giggling like a child as you catch the references between the songs and the plates. You look like a cliché embodiment of love, and he thinks you’ve done it on purpose. It’s way past Valentine’s Day, but he feels that Cupid is flying right above you, ready to play him a dirty trick.

“So? You picked?” You ask, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head, coughing while glueing his eyes on the menu.

“Nope, I’m a bit uncertain,” he says, pretending he wasn’t just too busy staring at you a few moments ago.

You laugh, humming. “Oh, I know.”

“What did you get?” He asks, meeting your eyes above the paper in his hand.

“I wanted to get the Summer 69’ appetizer first,” you reply and he smirks.

“Are you hinting at something?”

“Oh, shut up, you perv! It just looks tasty, there are different appetizers from different parts of the world and it’s a cold start.”

“Then we can take the big one so we can share?”

“Sure,” you reply, smiling at him. “Oh, and then ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ as the main dish.”

“Do you?” He winks.

“I’m not sending you signals, I’m just starving,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but he hears the low giggle that you try to hold back.

“Fine,” he smiles. “I’ll take ‘Maneater’ in your honour.”

“I’m a maneater? Oh, thanks, the best compliment ever actually,” you say playfully.

He smiles, stopping for a second after he hands you his menu. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” And when your mouth parts and no sound come out of it, he thinks he screwed it up. It’s not the first time he compliments you but well, the other times didn’t sound so serious.

But then your face breaks in a smile, and your eyes light up, shily diverting the gaze as you thank him before the waitress saves you both from the embarrassment that’s tangible in the air.

“Karaoke? Are you being extremely nice, borderline perfect, tonight so you can show me the biggest twist ever?” You gasp when the karaoke downtown enters your line of view. You’ve been walking for a while now since he couldn’t find a spot nearby, but he never mentioned where your next stop would be.

“I’m always nice to you when we go out on da— like this,” Haechan replies, opening the door of the place for you to get in first. “Also, since we’ll have to record the song soon, I think it’s time to test our vocal abilities.”

You giggle, waiting for him before you start walking to the desk to book a room.

“Karaoke is for fun, never to show off you’re like Celine Dion.”

Haechan chuckles, nodding in agreement while you reach the booth that the lady at the counter assigned you.

“Right, I’m more like Ailee, actually,” he jokes, closing the door behind you.

“Prove it to me, I always hear your mouth run to talk shit but never to sing melodies, so…”

“Should we go for a duet?” He asks, starting the TV to scroll down the songs listed.

“Nope,” you say, sitting on the couch. “A solo song first.”

“Fine,” he says, humming as the titles pass in front of your vision. “Mhh, what about Dean?”

“Love him, would love him more if he came back from the death and dropped another album of the year,” you say, sitting back to fully enjoy Haechan’s performance.

He chuckles at your comment. “This one was a painful reminder,” he says before clicking on “Instagram,” making the logo of the place appear before the countdown, signalling the beat was about to start.

You never thought you would find yourself so caught up in him but when he opens his mouth, you feel like you’re being taken to another world.

His voice sounds like honey, so raw yet so lovely. And as he keeps singing, you think that he would be wasted as a producer, a voice like his deserves to be heard by everyone. But when he finishes, you don’t show any of the emotions you felt.

“Your performance was very touching,” you say while standing up to grab your mic, “but I’m a performer, so I’ll go with Queen Britney.”

“Can’t wait to see your Superbowl worth it performance,” he snickers, sitting back against the small couch in the room as he watches you getting ready.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you start, winking at him and swinging your hips to follow the rhythm of the music.

Haechan would love to find it as funny as he does at the start, but when you start singing for real, and moving around in the small boot, he gulps, feeling the air around him starting to dim. And it only gets worse when you turn around and start to perform for him. Of course, you know the song by heart, you don’t need to read the words, and you don’t need them to change colour to know when each verse, chorus and bridge starts.

“Oops, I did it again, I played with your heart,” you wink, tilting your head to the side, still moving your body to the beat. He can’t tell, not right at the moment, but he thinks you’re replicating the choreography. That’s the last worry in his mind.

I played with your heart.

And Haechan thinks you really did that. This doesn’t feel like a game anymore, and not even like sex. He looks at you, even right now, that you’re sensually singing a Britney Spears song, and he can only fucking smile like an idiot.

“Wow,” you exhale when the song ends, fanning yourself with your hand, “it’s really hot in here.”

“It definitely is,” he whispers, drifting his gaze from you.

“So? How was I?” You ask, head tilted to the side, and a big, bright smile on your face.

“Good,” Haechan mutters, catching himself staring at you for too long again, shaking his head, the red blush on his face is humiliating. “You were good.”

“Yes,” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Should we duet, now?”

He hums, grabbing the remote again and searching ‘duets’ in the search bar. “Sad, sexy or silly?”

You roll your eyes. “Really?”

“What? I’m trying to understand the vibe we want to go with.”

“I’ll let you pick,” you say just to regret it when you see the song choice on the screen. “Seriously? Anything you can do?”

“What? It’s fitting for how relationship,” he says nonchalantly.

“That’s a crazy choice.”

“Worried you can’t actually do better than me?” He winks, passing you the mic as the song loads on the screen.

“You’ll see,” you challenge with a glare.

One minute into the song you regret having agreed to that, not remembering the last time you sang like this, but the look on his face when it’s time for you to hold a long note for 15 seconds is worth it. And it keeps going until the end, as you both surprise each other with all the skills that this song requires.  

“Wow, you’re good,” you both say when the song ends and you break down laughing, a sound that grows bigger when the screen lights up to show a perfect score.

“Maybe we make a great couple together,” you say, laying back on the couch, tired from the singing.

Haechan turns to you, smirking and nodding. “I guess we do.”

You sit up, resting your chin on his arm. “Can you take another one?”

“Oh, don’t test me, baby.”

“So, ice cream is good for vocal cords?” You giggle as you walk to the side of the Han River with the ice cream in hand. It seemed like Haechan didn’t want to end the night anytime soon, but you don’t feel like complaining.

“Yeah,” he hums with conviction, licking another stripe of chocolate.  

“On which book you’ve read this scientific fact?”

“The ice cream ghost came to me one night and whispered the secret to my ear,” he jokes, making you laugh.

“Uhm, yeah, I think that ghosts are much more reliable than old men in white coats in a lab,” you joke, but then you remember something you wanted to talk about since you’ve walked out of the karaoke. “Mhh, you know what I was thinking?”

Haechan shakes his head, waiting for you to talk.

“I think we’re going down the wrong path with our song,” you voice out. “Especially me. A warmer, darker, I dare to say more sensual vibe, fits us better.”

Haechan chuckles and you glare at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he giggles, but he can’t lose against you so he goes on. “That’s the production, you know?”

You huff, rolling your eyes, and jumping on the handrail to sit. “I never said it wasn’t important.”

“Whatever,” he snickers. “So I have to scrap everything I’m working on?”

You shake your head, cleaning your hands after swallowing the last bite of the cone. “No, I was thinking about the second base you were working on, the one with the guitars and violins, remember?”

He hums, but he’s dangerously close to you, and you don’t understand why his hands wrap around your waist.

“I think we could use that and —” you gulp when he places his feet on the handrail under you and reaches your height, “and then I can change small things of my — my writing to fit more. What do you think?”

He smiles before it turns into his usual smirk. “I still think you’re worrying too much and you’re not letting it come to you,” he whispers, and the air of his breaths puffs on your lips before he erases the space between you and kisses you.

You feel your breath taken away as you feel like you’re falling behind in the river as the wind blows harder and your hands immediately leave the handrail to reach for him.

You’re not sure that wasn’t an attempted murder from him, but you can’t care when you feel your heart flutter and your legs give up as he deepens the kiss.

“Let it flow,” he whispers, kissing you again, whispering against your lips, “and the song will come at you.”

You know it’s not what he’s talking about, but you kiss him again, this time pushing him down so your feet are on the ground again. Your hands are holding tight on his sweatshirt as you pull him even closer and he does the same wrapping his arms around your frame tighter.

You find yourself in the same position in the living room of his apartment, struggling to make it to his bedroom without waking some of the others up. Not that you care much, it would be fair payback for all the chaos they make when you and Haechan are studying together.

The clothes fall on the floor as quickly as he’s on top of you on the bed.

“I hate that I have to ruin your pretty face,” he whispers, fingers deep inside your sopping wet cunt, pumping in and out painfully slowly as he stares at your face, a cute mix between ecstasy and annoyance because he’s giving you something but not enough. “The red eyeshadow looks really good on you, you know?”

You groan, rolling your head back. “It’s not time for compliments.”

“I’ve been complimenting you all night,” he says, teasing your clit with flicks of his thumb but without giving you much. “It is a shame you will look like a mess once I’m done with you.”

“We can’t be loud,” you say, hating that, for one reason or another, you two always have to keep quiet.

“Nah, Jeno has his headphones on playing games with Yangyang. Renjun has headphones on with music to don’t listen to Jeno. Mark’s not home and not even bombs wake Jaemin up.” The explanation is particularly non-sexy now that he has his fingers inside of you and it doesn’t make you relax much, but you hum nonetheless and beg him to keep going.

“Patience, honey. We’ve got all night,” he smirks.

“Yeah but —”

“Ah, ah,” he says, clicking his tongue and silencing you with a finger on your lips. “What did I tell you before? Let it flow.”

“It was different it was —ugh,” you mumble when he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes widening before they narrow to send him a deadly glare, but he only smirks. He has control now. He always does when he has you underneath him, he still has to fight with you a bit, but you both know this is the only time he can ever win against you. And tonight is special, he wants you to let go of the reins completely, he wants you brainless, because even if your brain is the sexiest thing of you —yeah, yeah, and the thing that is making his college years hell on earth— your brain is also the thing that makes you obsess over the smallest thing and doesn’t make you follow your heart so freely.

Yeah, tonight Donghyuck wants you free, but for the sake of the dirty talking later —and to fool himself he doesn’t care about you that much— he’s going to say he wants you dumb.

And he’s starting strong tonight, his beautiful, long fingers reaching deep inside you, hitting right against your sweet spot, causing so much cum to pool around them and drip down while your pussy clenches hard and your hips buck up to ride the pleasure with him. And you don’t have it in you to fight; it feels too good, especially when he starts rubbing your clit and whispers dirty talk about how well you’re taking him.

Your eyes flutter open, just in time to catch the proud smirk on his face as he stares at your body, you dare to say, in awe. It shouldn’t warm your heart, but it does. You don’t even care if he sees you like a prize he won, right now, because even if he does, you know he only fights hard to win the trophies he cares about. He wants you, he likes you, even. Between the hate and the tension, something about what attracts you two together makes this work. And it’s fine.

“Hyuck,” you breathe out, chest panting and toes curling as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach. But you don’t expect the next words that come out of your mouth. “Kiss me.” When you realize what you said, you anticipate him mocking you, your ears already hear the snicker you know, oh so well, but it never arrives. What arrives are his lips on yours as he leans down, pressing his chest against yours while his fingers keep working wonder inside you.

The kiss is passionate, but not rough like the ones you’re so used to sharing. There’s no anger in it, just need and greed, and chemistry. So much chemistry, your hands have to run in his hair and tug them, making him moan and his dick throb against your thigh.

“I want you so bad,” he slurs against your lips. “I will do some dumb shit one day for you.”

You don’t get what he means. You don’t even know what he could mean by that given the nature of your bond, but his words, mixed with the sultry tone of his voice, are enough to make you come. You barely register the orgasm, hitting you like a singular explosion of a firework, leaving you gasping, exploding as quickly as it came yet slowly running through your bones as the feeling tones down.

Haechan snickers softly. “You love it when I get in trouble for you, don’t you? Even when it’s just a promise.”

Your lips part to reply but he shuts you with a kiss. “No talking, not unless I tell you to. I know everything I need to know, your body tells me that,” he says, grinning like an idiot when he shows you his cum coated fingers, tapping them against your lips, silently ordering you to taste yourself. You would never do that, but tonight it’s like he’s commanding you like a puppet on a string, and you obey. Closing your lips around him and sucking hard.

He smirks, feeling his dick get even harder as he stares at your lips. “That’s what I do to you, pretty girl. And I’m not even started.”

Your pussy throbs in anticipation while he pulls his fingers out. You know he’s one to keep promise, and you can’t wait for what’s to come. But he’s taking too long, and you can feel his hard dick against your leg, so your hand creeps down to touch it.

“You’re not in command tonight, angel,” he says, grabbing your wrist to stop you from moving your hand on him.

“But I want you,” you whine, trying to win him with a pouty look on your face.

It doesn’t work as he pushes your hand over your head and leans in. “Patience, princess. Keep quiet, don’t be greedy and just trust me. Can you do that? Or is it too hard for you?” He groans against your ear, making your hips buck up.

“I — I can,” you whisper but he stops with a glare and your brain replays his words ‘quiet, no words from you tonight,’ and he means it. So you nod, breathing in deeply as you feel weak in the knees for the way he looks at you.

“Good girl,” he says, pushing up to stand between your legs, pushing them open.

When he slips inside you, you gasp, dragging your nails on his back. “Are you alright?”

You nod, forcing yourself to look into his eyes.

“Good, and now,” he whispers, kissing your lips, and dragging out of you, “I want you to give into me and completely turn your brain off. You have me, that’s all you need right now.”

When he starts moving in and out, your body succumbs to the pleasure. Your muscles relax as you let him take care of you. His lips trace over your sensitive skin, leaving kisses on your neck and chest. His hands run over your body, touching and squeezing every inch. And he reaches so deep inside of you that you feel you can barely breathe.

“Just like this,” Haechan whispers close to your ear, gently biting the skin on your jaw. “Don’t think about anything,” he groans, hitting you deep after pulling out of you completely. “Not a single worry in that pretty brain of yours.”

You rarely let him win, but you have to admit that the way he makes you feel, the way he can lift all the stress off your shoulders, is a talent. He knows what he’s doing, and the scary thing is that he knows how to get you. So easily wrapped around his fingers, crumbling into nothing at his tiniest touch.

You whimper loudly when his fingers press against your clit, seeing stars at the new stimulation.

“You can take it,” he groans. You’re about to talk but he traps your lips in a messy, wet kiss as he pulls you closer by your waist, hitting even deeper. “You’re a good girl, right? You can take it.”

You’re doubtful, but you do take it, over and over again. You lose track of time and stop counting your orgasms after the third. There’s no need for that. All you need is the pleasure Donghyuck gives you, fucking you until both of you can’t do it anymore.

There’s nothing left once it’s over, no strength to talk or clean up the mess, just the warmth of your bodies cuddled against each other.

“Good morning, I will kill Lee Je — what the hell,” Renjun exclaims, entering the kitchen, making you turn around as if you’ve been caught stealing, holding the mug full of coffee in your hands and giving him a shy smile. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp, pushing your hair out of your face before coming up with a lie. “We studied too late.”

Renjun steps further into the room, staring at you with a raised brow before he tilts his head and studies how you’re dressed. You’re wearing Donghyuck’s sweater and pants.

“Oh, now they call it studying? Last time I checked you’re not med students, didn’t know music had anatomy in the program,” he taunts, grinning at you as he comes to your side.  

You choke on your saliva and don’t have time to come up with a reply because he strikes again.

“Oh, no, maybe you were exercising vocalization, it’s better when it’s done together, right?” He winks and you glare at him.

“It’s not what you think,” you lie, but honestly you feel so embarrassed about everything. You didn’t think anybody else would be up this early on a Sunday, but it’s clear you don’t know Renjun well. You could’ve left, but you didn’t want to. It was slowly starting to sink in that you didn’t like the solitude of your life anymore.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he says, sitting in front of you. “Come here, don’t stay up.”

You do as told, and smile when he offers you a pack of biscuits. “I would’ve cooked something usually, but Jeno kept me up all night.”

You chuckle. “It’s fine, normally I don’t even have breakfast.”

“You don’t?” He gasps, and you nod.

“Yeah, just coffee.”

He looks down at you, shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s not healthy.”

“I know, I know, I’ll try to eat more, okay? For you.” You reach out your hand and he takes it.

A fit of cough brings both of your gazes to the door and you see Haechan stand against the frame. “Once it’s Jeno, another time it’s Renjun. I bring you home to study and you flirt with my friends.”

“Drop the bullshit, Hyuck. He knows,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Haechan’s eyes widen, but he slowly fakes indifference. “Knows what? That you don’t have time for a relationship so you can’t date him?”

“That you two fuck,” Renjun answers instead, making him cough.

“That’s not true,” he defends. “I hate her,” he says, laughing, but when he meets your eyes and sees them sadden, he feels pain in his heart. “No, no, I don’t hate her, but we’re… you know our relationship, why would we fuck?”

“Who’s fucking?”

“Not you, Jeno. Not you for sure,” Renjun says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! Why do you always gotta be so rude,” Jeno whines.

“I doubt he’s not getting laid,” you chuckle, and Jeno winks playfully.

“See, words of a wise woman,” he brags, walking to the fridge to grab something.

Renjun sighs loudly. “A woman that doesn’t know you.”

“Would you fuck him?” Haechan asks out of nowhere and you glare at him.

“I just said that he’s hot and smart, I don’t see how he can have a hard time finding somebody,”

“’Cause he’s annoying,” Renjun answers, but Haechan’s not listening.

“I didn’t ask that,” Donghyuck says instead, his attention is all on you as if there’s nobody else in the room.  

“I don’t answer stupid questions,” you reply before sipping from your cup and drifting your gaze away.

“Wait, why are you here?” Jeno asks, only now realizing you’re not supposed to be at their place, not in the morning at least… wait… “Wait! Are you two fuck—”

“No,” Haechan answers sternly, glaring at him. “We’re studying. And it got late, so since we were closer to my place, I let her stay the night.”

“I thought you left yesterday saying you had a date, though,” Jeno says confused.

You chuckle under your breath before you feel Haechan’s hand wrap around your writs to pull you out of the room, not even giving you time to finish your coffee. “A studying date, and now drop it.”

When you reach his room, he groans loudly, walking to the closet to pick something to wear. You watch him move for a while, but then you can’t keep your thoughts inside your head anymore.

“Are you ashamed of me?” You ask and he turns around with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Am I something to be ashamed of? Do I don’t fit in the standard of the people you would usually fuck?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want them to get invasive, they don’t let me live once they know something. And with you, it’s more embarrassing because of our history…”

You giggle, trying not to show the relief you’re feeling because, for a moment, you thought he was one of those types of men.

“Why can’t you ever make things easy for me?” He asks, annoyance in his voice. You have so much power over him, more than he likes to admit, and he feels like he can’t even be too mad at you about it.

“Sorry, it’s just, it’s funny having a history with you,” you explain. “My mortal enemy, always ready to steal my number ones, and my good grades.”

“You’re so annoying, you’re never sleeping over ever again.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I won’t let you fuck me ever again.”

“Liar,” he says. “And now move, I’ll drop you home.”

you can find part two on my account on the story masterlist or haechan’s masterlist (i can’t link it because if i do the post won’t appear in the tags)

general taglist: @froggyforhyuck, @wingsss45, @tddyhyck, @technologyculturedneo

fic taglist: @hcluvie, @gusgus0517, @multifandomania, @413cl, @odgsuji,

@hey-hey-heybitch, @nctrawberries, @n0hyuck, @haechoshi,

@girlwholoveslpreppyattire, @viciousdarlings, @hyuckmoon,

@jaeymark, @hqech, @xntlax, @milkyway-vxm, @fullsunahceah,

@beomgyusonlywife, @toroufriteh, @yesohhsehun @shxnz

@haecastor, @hyucksaint, @sk8ermark, @midnightrained

@maiteeeeesstuff, @smwhrinthehaze, @yoursyuno

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[kittyhazelnut]

fic talk in the tags don't mind me

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Looks like requests are open. Mind if I send one in?

Scenario: Their presence felt comforting to you despite everything that went down. You felt safe to open up about your insecurities to them also. Arguments are an inevitable part of any relationship, but this argument was probably the worst one you've had by far. In the heat of the argument they insult you on the very things you're insecure about. And your reaction to that was a tearful "Thanks for basically confirming that I really can't trust anybody."

How would Vil, Riddle, Jamil, and Azul react to this?

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul, a man who was careful about allowing his weaknesses to see the light of day, knew he had taken advantage of your trust. It was only natural for him, a born businessman who had started from the bottom and was now securely at the top, to use every bit of information he had on you to prove a point; to get the upper hand in an argument that truly didn’t matter.  He had always fought to change his ways, to have his defenses up constantly, to not have his heart protected by reinforced walls, but it felt like an impossible task for someone like him.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil was the king of self-sabotage. At certain points it seemed he created his own obstacles, tossing them in the path of your blossoming relationship and becoming frustrated when it took even more effort to remove them. He tended to avoid arguments as much as he could but there were times, especially when he was in a foul mood, where he couldn’t help but feel the spark of anger and take it out on you. You can’t say you’d ever expected to hear such horrible things from him, the attack so direct it was unmistakable that he was trying to hurt you beyond recognition. You wondered if the relationship would even be salvageable after this as it wasn’t the first time Jamil had tested your trust, and even as he looked full of regret he bit his tongue, creating yet another hurdle that may truly be impossible to overcome this time.

Riddle Rosehearts:

It’s all Riddle’s ever known. It was like falling back on an old habit you thought you kicked, filling him with guilt, embarrassment, and every horrifying emotion in between. It made him sick to his stomach to think that he was becoming his mother, the woman he had admired for so long before realizing the methods she used were cruel and unfair to him. He didn’t want to be her but it seemed a piece of her remained within him, not sure how to apologize to you if you could even forgive him for his harsh words. He valued your trust more than anything and it was an admitted weakness on his part that his temper got the better of him, but he had only said those things to hurt you in the way he was hurting, not meaning a bit of what he said.

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil was normally level-headed, with many of your arguments handled in a mature manner that left no open-ended questions. He disliked fighting but he there are some things he can’t help but get irritated over, and it can be difficult to rise to his standards at times. It almost felt like he was keeping a tally of every time you messed up or upset him as he had examples on hand to bring up, thoroughly ‘winning’ the argument to the detriment of your relationship. You had always worried you weren’t enough for him and words from his own mouth seemed to be prove that was the case, leaving you to shakily pack your things as you needed time away from him. If it proved a better existence, you couldn’t say you’d ever come back, a fear Vil had to live with as you refused to respond to his texts or calls while you gathered your thoughts.

[monakisu]

about saiki kusuo...

he's a leo.

he's incredibly tidy. if his parents leave the house in a mess, he'll complain but proceed to deep-clean it anyways.

he's a stickler for other people's safety. if he notices someone's shoelace is untied, he'll tie it for them, regardless of the circumstances (ie. smack-dab in the middle of a sports game)

on another note, he seems to have a fixation with tying people's shoelaces for them.

he's weak for sweets in general, not just coffee jelly. sweet tooth saiki!

he has a huge soft spot for kids. this probably stems from his failed childhood friendship with akechi.

he's scared of bugs because he can't read their minds. this implies that powerless!saiki might be a lot shyer, more anxious, and even pricklier, since he doesn't know what anybody's thinking.

he's totally a mama's boy. he learned his moral compass from her, does whatever she wants, believes he was born an esper to protect her, etc.

also, the notorious zebra print blazer was because of his mom.

he's so much of a people-pleaser that he'll sacrifice his desire for anonymity and normalcy; he'll insert himself into situations, stalk people, and use his powers even if it means the spotlight will fall on him.

not only is he a people-pleaser, he's a drama queen. he'd rather concoct elaborate plans to avoid somebody instead of simply rejecting them.

he's a one piece fan.

his favorite arcade game used to be whack-a-mole, and he thought destroying all the moles meant he'd won. he was banned because of this.

his glasses are colored glasses from his childhood toy box. wording implies that he's been wearing this same pair his whole life.

he likes baking/cooking, mostly because he gets to eat the sweets that he made. (househusband saiki... heh.)

he smiled a lot more freely as a kid. when he wasn't wearing a dazed expression, he looked like quite the cheerful child.

he helps kaido out with classwork by simply handing him his own work.

he rarely gets sick, and when he does he can cure himself by turning his body into an inferno through pyrokinesis. however, this means he knows next to nothing about medicine.

similarly, he's tragically naïve about the internet.

he's good at singing and likes karaoke (preferably singing by himself).

like kaido, he gets seasick. however, he fervently denies this. he seems to think himself impervious of the maladies regular people suffer from.

he has a bit of a girly run.

he likes using takahashi as a joke. "it's everyone's favorite, takahashi." he also hates takahashi because of his strong resemblance to akechi's childhood bully, takashi.

he likes hot baths.

when he walks home from school, he follows this routine: he stops at the convenience store, picks up coffee jelly, puts it back on the shelf, then continues home. ...incredible. he seems incapable of not staring at any nearby coffee jelly.

he may be willing to downplay his smarts/talents to avoid trouble, but he'll get competitive when he's with akechi or kusuke.

he's hesitant to cause his friends any harm, but will freely maim toritsuka, so long as the damage is immediately reversed.

he won't hesitate with kusuke, though.

lastly, and most importantly:

he's a cutie patootie <3

[greenandsorrow]

~Her man child~

Headcanons 📻

Al can be a ruthless, intimidating and manipulative specimen. Still, he turns into a grinning goofball when in your presence.

When first meeting a demon such as Alastor, one of the things you notice before anything else is their dominating and confident aura.

BUT let me tell you something miss!!

No matter how soft or feminine, seductive, masculine/ androgynous, childish or serious you are... The deer man LOVES to be babied by you.

Only behind closed doors that is.

And I'm not even talking about your intimate moments yet!

Alastor, as someone with a lot in his mind -always planning his moves in advance and always controlling situations- likes the comforting and tender touch or words of a woman.

He can relax and allow someone else to take care of things for once.

It makes him all giggly and silly when you do baby him. To him, you're a nurturing presence just like his mother once was.

His braincells vanish and he just accepts anything you have in store for him.

You wanna squeeze his pale cheeks? Comb your fingers through his hair? Play some monstrosity of a game that Niffty suggested?

Count him in girl!!!

Cook for him and he'll forever be your protector.

Scratch his back and give him a massage after he was live on air and he'll turn into putty, little grunts of pleasure making you smile enough for your cheeks to hurt.

There's always this sparkle of a child's excitement when he comes to your room (chest full of pride and a smug grin on his face) to read you the notes for his next live transmittion.

His jealousy is also that of a child's.

A pout, a crease between his brows and hunched shoulders.... YOU WERE LAUGHING WHILE WATCHING TELEVISION????

How dare you? You traitor...

VOX made you laugh?!

No way.

Alastor is better. He's gonna prove himself to you.

Expect a ton of dad jokes. Expect him bullying all your friends just to see you crack a smile, because he's gonna know he's the reason behind it.

On the same note. What are boundaries?

The more you get to know Al, the more the gentleman persona gives way to an all consuming boy that wants ALL of your attention to himself.

He throws unnecessary tantrums.

Your deer man makes up little songs about how miserable he is when you choose to help Charlie in her drawings, instead of listening to him rumbling about a new way to embarrass Vox.

And he makes sure to sing them when you pass by.

Alastor is always hungry. It doesn't look like it, but this man is always munching on something.

He doesn't like his scars. But this aversion doesn't come from a place of insecurity about his appearance.

It's the meaning behind them that messes with his head.

A deer with the marks his predators left on him. He is not prey to anybody.

That's why he allows humans and demons alike to think of him as a Wendigo. It's less humiliating in his point of view.

But isn't that another childish response of denial to his demon manifestation?

He talks in his sleep, tossing and turning, shifting closer to you until you hardly have any space left on the bed.

You of course have fallen down from it. Luckily for you, his rugs are plush and thick.

He can go for hours without any rest whatsoever.

He loves loves LOVES eye contact. He relishes in the way your features contort in pleasure, the way you open your mouth for a soundless moan to escape, the subtle way your eyes roll back when he hits that spot deep inside you. He just has to see your face during the act.

Alastor is rather proud of his manhood. A bit arrogant even.

So, even though Al won't be the type to directly ask for reassurance on his performance, he finds the validation he needs in your body's reactions to him.

Mommy issues.

Again, it doesn't matter if you're more of a soft and submissive woman, or a powerful and dominant one, YOU ARE MOMMY.

And he's your boy. He's gonna please you till your legs are shaking and your toes are curling.

Are you a pillow princess? He's gonna fuck you like his life depends on it. Pounding into you, making sure you're full of his seed and content. Breeding kink<3

You like being in control of the situation? He's gonna let you have it. In reality, you both know that he can break you in half with one hand behind his back, but he allows you to have him like that.

It's such a big turn on for the radio demon to see you use his body as you please.

Because you don't use it and then discard it afterwards.

You make sure he's warm and cosy at the end of your steamy times. And he does the same with you.

His proper manners show on the way he's gentle with you, after lust gives way to tranquility.

Alastor has never used the word "aftercare" for it but he treats you like a queen regardless.

Once you're both in the bathtub and he's certain you're not in pain or in any discomfort, then he allows himself to relax.

And there he is... rubbing his head against your chest and letting out a small moan when you wrap your arms around his lean frame.

He's also more than happy to eat you out. This man has a very talented tongue and if he teases... Alastor likes to play, but he knows he's gonna be teased back and even denied relief so he is cautious about it.

When you go down on your knees for him, Alastor has to hold himself back from cumming just from the image in front of him.

You're aware of that, so you never go all out and he makes sure to keep his hips still. Lick his head like a lollipop and hold his balls through it and he'll be a whimpering mess, ears pulled back and drool collecting on his lower lip.

Al is big on bonding. He doesn't trust anyone so the fact that he trusts you... You're his partner for life (for afterlife?).

You're not complaining, are you?

Support a struggling university student! Thank you so so much🫶 CLICK HERE(PayPal link)

my masterlist || Hazbin Hotel masterlist 🫀

~~~

Alastor divider by @rubra-wav

Support divider by @cafekitsune

The explicit content one... I don't remember :(

~~~

[feltit-wroteit]

Spoiled and Loved

Art Donaldson x Fem!Reader

In every way, you were the person that made the college experience that much better for Art. You, on the other end, were still struggling to find your place at Uni.

Watnings: inscure reader, lost reader, small angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, reader has rich parents, one s3x joke

There he was. In your usual spot in the cafeteria eating a lunch that his athletic nutritionist must've assigned him to eat. God was your boyfriend beautiful... "Baby?" He called you out of your trance and you smiled at him. "Come?" He motioned for the chair in front of him with his head. You walked toward it and sat down with your lunch that was healthy but certainly not planned. "Hey!" You said. You started eating and asking how his morning practice was and he smiled throught it all. After finishing his lunch and while explaining his morning, he drew mindless doodles on your left hand with a pencil. One was a tennis racket the other a heart and another a paint brush. Once he was done, silence had fallen and Art looked up at you, stopping his drawing. "Y/N?" Art asked while looking for your gaze. "Hmm?" You answered still looking at your left hand. "Look at me." He asked and lifted your head up with the help of his palm on your jaw. You looked at him and smiled. "How was your day so far, baby?" He then asked with certainty. You sighed and went to look down again, only to feel your boyfriend rubbing your jaw and hearing him hum no. When you met his gaze again you felt it.

The need to tell him the truth.

"Art?" He nodded at your interpellation, waiting for you to continue. "I don't think I belong here." You had felt like this for a while, but your boyfriend's joy at being here made that feeling simmer down a little.

That was until yesterday.

"That's Donaldson's girlfriend, right?" A girl said behind you during your history of the arts lecture. You normally tuned these type of conversations out, but today your ears decided that it was a mighty fine time to do as they wanted. "She play any sports?" The girl, Jenny from what you heard her friend call her earlier, proceeded to ask her friend, Luna. "Not that anybody knows of. Not to his level at least." The other girl answered with a certain turn in her voice. It wasn't a nice one at that. ""But she must do something else around campus for her to be with him, right?" Jenny continued her interrogations. "The only place other than her lectures that people see her at are Donaldson's games. She just does those two things that includes school life. People have said and know that she doesn't even have a major yet. She just does classes until she finally finds something that makes her spark. It's pathetic really." Luna said and chuckled with her friend who fired back : "Why would he want to be with her? If I were Art Donaldson-" And you never heard the last of her life hacks, because your ears decided you had been tortured enough as it was. The notes you had started taking were the only ones you took for the rest of the 3 hour lecture. Well, what was one more exam failed?

You would stay in this godforsaken place until you found a stupid major to work in life with.... Why bother studying right now? Your parents paid for your acceptance at Stanford. Your life was as corrupted as that.

"What do you mean Y/n/n?" Art asked with a concerned look and rubbed his tumb over your jaw. "I don't know what I mean by that. But that's also a problem, I never know..." you tried to explain but it was still unclear to him. He only wanted to comfort you and make you feel at ease at all times, but right now he couldn't understand you. That made him mad at himself. "I don't know what I am going to major in, I don't know why I went to college in the first place and I don't know what you find in me. Before you start to argue that point, I have to tell you that I don't doubt your love, I doubt my ability of being loved right now. I am a mess Art... I can't do it anymore! The only thing I do know, is that I'm going to end up like I always feared..." You continued to elaborate on your feelings while he was listening. "Baby... I love you for who you are. I'm sure what you feared for your future isn't even that bad-" you cut him off on that and laughed while letting some tears flow. "Oh yeah, it is. I will end up as every other rich kid who doesn't amount to nothing and will live off my family's money for my whole life." You said and removed his hand from your face. You didn't feel deserving of his touch right now. "Stop." He said sternly. How could he have left this go this far? How couldn't he have seen you were feeling like this? How bad of a boyfriend was he? "Y/n, you are not messed up. You are beautiful and intelligent and you are worth more than your family's wealth. You are important. Not only to me but to a lot of people. Listen, college isn't for everyone, baby. I know it 's easier listening than believing, but please don't pull away from me." He had tears brimming his eyes now.

What did you do to deserve him?

"I love you, Art. I'm sorry for upsetting you..." You explained and held his hand that had been squeezing the edge of the table. "Don't, baby. You do not have to appologize. I should appologize for not seeing how you had been feeling. Please... talk to me about these things. I want to be there for you like you are for me." He took your hand back in his to play with it lightly. "Okay." You said and smiled softly at him. "Okay?" He asked smiling softly too while looking into your eyes. "Yeah. I'll talk to you more about my feelings, baby." You nodded and affirmed.

As you both walked to your last class of the day that you shared, the girls of your history of the arts lecture passed you. They were looking at you and art with sadness. It was then you realized what they had been doing. Only wallowing in their jealousy because:

Art had chose you. Not them.

His heart was set on you and that made them mad. Some part of you felt like you could see them. Maybe you were loved by someone like they wanted to be, but you were also envious of how these girls would be graduating in Teaching in less than two months likw you wanted to be graduating.

Everybody was jealous of somebody in this world.

"Art?" You asked while going closer to his side. "Hmm?" He had answered when wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you in even closer. "I think I'm jealous of you." You confirmed while giggling. "Oh yeah? How come, y/n?" He smiled at your randomness. "You have a massive dick. I want that." You said in the most serious tone you could master in that instance. Art burst out laughing and admitted that he was jealous of you too. "How come, Art?" You copied his sentence. "Imagine being as pretty as the one and only Y/n Y/l/n under sun rays. I'll pray for that to happen one day." You looked up into his eyes and stopped walking for a second. You smiled at him and went up to kiss him on his lips. The kiss was slow and full of love, just how you prefered then to be.

"I love you, baby. Even if you are a spoiled little brat sometimes." He said and tried to cover his head before you shoved his head to the side playfully.

[bucketbueckers]

accounting - azzi fudd

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader (no use of y/n) wc: 2.8k synopsis: you're watching kk and the rest of the team fool around on live when azzi fudd walks in asking for an accounting tutor. deciding to humor it, you're surprised to find that azzi was completely serious, and even more surprised when your offer leads to something more between the two of you. notes: in honor of azzi fudd hoops last night - i was supposed to have this up before the game but i forgot i had a three hour lab and unfortunately i will not write fanfiction in the middle of the university food court. first tumblr post, lmk if we're rockin w it 🙂‍↕️

You’re settling into bed to unwind for the night when you get the TikTok notification.

KK Arnold has gone live!

For the better part of your day, you’ve had your nose in the books, trying to get ahead of your weekly homework. You have a terrible habit of letting most of it pile up during the week and finishing it all over the weekend. As an accounting major, you didn’t really have fun weekend plans, anyway, but it would be nice to lay in bed all day and not worry about something that was due at 11:59. You only had three classes today: managerial accounting, intro to auditing, and intermediate accounting. It wasn’t a rigorous schedule by any means; you were done and out of classes by lunchtime, but after two and a half hours of listening to your professors drone on, you were ready for the nap you couldn’t afford to take due to your piles of homework. 

Seeing the live notification is enough to remind you that you aren’t really that tired, so you click on it. KK’s face fills the screen and she’s unboxing Crumbl cookies. You say a silent prayer for the girls – Crumbl tasted terrible and that was a hill you were willing to die on. Paige sat behind KK, with Ayanna, Jana, Kayla, and a few other players milling about off-camera. For a painful few minutes, KK tries her best to get everyone’s attention so she can narrate about whatever monstrosity of a cookie they’re eating, but everyone’s laughing too hard to fully lock in.

Ayanna leaves to get a knife so KK can cut the cookies evenly. KK entertains the live while Ayanna is away, singing, chatting, and interacting with commenters. When Ayanna finally returns, she has the knife, but Azzi also trails behind her - a fact that the live is definitely appreciative of. “Oh, my God, look who it is!” KK intones in a shrill voice, much to Azzi’s clear bewilderment. You’ve never seen an expression of such confusion on someone’s face before. “It’s Azzi Fudd!”

Azzi buries her face in her hands and moves off-camera as everyone laughs. KK’s voice softens as she asks, “Azzi, wanna try a cookie?”

“No,” Azzi whines.

KK’s entire expression shifts, and admittedly, yours does, too. It’s no secret that Azzi was almost nationally known as the people’s princess. Perhaps you’d have to fight someone. You hope that no one’s actually done something wrong to her – first of all, you can’t even fathom the idea. It’d be like kicking a puppy. Second of all, you were just someone, along with 13,000 other viewers, watching the team interact behind a screen. You were sure that Azzi’s team would handle business, although you were willing to step in if needed, too, even if you stood a solid six inches shorter than Azzi herself. “What happened?” KK asks. Paige echoes her question.

“Ask the live if anyone can tutor me in accounting,” Azzi says forlornly.

You don’t think she’s serious until KK turns back just in time for the cowboy hat to return. “Hey, y’all! Is there anybody who’s really good at accounting for Azzi Fudd? Please send help. If you do have someone who’s really good at accounting, please DM me at k2times TikTok or at kamoreaarnold Instagram or at azzifudd Instagram! Thank yew.” The room dissolves into giggles as KK continues, “And if you DM me with edits or anything else but accounting help, I will block! Thank yew.”

You have the time today, so you switch over to Instagram as the live continues in the background, and you go to Azzi’s page and hit the Message option. You doubt she’ll see it, let alone respond, but as an accounting major, it’s basically your civic duty to help those in need, especially since you know these classes are hell.

hey do u actually need accounting help? i major in it!

Satisfied, you click back over to the live just in time for Azzi to comment, “KK, I might actually have a tutor,” she says in near disbelief. You think nothing of it as KK turns her head, humming at Azzi. “Wait, I think she’s in my class.”

That manages to catch your attention. Sure, you’re watching a live with a couple thousand people on it, but how many of those people are accounting students at UConn who happen to share a class with Azzi Fudd?

An Instagram notification pops up on your screen as Paige leaves the camera frame to most likely peer over Azzi’s shoulder. You’re shocked again to see Azzi has DM’ed you back.

Yes please this homework is killing me Are you in ACCT3201 with Cansler??? I recognize you

Discovering just how unobservant you are should not come as a great surprise. Apparently, you’ve been sharing a class with Azzi Fudd this entire semester and you didn’t even realize it. This is easily the most embarrassing moment of your entire life.

i am i can’t believe i didn’t know u were in it i’m a lot better at accounting than i am at paying attention, i promise

This draws a giggle from Azzi that you can hear over the live. It makes a flush rise on your cheeks. The fact that Azzi Fudd knows who you are combined with the fact she’s laughing at your jokes is enough for a feeling of anticipation to twist in your chest. This is your life now, apparently.

“Azzi is cheesing so bad,” KK teases. You can’t help but feel a little pride at that. “Who’s chatting her up right now? Lemme invite you. Accounting rizz is insane work.”

“Don’t scare away my tutor,” Azzi grumbles, coming back into view of the camera. True to KK’s words, a faint blush has settled on her cheeks. Feeling far too smug, you comment on the live, ‘calling it rizz is crazy, i’m just helping the people.’ Azzi’s eyes scan the screen before rolling slightly. “Look at what you did, KK.”

“Is that her?” KK shrieks. She leans in closer to the screen, blocking out much of the background. “Oh, she fine. Lock in, Azzi; she can help you with more than accounting.”

At that, you and Azzi both blush a deep scarlet red and Azzi turns on her heel. “Goodbye, KK!” The room dissolves into rambunctious laughter as Azzi walks out, calling, “I’m going to finish my homework!”

A moment passes before Azzi messages you again.

I’m so sorry about KK, she’s feral

You swipe away from the live again, grinning slightly. In your DMs, the typing bubbles appear for a few short moment. You heart her most recent message in the meantime.

Will you please help me? I genuinely don’t understand what I’m doing wrong

Yes, you’ve spent most of the day in classes and doing homework. Yes, you’re tired. Yes, you really only joined the live to unwind. But when Azzi asks for help, you can’t really say no to her.

of course, are u working on this week’s homework set?

Her affirmative response is swift, telling you what she’s having trouble with. Your fingers hesitate on your screen, trying to figure out how to put your thoughts into words before settling.

i know this is incredibly forward but would u want to ft? i can explain better verbally

Azzi sends you her number. After tonight’s events, you really shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but you can’t help it. Azzi is a nationally (and internationally) recognized college basketball player and, until now, you were just a girl who watched her team’s TikTok lives and cheered in the student section. Azzi had seemed so untouchable, by virtue of her celebrity and your lack thereof; it’s hard to believe you’re this close to her now, even if it’s just to help her with accounting homework.

The two of you talk well into the night, even hours after Azzi submits her problem sets successfully and she understands the material. You feel like you get to see a side of her so rarely seen by other people who aren’t her teammates. She’s softer, with a beaming smile on her face when she finally understands a difficult concept. There’s something so alluring about the way she speaks that you can’t help but listen to every single thing that comes out of her mouth, ranging from her frustrated rants to the smoothness of her giggle. The lamplight reflects off of the lenses of the glasses perched on her nose and you think she’s so incredibly beautiful – bare-faced and slightly delirious from staying up so late.

When the two of you finally hang up half past three, you can’t wipe the smile off your face, and somehow, you just know that this is the start of something new.

From then on, your friendship with Azzi all but flourishes. She’s incredibly sweet, soft-spoken, and so deliberate in the way she moves and speaks to you. When your next accounting class rolls around, she finds the seat next to yours, asking to sit there with an almost shy expression. When there’s lulls in the lecture, you entertain her with jokes, drawing red-cheeked giggles that she has to stifle. You’re almost like her personal TA, sitting next to her and clarifying concepts that she doesn’t understand. It helps you, too; the best study advice you’d ever received was to teach it to someone else. 

Your friendship progresses outside of the lecture room and outside of your texts. You both spend a lot of time in the library, studying in peace together or enjoying lunch in each other's company. You always thought Azzi was gorgeous, but now that you know her on a far more personal level, falling for her was a near guarantee. The far-away admiration transformed into something pure, genuine. You couldn’t imagine Azzi returning those feelings — she’s far too busy, too committed to ball — so you keep your rapidly growing crush close to your chest. 

You’ve always showed up to the UConn games, though there’s something distinctly different about them now. Azzi was never one for grand celebrations or trash talk in the way Paige was. She was intentional and lowkey, which is why you feel like you could float when she makes direct eye contact with you in the student section, throwing up three fingers to celebrate a particularly deep three. It’s why you cheese when she finds you after the game, after she’s showered and changed, and asks if you want to get ice cream with her. The better question was how could you refuse?

Azzi deliberates between vanilla and cookie dough for a long while before settling on the latter. Even as the clerk fills her bowl, she stares at the the vanilla and your choice of ice cream becomes obvious. Azzi stares at you as the clerk fills your bowl with vanilla. “What? It’s my favorite flavor,” you lie, and her lips quirk up as she studies you. 

“Said literally no one ever,” she says wryly. The clerk hands you the bowl and Azzi swipes her card before you have the chance to even contemplate otherwise. When you stare at her in disbelief, her smile widens and all fight leaves your body. What were you supposed to do about that? You were a puddle for pretty women — a puddle for Azzi, honestly — and your resolve should be commended for maintaining months of friendship with Azzi. 

The two of you find a secluded booth towards the back of the ice cream shop. Azzi shares her midterm grade — a solid 100, and you whistle lowly. “I got an 89,” you say, not hurt by it at all. As long as it was above an 80, you could care less. “You sure you still need me?”

Azzi swirls her ice cream around her bowl, suddenly quiet. The realization dawns on you immediately. Your words were meant to be a joke, but the truth to them stuns you. You really hoped Azzi would say, ‘of course not, it’s not like that!’ but her silence keeps you guessing. 

“I have a confession to make,” she says after a beat, finally glancing up at you. The vulnerability and nervousness makes your heart fall out of your ass. “Promise it won’t make anything weird?”

You open your mouth just to close it again. You clear your throat. “Promise, Az,” you say finally. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” she says quickly. “Um, so here’s the thing. I struggled a lot with the first problem set. You know, the one I needed the tutor for?” You nod, confused by her words. “You helped a lot. And, like, I haven’t really needed actual tutoring in weeks. I just really liked spending time with you.” You blink at her. She stares at you right back, brows furrowed with guilt and her doe eyes wide. “I’m sorry. You must feel like I wasted your time.”

At that, you can’t help but laugh, and Azzi pouts. “Az. I thought you were about to dump me,” you explain. “Plus, I kinda figured after a while we were just like, studying together, and not me actually tutoring.”

She sighs, burying her face in her hands. You laugh again, pushing your leftover ice cream towards her. Azzi glances up again, her eyes soft and fond. “I guess I just wanted an excuse for you to stick around.”

“You never needed one,” you tell her honestly, and a blush creeps up her neck. 

“You’re not really picking up what I’m putting down, are you?”

Her words almost make you recoil. It’s no secret at this point that you can be a little oblivious, but her words make your heart skip a beat. “Az, I have no idea what you’re putting down,” you admit.

“So, I just admitted to you that I liked spending time with you and lied about needing study help just so I’d have an excuse to hang out with you,” Azzi confirms. “We are sitting here, alone, after a game while my teammates celebrate at Ted’s. All of that, and you have no idea what I’m putting down?”

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. “Oh,” you say smartly. 

“Yeah.”

“So, you like me?” you ask just to be one hundred percent sure. 

She smiles at you. You’re certain your heart almost stops beating. “How could I not?” she asks like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You make me laugh. You’re always so patient with me, you make me feel seen — like I can just be myself. It’s… hard to find something genuine like this. You don’t expect anything from me.”

“I just want you to be happy,” you say simply. 

Her eyes confirm everything for you. You’re not observant, sure, but your main priority has always been what was directly in front of you. And right now, it’s hard to focus on anything that’s not Azzi. Azzi’s eyes are so soft, kinder than anything you’ve ever seen before. They hold so much understanding but there’s also a silent plea of let this be mutual that you’re too happy to give into. 

“I’ve been falling for you for a while,” you admit, and her face brightens. Your shoulders feel lighter; carrying around your feelings has burdened you, but if it’s the price you had to pay to make sure Azzi felt comfortable and that she could have friendships without people taking advantage of her celebrity, then so be it. You’d bear a lot more for her if it ever came down to it. “I kept it to myself for a while,” you continued. “You deserve normal. A friendship without expectations. But, God, Az, how could anyone not fall for you?”

Azzi’s cheeks flush a pretty red. You can’t help but smile at her, growing a little braver, and you slide your hand across the table. She wastes no time before intertwining your fingers together, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

She walks you home that night, refusing to let go of you until you’re halfway through your doorstep. She stops you; her height would be intimidating if you didn’t know she was the sweetest person to ever walk the earth. “Can I…” She trails off, her hands gentle on your waist. 

You don’t need much more convincing — you loop your arms around her neck and tug her down to your height, planting your lips on hers with a softness that she eagerly reciprocates. You can taste the vanilla on her lips, the sweetness of the cookie dough, and the promise of something distinctly reminiscent of Azzi Fudd. You’re suddenly thankful for KK’s stupid live, for Crumbl cookie, for the accounting class you shared together. It’s all led you to where you are now, in Azzi’s arms outside of your apartment, overcome with the knowledge that all of this is so new, but you have everything you could have possibly wanted.

(You ask her to officially be your girlfriend two weeks after that, having been on three dates since — it’s only after you pop the question and the two of you are settling in to watch a movie that she admits to you the real reason she was struggling so bad with the problem sets was because she’d spend entire lecture periods staring at you. You roll your eyes, feeling inexplicably cared for in a way you haven’t experienced before Azzi, and your only true response to her confession is the lingering kiss you place on her lips.)

[in1-nutshell]

TRANSFORMERS ONE IS OUT! Unfortunately, I couldn't watch it in theaters because work and money is a bit tight right now. I can't wait for this movie to come out in YouTube Movies to watch it. Since we both know it's obviously gonna have a sad ending, do you mind if I added a bit more sadness in this request? Orion Pax has a younger sibling that he raised named Buddy. Buddy loves both Orion Pax and D-16 as a family. Buddy is willing to bite some ankles if anybody was mean to someone Buddy cares about. Buddy is also tagging along with them in the adventures, much to Orion's dismay and dread. I heard there is gonna be a fight between them at the near ending. Buddy is horrified and scared that those two bots that Buddy considered their family is now fighting each other as enemies. Buddy begs and screams at them to stop, but Optimus and Megatron obviously won't. When Optimus and Megatron shoot each other at the same time, in a moment of panic and terror for their loved ones - Buddy jumps in between them and get hit by both of their shots accidentally that immediately offlined Buddy. They both stopped fighting in shock and grief. Buddy's death was the final straw between Optimus and Megatron's relationship. When Megatron and Optimus went in their separate ways, they both knew the war had begun. Characters: Orion Pax, D-16, Bumblebee, and Elita-one. Please and thank you!

Trying to get the TF1 fics out a bit early so we have something to read.

Hope you enjoy!

Slight mention of spoiler in the movie

Bot Buddy being Orion Pax's younger sibling

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Angst, Character death (you have been warned!), Cybertronian reader

TF1

Buddy was one of the youngest miners in the group.

They did get some special treatment from certain bots but was otherwise expected to act just like everyone else.

One bot in particular took interest in the younger bot.

Orion Pax was his name.

He saw a lot of himself in the younger bot and offered his companionship.

The younger bot quickly latched onto him faster than rust.

It didn’t take long for them to fall into a sibling dynamic.

Soon D-16 was introduced.

D-16: “So let me get this straight. You saw them and decided to be their friend and the next thing you know your siblings?” Orion: “That’s pretty much it.” D-16 shakes his helm in good humor. D-16: “Sometimes I can’t with you.” Buddy swings their arms around him and Orion. Buddy: “Get used to it D! You’re one of us now!” D-16: “As long as you’re not like this rusty bucket its fine.” Orion: “Hey!” Buddy chuckles: “Don’t worry about that D.” 2 weeks later… D-16 watching Buddy trying to drop kick Darkwing after he ‘accidentally’ knocked their energon cart. D-16: “Primus… they’re worse…” Orion pats D-16 on the back. Orion: “Yep… want to help them out?” Both mech’s wince seeing Buddy get punched in the chassis. D-16: “…Fine.”

Buddy always kept their brothers on their pedes with their antics.

Always kept them both on alert.

Buddy loved to randomly jump on their shoulders or try and pick them up.

Despite their antics, Buddy was a good miner and even managed to do something most miners couldn’t do.

Get on Elita-One’s good side.

No one knows what exactly happened between them both for Buddy to get a bit of favoritism.

Elita refuses to elaborate and Buddy likes to see bots squirm for the answer.

Buddy hands Elita a spare jetpack. Elita: “Buddy I already have a jetpack.” Buddy: “We’re going to need it.” Elita raises an optic but ignores it. Later… Elita: “… How did you know—” Buddy: “The jetpacks are old Elita. Its only a matter of time before someone falls from a faulty one.” Elita pats their helm. Elita: “When I get promoted, I might just ask to move you to be my assistant.” Buddy: “No! I don’t want any more work!” Elita: “Too late, already considering it.” Buddy: “Orion tell her to stop being mean!”

Buddy was helping Elita get used to her new role in waste management when they saw who was on the Iacon 500.

They cheered for their brothers with everyone else.

The bot let out a yelp when they saw D-16 get hurt, but quickly smiled seeing Orion try and help him to the finish line.

…Too bad Chromia won the race.

Good news, Buddy was now a couple shanix richer from the betting pool.

 While they were heading to the med bay to go see Orion and D-16, they quickly hid seeing Darkwing picking them up and leading them somewhere.

Orion and D-16 talking to B-127 when something big falls on to the conveyer belt and jumps off it. Buddy dusts themselves from the junk. Buddy turns and waves at the bots. B-127: “New friend!” Orion and D-16: “Buddy!?” They both go over to Buddy looking for any injuries. Buddy: “Hey quit it! I’m not dying!” Orion: “What are you doing here?” Buddy: “Well I was going to the med bay to congratulate you two, but Darkwing got to you first. Then I had to wait a while until the coast was clear and find out where you were sent. It’s kinda fun going through the shoot though.” D-16: “What you did was—” B-127 pushes D-16 out of the way and shakes Buddy’s servo. B-127: “Hi there! I’m B-127, or you can call me B or—” Buddy: “Wait! I can be B and you can be BB!” B-127: “Or maybe we can go by the Double B’s!” B-127 and Buddy start chatting up a storm. Orion: “What just happened?” D-16: “I don’t know but I don’t like it…”

Orion catches Buddy up on the new information on Alpha Trion.

Buddy is ready to go.

Orion and D-16 try to get them to stay, but Buddy ends up joining.

They are having a blast climbing the crates inside the train as Orion tries to get Elita.

Buddy stared long and hard at the landscape when the group reached to the surface.

Is sprinting with B-127 the moment the giant rock formations start getting closer.

Grips Orion and D-16’s servo when they all get tossed out of the train.

Their chatting and B-127’s chatting makes the other older bots consider gagging them for the remainder of the trip.

When reaching the cave of the fallen Prime’s, they gently hold D-16’s servo as they silently mourn for Megatronus Prime.

Hides behind Elita when Alpha Trion comes back online and nearly decks Orion in the face.

Cries a little bit seeing what Sentinel had done to the other Prime’s.

They deserved so much better than that fate.

Absolutely seething with D-16 when the group sees Sentinel giving the Quintesson’s THEIR hard earned energon.

Once everyone gets their T-cog’s, Buddy is the first to try and transform… unfortunately they did not get it the first time.

The group was running down the hill. Buddy’s helm gets tucked into their frame. Buddy: “I CAN’T SEE! I CAN’T SEE!” Orion starts laughing Orion: “HAHAHAHA—AAH WHERE’S MY HEAD?!”

Buddy gets a bad feeling about D-16 when he starts talking to Orion but brushes it off as stress.

They hoped they were right, especially after he admitted to wanting to terminate Sentinel.

Don’t get them wrong, they absolutely hate the bot now, but to go so far as terminate him?

It didn’t seem right.

Was the first one to get tased and wake up.

They get excited the second they see Starscream, Shockwave and Soundwave.

B-127 and Buddy both tell the other’s who the High guard were.

An excitement that quickly turns into frightened when they see D-16 beating up Starscream.

They tried to get to him, but the crowd wouldn’t let them.

Buddy looked over at Orion, both sharing the same look of worry and fear for their brother.

They end up getting captured by Arachnid with B-127 and D-16 after the explosion.

Orion is riddled with guilt the second Elita tells him that Buddy, D-16 and B-127 were captured with some of the high guard.

Thankfully, he and Elita made a plan with the remainder of the guard to help get the others and bring Sentinel to justice.

Back at Iacon…

Buddy was in between D-16 and B-127 on the ground, restrained as Sentinel prattled about having them executed.

They felt their spark stop for a second when D-16 stood up.

Arachnid had to restrain them when Sentinel started branding Megatronus’s face on D-16’s chassis.

Buddy kicks the spider in the back of one of her legs. She lets go. The younger bot then kicks Sentinel in the back of his knee joints before helm butting him. Snetinel staggers back a bit. They stood in front of D-16 with fury in their optics. Buddy: “Touch my brother again and I swear I will send you to Primus myself!” Many of the captured bots looked in surprise at the young bot protecting the fallen miner. B-127: “Buddy just stay down!” D-16 tries to stand up the second he sees Sentinel start to move to them. D-16: “Buddy get out of the way!” Buddy: “Fat chance!” Buddy tries to kick Sentinel again, but this time the Prime grabbed their pede and with a swift movement twisted it. SNAP! Buddy: “AAAAHHH—” WHAM! Sentinel punched Buddy across the face sending them skidding across the floor. D-16: “BUDDY!” He glares at Sentinel. D-16: “Stop! Your fight is with me!” Sentinel: “No, they made it personal when they helm butted me. Its time to make an example.”

Thankfully the train had just crashed into the building.

Orion hops out and helps D-16 and Buddy up.

Orion briefly thinks on punching Sentinel in the face but is quickly drowned by D-16 yelling that he was going to terminate Sentinel.

Buddy tried to tell Orion that something was wrong, but their older brother was gone, off to tell everyone the truth about what Sentinel did.

They did their best in battling the other guards with their bad pede.

The bot screamed in horror when they saw D-16 and Sentinel going off the edge.

It took them a while to get to where the fight was.

They remembered seeing D-16 holding an extremely injured Orion over the edge of a dark hole.

They didn’t remember screaming, but their voice box started glitching when they saw D-16 let go of Orion’s servo.

Elita and B-127 were by their side holding them tightly, afraid they would try and jump off the ledge to get to him.

Buddy remembered looking at D-16 giving his speech.

Their audial winced when he called himself ‘Megatron’.

They had to close their optics for a second, not believing they had seen a newer version of Orion, now calling himself Optimus Prime.

The two former brothers fought.

Megatron and Optimus were on the ground wrestling the former’s fusion cannon. They barely registered the sounds of pedes coming closer. Megatron: “Let go!” Optimus: “Never!” Suddenly the cannon went off. A scream. THUD! Both mech’s look over and see Buddy’s frame laying on the ground…so still. Optimus quickly gets off Megatron and runs to Buddy. Optimus: “Buddy!” Optimus gets to the frame. Buddy’s optics were offline and there was a smoldering hole in the middle of their chassis where their spark was supposed to be. Optimus gently cradles them. Optimus: “Buddy! Buddy please! Buddy… please… don’t…” He gently hugs the limp frame, not caring in that moment if Megatron blasted him. Megatron just stood up and stared. He wanted to scream. To yell. Megatron wanted to hug his little sibling frame and pray to Primus that this was not happening. Optimus gently places the frame down, stands up and looks at Megatron dead in the optics. Optimus: “Take the High Guard and go. You are banished from Iacon.” Megatron starts walking away but stops for a moment to take one last look at Buddy’s still frame before yelling for his troops to follow him.

There was a small funeral held for Buddy.

 Optimus made sure to hold it together in front of the others.

But Elita and B-127 caught him alone, sobbing with a picture of Buddy, Orion, and D-16, smiling, without a care in the world.

The two bots held their leader tightly as he continued to sob.

Megatron mourned for Buddy in private.

It was only right.

He cried in silence holding a picture of him, Buddy, and Orion Pax on their first day of mining.

In the safety of his habsuite, he could cry all he wanted before his Decepticon’s expected him to come out with a rally cry.

[cybertronian-reader-imagines]

Imagine femme bot reader being a hugger/cuddler. Femme reader is also lovable, short, and childish, so they get a lot of admirers.

No continuity or characters were given here but my brain just immediately went "Earthspark" and imagined Femme!Reader is also just a really loving and supportive teacher to the Terrans. LOTS of hugs and pats on the back when the kiddos do a good job. Not to mention every single Cybertronian in this continuity needs a hug I stg

Content Warning: Mentions of PTSD in this one. TBF that's probably a warning for a LOT of my stuff - there's robots be traumatized.

The Earthspark!Autobots recruiting a Femme!Autobot who is a smol, energetic cuddler would include...

Optimus has always been pretty casual about giving his cohorts pats on the back/side hugs/etc, but they don't so often respond to him as enthusiastically as you. They see him as this larger than life thing,  so it makes him really happy that you're so relaxed around him. Between that and how you make sure the Terrans receive physical reassurance, and the two of you become fast friends.

Elita-1 doesn't really initiate hugs, being more of a words person, but once she adjusts to how physical you are she will crush you with affection in return. She immediately gets the sort of bot you are and recognizes your warmth as strength. She will call anybody out who assumes your childish nature makes you naive. Speaking of which....

Megatron has zero idea how to deal with it when you straight up hug him in front of everybody for the first time, and it shows on his shocked face in a way he may never live down. During the war, he never let anybody that close, and while he's mellowed out a great deal now, most bots would be afraid or at least cautious to try being so affectionate with him. He's likely the most prone to assuming your demeanor means you're innocent, even if you've actually suffered from the war as much as anybody else.

Wheeljack ends up asking you for advice on being more open and warm with Twitch - it's not something that comes naturally to him, and he can tell physical reassurance does her a lot of good. You help him out and in return he often has a new gadget for you as a thank you present... to mixed results.

Bumblebee is the most hesitant around you at first - the last thing they need is another child running about, for Primus' sake. Autobots need to be mature and professional. But eventually, he realizes nothing about your sunny disposition keeps you from doing the job at hand just as well as the rest of the team, and from there it doesn't take him long to get attached. 

Arcee is the most like you in disposition AND size, so you two immediately click. She's not as much of a hugger as you, but will respond enthusiastically to a hug by straight up LIFTING you off the ground and swinging you about. The terrans LOVE when you two are teaching, because you're the most encouraging and least intimidating duo of any of the Autobots.

Please, for the love of Primus, give Grimlock a hug. He's not going to openly ask for one, but he needs one badly. He never acts too excited when you hug him but also never backs away or tells you to stop... and you notice the more you comfort him, the more likely he is to come to you when he's had a rough flashback or is otherwise just feeling out of sorts, and not so subtly sit or bend over in a way that makes it easy for you to reach up and hug him.

[weird-is-life]

Can I request a shy reader and Spencer's fic. When the reader works at a flower shop, Spencer comes in there looking for flowers. And the reader goes on a little rant about what he should buy and what each flower means.

Hii lovely, ty for the request! Hope this is okay🙈warnings: use of y/n, fluff, a few swear words, (0.9k)

Spencer needs to buy some flowers for Emily. It's her birthday and he's always brought her flower before, so even if he's already running late to her birthday dinner, he can't not go buy her some flowers.

He goes into the first flower shop, he spots on the way to Emily's apartment and that's where he finds you.

It's almost the closing time, so you are just sitting behind the counter, reading some book. Spencer immediately thinks he's in love.

He swears, you are the prettiest girl, he's ever seen and the fact, that you are too absorbed in your book to even notice him, makes you even more attractive to Spencer.

You finally notice him as he's a few steps away from the counter. You quickly slam the book shut and try not to look too caught off guard.

You weren't expecting anybody to come to the shop anymore and you definitely weren't expecting it to be a very handsome guy.

His messy, curly hair, expensive-looking black suit and the small stubble have you buckling at your knees. You are sure, that if you weren't sitting on the chair, you would be on the ground.

"H-hi," you somewhat compose yourself, "w-what can I help you with?"

He shoots you a smile and you're pretty sure that your cheeks go very red," Hi, I was wondering if I could get some flowers?"

"D-do you have any specific in mind?" you ask, barely holding an eye contact with him. You are shy and he isn't helping your situation at all.

"Ye-...No, I don't. Can you recommend me some?" Spencer literally knows the meaning of every flower you have in this shop, but something about you makes him shut his mouth, so he can stay here longer.

"I can, yes," you smile sheepishly at him, "who are they supposed to be for?"

"My friend, it's her birthday today," you would be lying, if you said that your heart didn't skip a beat at hearing that it's for his friend and not a girlfriend. You thought, that he was getting flowers for his girlfriend.

"W-well, I'd suggest, that you should definitely get some yellow flowers for her. Yellow color represents friendship, would that be okay?" you hesitantly ask. Spencer just nods encouragingly.

"Okay, so we could do some mixed bouquet. Yellow roses are definitely a yes, you can't go wrong with that, they are beautiful and smell amazing. We should also add sunflowers, they represent loyalty and adoration of the friendship. Oh and mums are grest, too. They can really make the bouquet come alive, they are like the spirit of optimism. We could also-," you ramble about each flower, that you put in the bouquet for him.

Spencer listens to your every word with a happy smile, you remind him of himself with your rambling and to be honest, he finds it adorable.

You are done too quickly tho and Spencer finds himself wanting to hear you speak again.

But his phone rings and he doesn't even need to pick up to know, that the team is wondering, where he is.

"Here, i-is this okay?" you hand the insanely pretty bouquet to him. Spencer's grin basically answers your question.

"Thank you, thank you. It couldn't be more perfect. You're a total lifesaver..." he looks at your name tag, "y/n. Thank you, y/n."

You are certain, that your cheeks couldn't be more red as they are right now. Spencer's compliment makes you blush like a fool.

"Oh. I'm..I'm glad, that you like it." You stutter out your response, looking at the ground. You carefully wrap the bouquet in the flower wrapping paper and tell him the price of it.

He pays it and before you can say no, he puts a bigger tip than it's normal into the tip jar.

Spencer then slowly leaves thanking you as he goes. And right before the door closes, it looks like Spencer wants to tell you something else, but in the last second he shakes his head and dissappears.

You wave him a shy goodbye, you are a little disappointed even if you don't really know why. Well okay, maybe you do know why. But you shouldn't have put your hopes up, thinking the handsome stranger felt the spark like you did. And that maybe, only maybe, he'd ask you out.

You sigh and sluggishly start to clean up the counter to finally close the shop and go home. The door bell rings again and your head immediately shoots up.

He runs up to the counter, a little out of breath, "shit, I'm sorry to bother you again. I don't usually do this, like ever, it's just....Would you like to go out with me sometimes? Like for a-a coffee? You can say no of course, hell, I'd totally understand if you said no." Spencer's now the one to rumble.

"I-I'd love to," you, surprising even yourself, reply immediately. Cheeks, of course, burning red.

"It's okay- Wait, really?" Spencer was totally expecting you to reject him.

"Yes, really....." you want to say his name.

"Spencer, my name is Spencer," he quickly understands.

"Spencer, " you try out his name," I'd love to Spencer, here." You bravely scramble your phone number on a piece of paper and give it to him.

Spencer takes it with a huge smile, "I'll call you, " he looks like he wants to stay longer, but looks at his watch and curses under his breath," I'm so late. I gotta go, but I'll call you, I promise."

"Bye, Spencer," you say sweetly and Spencer already knows he's fucked. Not even one date and he knows, he's down bad.

[notaboypossiblyagenius]

bringing home to you — e.prentiss

content: reader can be interpreted as anxious and self concious, i didn’t mean for it to read that way🙄 anyways, it’s just fluff. emily says like 3 words in spanish.

w/c: 1.7k

a/n: been a few sleepless nights, so have this lowkey vent fic. also tysm for 50 followers? :D I can’t believe 50 of you are interested in what I have to share, u guys are the bestest ever <3

reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

You tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. It was expected; your first night in a new house, sleep wouldn’t come easy. But, after an hour of the restless cycle, you picked up your phone which had been placed at a distance to avoid distraction.

A picture of you and Emily beamed in the darkness of the room, causing you to squint your eyes as you accustomed to the brightness. 2:33 am flashed in bright white across the top of your screen and a weary sigh left your lips as you typed the password in an almost automatic manner.

Your fingers hovered over the call button as you glanced around the room, the bare walls seemed to shroud you, and the quietness of the apartment shrilled in your ears. It was deafening. 

You dialed Emily. It rang once, twice, before the sweet sound of her voice washed over your restless mind, seeping into the ragged and anxious edges that poked at your sleep.

“Baby?” she asked, concern laced in her tone. 

“Em, hi.” you breathed, starting to regret calling. You hadn’t realized the hour, it was late. 

Really late.

“Did I wake you? ‘m sorry.” the apologies rolled off your tongue in an instant as you realized that she’d probably been sleeping.

“No, no you didn’t. I was awake.” She soothed.

“You ok?” Her words did more for your sleeplessness than any relaxation technique ever could.

“Yeah, I just…” you trailed off, picking at the fabric of your pillowcase. The frayed edges getting caught between your fingers as you fidgeted. “Can't sleep.” Your voice, quiet and unsteady, reflected the tumultuous feelings that brewed in your tired mind.

The admission felt pathetic, and bashfulness seeped into your face as the words left your mouth. You didn’t want to burden Emily, she already had enough on her plate.

“oh, Amor, what’s wrong?” The soft breath she’d let out crackled over your speakers, and in the background you could hear the rustling of her sheets and the faintest of chirps by Sergio.

Silence washed over the two of you as the shame bubbled up in your chest, you felt like a child scared of the monsters in her closet. “new place, I guess..” you whispered, “it doesn’t feel right.” 

The silence washed over the line again and you were about to tell Emily to forget about it. That you were just being childish and that none of this mattered. That you’d be over it in the morning and that surely it was just another one of yo—

“Do you want me to come over?” Her voice cut through the fast-paced spiral of your thoughts, and your breath caught. You didn’t want to impose, but it would really help.“Would that help you sleep?” 

You picked at the frayed edges of the pillowcase once more as you considered, sleep seemed fleeting at this point and you knew that with her by your side you’d at least relax. You nodded as if she could see you, your breathing crackling on her end. “Please?” you whispered meekly, as if speaking any louder would make her change her mind.

“Okay,” she replied, and you could hear the soft smile you’d grown to love in her tone. “It’s only a 5-minute drive, you okay to hang up?” she was sickeningly sweet about it, her voice laced with a gentleness that would’ve made you feel patronized had it been anybody else, but you knew she was being genuine.

“Actually, could you stay on the phone?” You asked, sitting up in bed as you awaited her arrival. You figured that sitting in silence for 5 minutes probably wouldn’t do your racing mind any good.

“Of course, I can, sweet girl.” The tenderness in her voice was unmatched and the sound of it enveloped you in a warmth that your current blanket failed to provide.  “Okay, I am putting my shoes on right now.” 

The call was wordless save for the sounds of Emily’s movements.

You could hear the rustling of her moving the phone from one shoulder to the other, and her soft breathing as she grabbed her keys. Her door opening, closing, locking, and the descent of her stairs. You took a deep breath and let the ambiance coming from Emily’s end wash out the deafening silence of this new place you were supposed to call home.

Your eyelids felt heavier as each sound filled the emptiness of your room. The echo of your loneliness slowly faded under the comfort of her mundane movements. You could hear the distant bustle of the city streets, even at this hour. The beep of her car unlocking, the rustle as she buckled her seatbelt.

“What were you doing awake?” you murmured, your eyelids fluttering against the growing weight of sleep, the walls of this strange new room blending together into a blurry haze of shadows and light.

Emily could hear the grogginess beginning to seep into your tone and she let out a quiet huff, “I was finishing up some files,” her hands tapped lightly against the steering wheel as your new building came into view. It really was a 5-minute drive.

You sighed as you realized you’d pulled her away from work; the last thing you wanted to do was impose on her. 

“nothing major, just some after-action reports, they can wait.” It was clear in her tone that she knew you’d felt bad, and she seemingly pulled the apology right out of your mouth.

“So I'm not imposing?” you teased, as you ran your hand across the soft fabric of your blankets, smoothing out the bumps and ridges.

“Nunca, mi amor.” she laughed softly, and the hum of her engine ceased. You heard the soft jingle of her keys and the echoing shut of her door in the parking lot. “I’ll see you upstairs, okay?” She asked though it wasn’t a question. She was telling you that it was okay, that she was here now. 

A soft hum of agreement crackled over her speakers and she hung up as she walked into your building. She fished through her keys and found the spare you’d given her this morning when she had helped you with boxes. She took quiet steps up the stairs to the second floor, mindful of the time. 

She reached your door, the hallway light buzzed above her as she inserted the key. The door creaked open and she was met by boxes strewn about the room—some closed, others open with a variety of its contents littered about the space. The sight created a flurry of emotions within her— She usually refrained from profiling you, but it was obvious you were reluctant about the space. Nothing was unpacked. Nothing but stacks of books you’d started sorting through, and that made her smile because it was so characteristically you.

Once she’d weaved past the boxes and opened your door, she found you sitting against the headboard, picking at the edge of your sheets. Exhaustion was written all over your face, the warm light provided by the lamp you’d plugged into the corner highlighting all of your features as you smiled up at her.

“What's this about not being able to sleep?” she teased gently as she took off her shoes and sweater. You thought she looked beautiful like this, in sweatpants that were obviously a size too big by the way they hung on her hips and shirts that seemed to be hanging on by a thread—It was a side that was often overridden by the officiality of her job, you loved it.

Her presence immediately warmed up the room and seemingly took your uneasiness with it.

You laughed sheepishly at her tease, scooting over on the bed as she padded across the room and towards you. “Mmm, It doesn’t feel right,” you answered as she slipped underneath the sheets. Her perfume still clung to her clothes, and the scent filled your senses as you settled into her arms. She was quick to hold you, her arms instinctively wrapping around your shoulders as you laid your head on her shoulder. Her legs intertwined with yours, and the warmth of her sweatpants seeped onto your bare legs. 

“Doesn’t feel right?” She asked, running her fingers through your hair with a tenderness you couldn’t begin to understand. You nodded, and tilted your head up, meeting her gaze.

You flitted your gaze about her face, scanning the sharpness of her features, how they seemed to effortlessly come together and synthesize the love of your life. 

“Doesn’t feel like home.” 

Emily let out a quiet hum, mirroring your actions and allowing her eyes to roam your face. She took your chin between her index finger and thumb, angling your face up slightly. “We’ll fix that,” She whispered, and her tone was so sincere it made your heart lurch in your chest, unable to understand how you were worthy of such love. 

“Yeah?” you asked, quietly. 

“Yeah.” 

She followed with a soft nod, the conviction of it making it sink deep into your being, we’ll fix it.

You gave her a nod of your own, and she leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, the softness of it making you smile. You snaked a hand up her shirt, seeking the warmth of her body as you rested it on her abdomen. The sensation shot a shiver up Emily’s spine and she let out a laugh against your lips. 

When you pulled back, you were met by two half-moons carved into her cheeks and you leaned in and pressed another kiss to her lips. Just because you could.

“What was that for?” she asked, brushing hair out of your face.

“A reward,” you responded as you settled your head back onto her chest.

“For what?” she chuckled, furrowing her brows as she looked down at you. 

“The long, treacherous trip.” The response flowed from you as if it was an obvious answer and Emily laughed again, shaking her head at your teasing tone.

“Go to sleep,” she replied, pushing your head in retaliation for falling into your dumb joke.

As you finally gave in to the heaviness of your gaze, Emily's heartbeat served as a soft rhythm for you to follow as you drifted off. The continuous movement of her fingers down the length of your hair pacified your restless mind.

And suddenly the room wasn’t as intimidating and unfamiliar. The walls no longer seemed to shroud you, and the silence was no longer deafening.

She’d already fixed your uneasiness, she’d brought home to you.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

#I'm sorry it's so funny to me when ppl take a joke about a character very very seriously#and feel compelled to write a post about ppl doing it wrong 🤣#he will always be an eldest daughter (to me)#he is#also not a man (to me)#let men be masculine kinda posts in this fandom always lol @vaderborn

Well you felt compelled to reblog my rant post to tell me I was doing it wrong, yknow. (Btw, a post prompted by one my posts about Obi-Wan and children getting tagged several times separately about how Obi-Wan is sooo 'mother-coded' and 'eldest-daughter coded'....... for liking children??) Also this is the exact opposite of a 'let men be masculine' post lmao, this is a 'stop saying that a man exhibiting any kind of gentleness or caretaking tendencies makes him no longer a man' post. The ✨exact opposite✨ And it's about how women have their experiences erased.

I understand why you might have gotten confused though, not everybody knows misogyny is a thing and gets bothered by it. Lol.

"eldest daughter coded obi-wan" he's a man you clowns