#i need more solo works of the three of them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tangerineastronaut · 4 months ago

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bibliophile ⟡ j. yunho

part two

you're stressed...your study buddy has an idea.

Pairing: Yunho x Fem!Student!Reader Genre: Smut - dark twist Requested: Yes/No w.c. 5.8k Warnings: heavy on the smut, semi public sex (ish), mutual pining, food? - THE SUCKER - he does...things with it. Yunho is a FREAK. Reader is desperate for yunho dick (yes YOU, reader) Spoiler warnings are in comments if you need them. A/N: So, this is sort of two requests in one, however I don't want to disappoint anyone so I'll post it solo. I hope it's okay! <3 god deleted my ticket to heaven with this one. Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

Taglist: @baby-stay92 If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please DM me or click here.

You release a tired sigh and rub your eyes, throwing your pen down. It bounces off of your ridiculously thick textbook and lands on the papers scattered around your study partner.

“Ah ah. No crashing yet, we’ve got three more chapters,” Yunho says with a laugh, tapping you on the end of the nose with his own pen. You pout, making a face at him before dramatically collapsing on the table.

“I give up. You can become a lawyer, I’ll go back to making sandwiches,” you groan, muffled against pages of your future.

“I thought you liked working at the sandwich shop?”

“I did,” you reply, tilting your head to look at him. “But sandwich shops don’t pay me six figures.”

“Then stop whining,” Yunho shrugs. You grumble words unintelligible even to yourself and sit up, fixing your hair. You stretched, yawned, checked your phone for the thousandth time that evening. Finals were next week. Then there was the Bar exam. You were so close to being y/n l/n, attorney at law…but you were beginning to feel nauseous at the mere sight of words on a page.

“Wanna take a break?” Yunho suggests, leaning back to stretch. You avoid looking at the way his sweater rides up, revealing inches of what appears to be a toned belly.

“No,” you mumble, forcing yourself to look away. “If I leave this library…I think I may never return.”

Yunho chuckles and nods, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index fingers. For a few minutes, you both just sit there, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Usually the library is filled with students, exactly like you—stressed, depressed, drowning in student debt and reading assignments.

“Yunho?” you mumble. He hums a response, looking over at you. You swallow. “If I start to cry, will you judge me?”

“Not at all,” he responds. You nod once, feeling tears burning in your eyes.

For the next hour or so, you take turns reading passages and summarizing them, going through various laws and statutes that you could barely comprehend. Your brain felt as if it might explode, and you considered calling it a night, but it was only 10 p.m. and you’d be damned if you gave out before midnight.

“What the hell are these ‘title 16 provisions?’” you scoff, crinkling your nose. “Were these even part of our assignment?”

“Let me see,” Yunho says. He scoots his chair over to your side of the table rather than just moving seats, and you feel your heart leap into your throat. And god, his arm slides over the back of your chair as he leans in to look at the tiny words on your page.

He smells like coffee and the peanut butter granola bar you shared earlier, and this close you can see that he has very light freckles on his cheeks. You kind of want him to never move.

“Ah, no this isn’t part of this assignment but we will have to know it for finals,” he says, words going in one of your ears and out the other. He begins talking about these provisions, but you must be numb to all forms of communication other than Jeong Yunho’s body heat.

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” you mumble, shaking your head. Yunho has a funny look on his face, one brow raised. Oh god. Oh god. He caught you staring like a fucking creep.

“...You good?” he chuckles. You swallow and quickly nod, brushing your hair back so fast you nearly hit him in the face.

“Yep, uh huh,” you mumble. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Oh,” he says as though relieved. “Good. Well, if you need to take a break, let me know.”

He begins to move; you panic and grab his wrist.

“Wait! You didn’t explain this part to me,” you say, pointing at a random section on the page. Yunho sits down again and tilts his head.

“You need me to explain…marital property to you?” he asks, sounding both amused and disbelieving.

Well, if you’re gonna be a bad liar, at least you’ll be persistent.

“Yes,” you nod. “Just like a refresher, you know? My brain is cooked.”

Yunho stares at you for a few seconds, and you feel your cheeks heat up. It feels like he knows something you don’t know, and you don’t like that. So you yank him back into his seat and let go of his wrist, pretending to be very interested in one of the most basic aspects of your degree.

Marital property is boring, even when the hottest guy in your class is explaining it to you. And what’s worse—he knows. You know he knows. He’s explaining basic concepts to you, and then explaining the basics of those basic concepts, all the while keeping a little smirk on his handsome face. You consider caving, thinking of any possible excuse for your behavior. You’re delirious from lack of sleep, that’s actually true. But you were too deep in this to give up now.

“That’s most of it,” Yunho finally says, long fingers splayed over the textbook. They nearly reach from one end of the open book to the other. You shiver. “I guess we should move into parental rights—”

“Yunho,” you begin with a sigh, ready to admit defeat. He smiles innocently, resting his chin in his hand.

“Yeah?”

“I—”

You freeze, having forgotten how to form sentences. Yunho’s still smiling at you, but his free hand is now resting on your thigh. You thanked the gods you’d decided to wear a skirt today.

His palm is large, warm, spanning much of the plush skin there. He’s not gripping it, but it’s still very obviously intentional. You feel your cheeks burn hot; you’re determined to remain unaffected.

“Nevermind,” you mumble. He chuckles and turns back to the page, though he doesn’t move his hand.

You don’t ask him to.

You go back to your respective chapters, thankfully far beyond the basics, but his hand stays right where it is. He even reaches over his other arm to sip his coffee, refusing to move it. Your skin burns in the shape of his fingers; you almost want to push him away simply because your body is reacting to his touch in a way that’s making you feel crazy. You’re practically feverish, just because he’s near you. Pathetic, honestly.

When you sigh and rub your eyes, those long fingers twitch, making you jump. You try to play it off, though you know he’s aware of your reaction, because he does it again. When you don’t react as dramatically, he squeezes gently.

Your knee jerks up so fast it hits the table, causing your belongings to rattle, and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. Yunho chuckles, though doesn’t move his hand. You clear your throat as though everything is normal. As though he’s not currently squeezing your upper thigh.

“Yunho,” you say quietly.

“Hm?” He doesn't bother looking up from his textbook.

“What are we doing?”

He does look up this time.

“Studying,” he says, giving you a sweet smile. You narrow your eyes.

If he was going to do this, then so were you. You were sleep deprived, numb to the world, and horny as hell. So you parted your knees.

Not much, just an inch or so, but very obvious. You didn’t miss the way Yunho’s throat worked as he swallowed, clearly not expecting the reciprocation. You go back to your textbook, but your victory is short lived, however, as his large hand slides further inward.

You’re flustered. But you’re also stubborn. So you drop your pen and look him in the eyes as you open your knees. Yunho’s gaze is steady as he slowly moves his hand, as though expecting you to stop him. You don’t.

Yunho went back to reading and you did the same, just as his pinky brushed the crease of your inner thigh. You knew you were wet, knew he could probably feel the moist heat radiating from your body behind your pink panties, but you chose to be nonchalant. Until he rubbed the back of his knuckle against your panties, over your clit.

The soft moan that escapes you is mortifying.

Yunho quickly clamps a hand over your mouth, laughing breathily as your brows pull together and you shudder. He looks as shocked as you are, though now you’re hazy, focused only on how good it felt, and wanting more.

“Shh,” he chuckles nervously, glancing around despite the fact that you’re the only ones here. “No wonder you act like you’re walking around on thin ice. You’re frustrated as hell, huh?”

“P-Please,” you whimper pitifully against his palm, though it’s muffled. He moves his hand and you grip his wrist, looking up at him. You silently communicate your needs, praying he has mercy and doesn’t force you to say it out loud. Yunho glances around one more time, licking his lips before looking down at you like a fucking steak on a platter.

“If we’re gonna do this, you gotta be quiet for me,” he murmurs. You nod quickly, gasping when he effortlessly yanks your chair closer to him. He adjusts his glasses before lowering his hand to your thighs, gently stroking them.

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly. You open your mouth, but he presses a finger to your lips. “Quietly.”

“Yes, yes,” you whine. “T-Touch me.”

Yunho bites his lower lip, as though imagining doing much, much more than that. When he rubs your thighs again, your knees fall open and you stifle a moan behind your sleeves. Yunho smiles at the sight of you, slipping his hand between your legs again.

This time, he’s more careful, though it’s much more frustrating for you. You squirm when he strokes either side of your cunt, making a ‘v’ and squeezing your plush pussy lips between them. You moan again, loudly, and Yunho scrambles to cover your mouth.

“Baby, you’ve gotta be—”

“Quiet, I know,” you pout, gripping his wrist. “C-can’t help it…feels good.”

Yunho swallows, letting his fingers brush against you again. You manage to stay quiet this time, but your mouth opens in a silent scream.

“So fucking sensitive,” he murmurs, drawing his hand back. You nearly protest, but he presses his index finger to your clit like a button and you jolt, covering your mouth just in time. Yunho smirks.

“H-Haven’t had sex,” you say, fisting the sleeve of his sweater as he pushes again. “In m-months.”

“Why?” he asks, beginning to rub slow circles against your panties. You feel your wetness spreading beneath them, but you don’t care. You grip the edge of the table and swallow.

“Busy,” you breathe, licking your lips. Yunho’s eyes follow your tongue. You don’t notice.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Y-yeah, yes,” you nod frantically.

Yunho uses the hand between your legs to turn your entire body toward him. You want to mention how attractive that is, but he’s leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours.

His kiss is nothing like his touch; there’s nothing dirty or hurried about it. His nose brushes the crease of yours as he tilts your heads to the side, his free hand moving up to cup your cheek. It’s a sweet kiss that makes no sense when his fingers are currently resting against your panties beneath your skirt.

He seems to have forgotten what he was doing amidst your soft kisses, as you break away from his lips to impatiently bounce and whine. Yunho smirks and begins rubbing his middle finger directly over your clit, applying very little pressure. He kisses you again, and you throw your arms around his neck, trying to push your body into his. His knee prevents you from doing so.

“Nng…what are you doing?” you whine, fisting his sweater. “Wanna…wanna be in your lap.”

Your own admission makes your cheeks flush red, but you don’t care. You’re horny and your crush’s hand is between your thighs.

“Not yet, baby,” he mumbles, stealing another lazy kiss. “Wanna keep you like this. I like how desperate you are.”

“I…I’m not desperate,” you mumble. Yunho bites his lower lip and applies more pressure to your clit, you buck your hips and grip his sleeve. He’s laughing, but you don’t care, aching for more of him.

“Desperate,” he hums, pulling you in for another kiss. You don’t understand his obsession with kissing you; wasn’t he as horny as you were? But you kissed him back anyway, because you’ve had a crush on this guy since your freshman year and even the slut hormones clouding your brain couldn’t block that much out. He was a damn good kisser too, taking the lead and hardly giving you time to breathe.

In contrast to his soft mouth, Yunho’s index finger hooks your soaked panties, tugging them to the side. His finger brushes your bare cunt, though he knowingly silences your moans with a kiss.

“What can I do?” he asks once you finally break apart. You’re unwilling to let him go, however, pulling his lips back to yours..

“Don’t care,” you mumble between kisses, body buzzing with need. “Whatever you want.”

“Can I go in here?”

He prods at the needy hole between your folds and you fucking purr, clutching his sweater and pulling him close with a whine.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs. He waits for you to eagerly nod, then brings his fingers to your mouth and taps your lips. “Open.”

You do as he says and he slips his fingers inside. You nearly moan around them as you instinctively suck and lick his digits; they’re long and thick, two of them practically as big as a few hookups you’ve had in the past. Yunho watches, pupils wide as you act like an obedient doll a little too eager to be fingered in a library at midnight.

When he pulls his fingers out, they’re slick and shiny with your drool, and you see him suck in air. You blush, a little embarrassed at how thorough of a job you’ve done. You expect Yunho to go beneath your skirt, but he slides his wet fingers in his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

It’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever seen, next to the look of pure bliss in his eyes as he sucks your saliva off of his fingers and replaces it with his own. You decide then that you do not want him to finger you.

“Fuck me,” you blurt out.

You barely register what you’ve said, but you’re damn near ready to jump his bones. Yunho blinks in surprise, obviously not having expected that. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth.

“Really?” he asks. He sounds surprised for reasons you don’t understand, but you nod.

“Yeah,” you say, pulling him in for another kiss. “Want you inside me. All of you.”

“Fuck,” Yunho groans. He grabs your face in his hands and kisses you back, harder. Your hands are shaky as they go for his jeans, but then he freezes like you’ve just slapped him.

“What?” you ask, breaking the kiss. Yunho curses and rubs his face with both hands, tilting back in his chair. “What is it, yu?”

“I don’t…fuck. I don’t have a condom.”

He runs a hand through his hair like this is the biggest mistake of the century. You bite your lower lip—the idea of leaving tonight and not getting fucked by him makes you genuinely want to cry.

“We could…you know?” you mumble, face hot. “I mean, I-I’m clean. Obviously, haven’t had sex in god knows when—”

“No,” Yunho says, shaking his head. “I don’t trust myself.”

“Don’t trust yourself to what?” you frown. Yunho looks at you,

“There’s no way I’m gonna be able to make myself pull out once I’m in you,” he murmurs. “We need a condom.”

You swallow. You really shouldn’t push; but you need to hear more.

“How do you know?” you breathe, licking your lips.

“C’mere.”

“What?”

Yunho reaches over, grabbing your wrist. He pulls you into his lap and you gasp, able to feel the rigid line of his cock beneath you. But he grabs your face and pulls you in for a kiss again.

“I’ve been thinking about you for so long,” he hums, and you mewl in response, grinding down against him. He kisses you again to stifle what was no doubt a moan.

“Y-Yeah?” you manage to squeak out. Yunho nods.

“Yeah. Not gonna be able to pull out if I’m balls deep in that little cunt with you fucking crying for it like this.”

Fuck. You needed him. To be honest, with or without the condom, but if he felt it was necessary.

“Let’s go get one,” you mumble dizzily. “A c-condom. There’s a convenience store down the street.”

Yunho frowns, looking at the clock on the wall.

“The library will be locked, won’t it? Don’t we have to lock up?”

You lean back in his lap, smiling.

“Yes. But I’ve got a key,” you chime.

The moment you stepped into the store, you immediately regretted it and felt all the horny escape you. Not really, but it was embarrassing as hell, and painfully obvious as to what you were doing here. Yunho didn’t seem to mind, his hand tightly clasping yours as he guided you toward the back.

You had a little trouble finding the condoms—it made you inexplicably happy when Yunho suggested asking the clerk as he didn’t know either, even though your answer was a firm NO—but eventually found the rack next to the sex pills and cold sore cream.

Hot.

Yunho squints, and you cross your arms impatiently. You grab a box and shake it.

“It’s not a shoe store, here,” you mumble, pushing the box into his hand. Yunho glances over the label and smirks, tossing it back on the shelf. You want to ask what the hell is so funny when you’re so fucking wet your panties are sticking to your thighs, but then he finally makes a choice and puts the box in your hands. Oh.

Oh.

XXL. Makes sense.

You make him grab a few more things as though that makes the purchase less shameful. When you go to check out, you look everywhere but at the clerk—until he has the audacity to speak to the man holding your hand, very obviously purchasing condoms so the two of you can go fuck in a library.

“Finals week?” the guy says. Yunho slides his card across the counter and squeezes your hand.

“Finals week,” he nods.

“I just realized we could’ve gone to my apartment,” you say, unlocking the library door. Yunho leaned against the wall, unwrapping the candy he’d apparently decided on last minute. A red round sucker. “It’s only a few minutes away.”

You’d been given a key to the library your second year here, as you were a trusted student who often pulled all nighters—and you lived in the shitty part of campus where the power often went out. You were aware this was a total abuse of that power, but you figured if you showed Yunho to Ms. Lin, she’d understand.

“Yeah, well, my fantasies during puberty weren’t at apartments,” Yunho shrugs, holding the door for you. You head inside and find your table, where you drop the bag of your purchased items. Yunho grabs it, immediately fishing out the box.

“Very boy of you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Let me guess, the hot librarian offers to help you find your dick? Is that part of the dewey decimal system?”

Yunho smiles. “Can we get back to you whining for me to fuck you? I liked that.”

“I was not—”

Your freakishly tall study partner grabs your wrist, tugging you against him. You swallow and look up, lips parted at the sudden contact.

“Not what?” he asks. You blink, but something is suddenly pushing at your lips. You open dumbly, feeling too obedient as you take whatever he’s putting in your mouth apparently. The taste of artificial cherry makes you grimace.

Yunho backs you up to the table, crowding you against it. He cups your face in his hands and kisses your cheek, thumbs brushing below your ears. You realize you’ve been staring at him wordlessly, sucker in your mouth.

“How’s it taste?” he asks.

“Good,” you mumble. It doesn’t taste good, you hate cherry, but if Jeong Yunho puts something in your mouth, you love it, you decide. Cherry is your new favorite flavor.

“I doubted if they sold gags, so,” he chuckles. “This’ll do.”

You frown, but he takes the stick of the sucker before you can respond.

“Open,” he says. You open.

You see his eyes twinkle, almost like he can’t believe how well you’re listening to him. If only he knew you’d do anything he asked.

Rather than pull it out, Yunho rubs the sucker around your mouth. He coats your tongue with the sticky flavor, then the inside of your cheek. By the time he pulls it out, you don’t realize you’re drooling, mouth open for him.

He pops the sucker in his own mouth, just like his fingers, and you shudder. Then he’s slipping his hands beneath your skirt, pushing your panties down your thighs.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly, more curious than concerned. Yunho takes the sucker out and kisses your cheek, then your lips. You can taste it on his tongue, just like yours.

Something sticky and wet prods at your clit and you gasp, but Yunho wraps an arm around your waist and keeps you from pulling away. You squeak helplessly in shock, caught between mind numbing bliss and disbelief. He’s rubbing the bulbous head of the sucker against your clit.

“Shh…figure it’s too risky to eat you out properly,” he hums in your ear, crushing you to his chest. You squirm, though not out of discomfort.

You have no idea how to react, hands gripping his sweater as he holds you in place. The candy feels warm and sticky, sliding through your cunt juices as he teases you with it.

“I wasn’t going to,” he says, voice strained as though he’s doing all he can to hold back. “But I saw it and…well fuck, baby, if I’m honest, I just wanted to see if you were desperate enough to try and fuck yourself on a piece of candy.”

You whine and bury your head against his shoulder, because you fucking are. You are desperate enough to try, because he slides the candy between your lips and you jolt when it brushes your hole.

“F-Fuck, Yunho,” you gasp, nails digging into fabric. You hear him laugh, and it sounds so fucking cocky, like he knew you’d end up like this, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you work yourself to ruin on a piece of candy.

He slides it beneath the hood of your clit, twisting the stick in his fingers. Your knees buckle, but he’s gripping you tight. He works it like a toy, rubbing up and down, focusing on your clit until you’re nearly there before he moves it again. It didn’t feel this big when it was in your mouth, but you’ve never wanted something inside you so bad.

“Oh my god,” you moan, thighs clamping together. It doesn’t stop his hand, or the candy, the rounded tip pushing against your hole. He starts rolling it again, and you gasp as you feel yourself snapping inside, the hot neediness spilling over the edges. You try to warn him, but only manage to squeak.

“Are you…are you cumming on a fucking lollipop?” Yunho asks, voice filled with awe. You nod.

Your ears ring, your vision blurs, and you feel something pushing against your mouth. It’s Yunho’s hand you realize, but you can’t stop, can’t stop shaking and screaming and there’s something wet on your cheeks.

You haven’t had a proper orgasm in months, maybe even a year, and were it not for Yunho holding you up, you’re pretty damn sure you would’ve fainted.

When you open your eyes, Yunho is laughing quietly and hugging you tight, rubbing your back.

“Fuck, are you okay?” he asks, sounding concerned and impressed. You sniff and nod, using the back of your hand to wipe your cheeks. Yunho cups your face and uses his thumbs to clean you up. You were crying.

“I’m sorry, jesus, I didn’t think it was that bad,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. You realize then that the damn sucker is in his mouth.

You whine, yanking him forward until you’re kissing him. It’s clumsy, but he takes the sucker out and tosses it on the table behind you. You begin working desperately at his jeans, and hear him release a cherry flavored groan.

“Still gonna let me fuck you?” he asks, keeping his lips against yours.

“God yes,” you say in a shaky voice. “P-Please.”

“I can do that,” Yunho breathes. He places a large hand on the softness of your belly, gently pushing you back.

Yunho towers over you, one hand moving to cup your thigh and open you up so he can stand between them. The other goes to his jeans, and you find yourself biting your lip and digging your nails into your palms.

XXL?

“Since you look like you’re about to fucking eat me,” Yunho says with a laugh, “why don’t you do it? Hm? When’s the last time you put a condom on?”

You feel yourself blush at having been caught, but sit up to snatch the box near you.

“Asshole,” you mutter, refusing to give him a proper answer.

Your hands are too shaky to open the box, so you end up ripping it down the side, condoms spilling out. You sigh anyway and grab one, slipping the foil packet between your teeth. You move your hands to his jeans, and realize that for the first time…you’re nervous.

Until now your brain had been sex focused; it still was, but your post orgasm clarity made you realize how fucking desperate you looked. You roughly popped open the button of his jeans.

Yunho was so damn tall that his hips were practically level with your face whilst you were on the short table. This meant that, as soon as you’d tugged his boxers down, you suddenly found yourself face to face with the biggest cock you’ve ever seen.

XXL.

For a moment you were too dumbstruck—why did they bother sculpting the soft dicks when the hard ones could look like…this? All veins and smooth skin and a pink mushroom head that looked perfectly designed for…use. You wanted it in your mouth. But he hadn’t technically put his mouth on you, and you were both in a library, and right now you were starting to get a little shaky at the idea of this thing going anywhere near your neglected pussy, so you swallowed your resolve and took the condom from between your teeth.

Yunho watched as you struggled to tear open the packet, biting your lower lip in frustration. You finally got it open, sighing as you placed the rubber at the tip. He grabbed your hands then, and you paused. Shit. Were you doing this wrong?

“We don’t have to do anything,” he mumbles softly, cupping your chin. “You wanna stop right now? We stop. Not trying to ruin the mood, just want you to know it’s okay.”

You shake your head.

“I’m okay, thanks,” you say quietly. “It’s just…fuck, Yunho.”

He laughs, his little ego having returned just a bit, you wanted to roll your eyes and kiss him at the same time. He bites his lower lip and strokes his thumb over yours.

“I’ll be gentle,” he hums. “You can take it for me.”

Fuck. Yes, you absolutely can.

Yunho guides you onto your back, though you settle on your elbows, propped up for him. You watch as he squeezes the rest of the lube from the packet onto his cock, giving a few tugs before nodding at you. You weren’t sure if you were excited or scared, but there were two heartbeats and one was between your legs.

He pushes your legs apart and guides his cock forward. You lick your lips and let your knees fall open, bunching your skirt around your waist, offering yourself to him. Yunho sucks in air through his teeth and curses.

“So fucking pretty,” he hums, supporting his weight on one palm as he brushes his cock against you. You shiver as the cold lube is smeared around your sensitive cunt. “Knew it from the day I saw you freshman year in a skirt just like this one. Thought I was gonna die when you smiled at me.”

“I didn’t know you remembered,” you mumbled. You were so nervous your first day, which wasn’t helped by the hot guy who approached you and asked if you were lost. Apparently you could stop feeling ashamed for having mind fucked him back then.

“Of course I do,” Yunho chuckles, teasing the head of his cock up and down your slit. “So cute, how you blushed when I talked to you. You still do that, you know.”

“Shut up,” you mutter. Yunho laughs, then licks his lips.

“Gonna put it in now. Tell me if it’s too much,” he says. You nod.

The swollen head of his cock catches on your hole, and Yunho uses his weight to lean forward and urge himself inside. It aches a bit, not just from the size but fuck it’s been so long since you’ve had something more than your own fingers in you. Your thoughts go from not so bad to okay damn to holy fuck there’s more? Because he keeps pushing and you keep taking, and you feel every inch of him filling your insides while his body offers more.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck,” Yunho whines, still gripping the base of his cock as he guides it into you. Your head falls back and you curse at nothing; his cock is somehow too big but perfectly sized at the same time and you’ve never felt so god damn full. “Look at you, that needy little cunt is swallowing me babygirl. Keep fucking taking it.”

His words make you dizzy, and you whine when he’s finally fully seated. You feel heavy, pinned to the table, as though you can’t move. You reach down and feel the rigid sides of his cock, shocked to feel just how much is inside you.

“How’s that, beautiful?” Yunho asks. He places both palms on the table, either side of your body, and you tense. If he started thrusting, it would fuck you up.

“Good,” you say, nodding. “Big, but good.”

“Knew you could take it. 'm gonna fuck you now. Stop me if you need to," he murmurs. You can take it.

"I can take it," you nod. He smiles, kissing you once, then twice.

You squeak as Yunho begins fucking you properly, ploughing into you hard and fast, moving with need and instinct rather than reason.

The table shakes with his heavy thrusts, pistoning into you so hard it makes you dizzy. You’re surprised you can take him like this, able to feel every inch of him when he’s seated inside, pressing deliciously on your walls.

Yunho ruts into you like an animal, unfortunately one with a very big cock as he struggles to keep every inch buried inside you. He wasn’t lying about not pulling out, as he refused to do so even when thrusting. You had no room to breathe, no chance for air, as he fucked into you repeatedly while trying to go deeper.

You’re at a loss for words, lips parted, eyes following his expression and movements. He’s desperate in his own way, obviously holding back, though you don’t know from what. You consider encouraging him to let go—until he groans loudly and snaps his hips, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby. So fucking…need you to hold still for me and take it,” he breathes. "Hold still. A-Almost done, fuck, keep taking it so good for me."

You do as he asks without question, clinging to his shoulders, nose to nose with Jeong Yunho as he forces his cock as far as it can go in your body and begins to pump a thin condom full of cum that should be you.

Yunho takes a few moments to breathe, arms shaking where he holds himself up on the table. You run a hand through his damp hair, watching as he moans softly and leans into your touch.

“You okay?” you giggle. He nods, tilting his head to kiss your palm.

“Just…You’re so fucking perfect. Want more of you if you’ll let me, wanna make you feel good every day," he says.

You blink at the surprising tenderness of his words, feeling they were more than sex related. You wanted to ask questions, but right now, you were both sticky with sweat and fucked out on a library table that would need to be wiped down with holy water.

You separated, which left you shuddering from the sudden cold emptiness inside of you. Yunho exhaled sharply, waiting a few moments before removing the condom and tying it off.

You both cleaned up and fixed your clothes as best you could—though you stuffed your panties in your bag because the sticky wetness was a little much.

“Do you want to come over?” you ask, making sure your skirt is covering your ass. “You know. To clean up.”

Yunho smiles, which makes you smile, and then you’re blushing and cursing at yourself. He nods and brushes your cheek with his knuckle.

“Sounds good,” he hums. You beam and gesture for him to follow you. Yunho watches as you collect your things with shaky legs, smiling to himself.

You were so damn pretty. Intelligent. He’d noticed right away that you were someone he was going to want.

He grabbed his own bag and walked past the table, pausing as he stepped on something.

The sucker.

You crinkle your nose when you notice it, too.

“Guess we need to throw that away,” you mumble. He nods, bending down and picking it up. He holds it in his hand for a few seconds.

What a good idea it had been.

He slips it into his pocket, for the memories.

Memories like, your name. Your favorite color. That skirt you wore on your first day. Apartment 2B, where you lived. You like the right side of the bed, don’t you? Yunho likes the left side.

The last man you slept with—11 months, 1 week, and 4 days ago.

Yunho hated that one.

You had waffles for breakfast this morning. You usually have oatmeal. You sleep with a nightlight on.

You’re afraid of the dark.

“You coming?” you ask with a shy smile, pausing at the door. Yunho looks up. You didn’t see him slip the sucker in his pocket. You never notice things like that.

“Yeah,” he says. He follows you out the door and waits for you to lock up. Then, without thinking too much of it, he takes your hand. You don’t pull away. Your hand is small compared to his, and he squeezes it. You squeeze back.

You like hot showers.

You sound so pretty when you moan, especially when you think you’re alone.

Your bathroom window is never locked.

You're never alone.

Yunho has a good memory when it comes to you.

3K notes · View notes

sleepyhoon · 7 months ago

Text

TWO MOONS - L.HS

pairing. plug!heeseung x reader

genre. smut, 18+ content, one shot, drabble. MDNI!

word count. 4k+

warnings. drug & alcohol consumption, partying, swearing, sex while intoxicated, short smut [ dry humping, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), fingering ]

synopsis. based off of this hard thought! plug!heeseung who likes you so much that he's convinced himself that you're kinda evil.

a/n. sorry this took so long lol hope u enjoy regardless :) no part 2 so plss dont request it but maybe some drabbles!! also not fully proofread so pls disregard any typos or grammatical errors hehe

Never in his life did Heeseung predict he’d be getting bitched around by a girl arguably much shorter, physically weaker, and far less intimidating than him. And yet here he was, shirtless in his kitchen at two in the morning on his third attempt of baking edibles all because you were too scared to smoke a little weed.

Fucking ridiculous.

It’s his own fault, really, he should’ve known that innocent, good girl persona you put on was all an act you use to control people – specifically men. Stirring the dessert batter in the mixing bowl, Heeseung shakes his head at the memory of you tilting your head and batting your eyelashes at him as you spoke, your perfectly manicured nails – that you probably got some desperate bitchboy to pay for – tracing and lightly scratching his bicep.

“So,” you started, dragging out the ‘o’, “how much do you charge for edibles?”

Heeseung shakes his head, tracing the rim of his half-empty red solo cup as he responds, “Edibles aren’t my forte. You don’t smoke?”

“Not my forte,” you say in a mocking tone, making Heeseung chuckle. “It’s just too much, you know? The smell, how quick it kicks in…not for me. But, uh, if you don’t make them I’ll stop wasting your time, then.” You give Heeseung a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning on your heels, fully prepared to disappear back into the party and find someone who actually meets your needs.

“Wait!” Heeseung stops you, tugging on your arm until you’re back to facing him. He can’t fucking believe this bullshit manipulation tactic you’re using on him is actually working, he’s literally pulling on your arm like a child so you won’t leave him.

You raise a brow at him as you wait for Heeseung to continue, taking note of his sudden nervousness, “Yeah?”

“Uh…are you into, like, brownies? Or…”

The smirk you gave in response said enough, you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

He’d spent the next few hours browsing the aisles of Target, checking his phone every so often and checking off each ingredient as he tossed them into the bright red shopping cart. To make matters worse, you hadn’t even requested normal brownies, you wanted some shit he’d hardly ever heard of before: blondies.

It was bad enough that Heeseung already couldn’t bake for shit, and here you were demanding he’d make something he’d never even tasted before; you really are a master manipulator.

His third and final attempt at baking the blondies were a success, his three roommates taste-testing the fresh batch as a final confirmation.

“I can’t even taste it,” Jake says, his brows shooting up in delight, “you sure you’re not forgetting the main ingredient?”

“That’s the whole point,” Heeseung explains, cutting the remaining batch into neat squares, “YN doesn’t want the taste to be too strong, she likes when it’s more subtle and takes awhile to kick in.”

“Are you her wife or her plug?” Sunghoon jokes from his spot on the couch, taking a small bite of his own blondie.

“Neither,” Jay inserts himself into the conversation, taking a seat next to Sunghoon, “I’m sure he wants to be both, though.”

“Fuck off,” Heeseung snaps, momentarily narrowing his eyes at his roommates. “We just met, I’m just trying to get to know her.” He sets the knife down, reaching into the wooden cabinet to retrieve ziplock bags.

“You’re already her bitch, what else is there to know?” Sunghoon half-jokes, resting his feet on the ottoman.

“I am not her bitch.”

He totally is, if the way he’s hurrying to send you a picture of the freshly made blondies is anything to go by.

Heeseung * 2:47 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image] Yooo

YN * 9:06 AM

omggggg ur the fucking best how much??

You didn’t respond until the following morning, causing Heeseung to nearly jump out of his skin once he woke up to your texts. He turns on his side, elbow propped up against the mattress as he formulates a response.

Heeseung * 10:31 AM

1 for 10 or 2 for 15. venmo or cashapp But lmk if you want more

YN * 10:40 AM

no cash? :(

Heeseung’s about to go on a long winded explanation about how money transferring apps are quicker and more convenient than accepting cash when you interrupt him by sending a photo.

YN * 10:41 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image] plsssss i don’t trust cashapp and ive been having issues w my venmo acc :(

It’s a photo of the bottom half of your face, lips formed into a cute pout with your camera angled low enough to show off your cleavage. You weren’t even trying to be discreet, setting your forearm underneath your chest to make your boobs sit higher, the cheetah print material of your bra peeking out from under your too-small tank top.

Heeseung swallows hard, staring down at the photo with his pupils blown wide as his trembling fingers type out a response.

Heeseung * 10:50 AM

Actually you know what don’t even worry about it lmao Consider it a gift When r u free for pickup Or i can bring to u Either or is fine lol

YN * 10:59 AM

omg :o are u sure? don’t want u to lose out on money >.<

Heeseung * 11:11 AM

It’s fine dw about me baby U picking up? Or want me to drop off On campus is too risky

YN * 11:12 AM

thank u hee!!!!!!! im done with classes around 4:30 i’ll pick up around then if that works also u responded at 11:11…angel number u must be my angel :o

There you go again with your subtle manipulation tactics that Heeseung swears won’t work on him. If there really is angel out of the two of you, it definitely wouldn’t be you, but Heeseung’s not too sure he’d be considered one either. After all, in the twelve minutes it took him to respond to your message, he spent ten of them fucking into his fist as he stared at the photo you sent.

His mind conjured up countless scenarios; leaving hickeys and bite marks across your chest, slipping his dick between your tits as you held them together for him, cumming all over them, fucking anything. Desperate wasn’t even the word.

Heeseung * 11:13 AM

Must be :)

After a month and a half of being your personal baker slash bitchboy, Heeseung really is convinced that you’re using him, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything he’s grateful, fully aware that if it weren’t for him being your plug, the two of you likely never would’ve crossed paths despite attending the same universities.

There wasn’t an ounce of school spirit in his body, so he had little to no urgency to attend any of the sporting events you cheered at or one of the many school-sponsored events you were required to attend. Meeting you at that party not too long ago had been his first encounter with you ever, and you clearly left him with a great first impression on him.

Since that night, he’s found himself conjuring up a new batch of edibles for you every week; brownies, cupcakes, cereal bars, whatever the fuck you wanted, and half the time he’d do it for free if it meant he got to give it to you in person.

He still hasn’t convinced you to actually smoke, though, but maybe it’s for the best. The mere thought of getting high with you and how you’d stare him down with half-lidded eyes was enough to make his dick hard — in fact, it already has. Several times.

Enough time has passed to the point where it’s obvious to everyone, yourself included, that Heeseung has genuine feelings for you that go beyond a physical and sexual attraction. Sure, he’s still convinced that you’re a little bit evil and definitely manipulative, but he considers it part of the fun. He’s also deluded himself into having the “I can fix her” mindset that he’s been using to justify his actions of ignoring your red flags.

However, even if he can’t “fix” you, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. Red is his favorite color, after all.

“You sound…crazy, and she sounds crazier,” Jake leans against the kitchen counter, raising a concerned brow at Heeseung as he takes a sip of his drink.

“I’m not crazy,” Heeseung corrects, “and YN is…I don’t know, honestly. Leave her alone, dipshit.”

Jake throws a hand up in defense, glaring when a fellow partygoer accidentally bumps into him, nearly causing him to spill his drink. “Rather be a dipshit than a bitchboy.” He mutters loud enough for Heeseung to hear before groaning, “Wow, speak of the devil.”

Heeseung turns, following Jake’s line of sight until he spots you walking through the front door. Stunning as always, your khaki mini skirt and black halter top fitting as if they were custom designed for you and only you.

Despite extending you an invitation to Sunghoon’s birthday party, Heeseung was fairly certain you wouldn’t show up tonight, assuming you’d be consumed with cheer practice or one of your many extracurricular activities to attend. Yet, here you were, a wicked grin on your face as you made eye contact with Heeseung.

He gulps in return, eyes wide as he watches you walk over to him and Jake.

You stand beside Heeseung, shooting him a quick smile before directing your attention to Jake, “Sunghoon! Happy birthday, king!”

Jake side-eyes you, briefly glancing at Heeseung before responding, “I’m not…you know what? Nevermind, thanks.” He takes this as an opportunity to exit the conversation, giving Heeseung a light pat on the shoulder as he leaves.

“Didn’t think you’d be here.” Heeseung comments, leaning against the kitchen countertop.

You shrug, “Wasn’t doing anything else, figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a little. Besides, I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah?” Heeseung asks, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Yeah,” you respond, taking a step closer and resting your hand on his bicep, “got anything for me?”

Fuck, Heeseung knew he should’ve made another batch of brownies or some shit. He seriously hadn’t been expecting you to show up tonight, otherwise he would’ve been prepared.

He shakes his head, “Not this time, you should’ve told me you were coming; I would’ve made something.”

You groan, momentarily tilting your head back, “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” his hand lands on your waist, pulling your body until your flush against him, “why won’t you just smoke with me?”

You grimace, shaking your head in response.

Heeseung rolls his eyes, “Just once? I know your first time wasn’t that great, but, I really think you’d like it if you tried again.”

“I don’t know, Hee…”

“Tell you what,” Heeseung starts, clearing his throat, “smoke with me just this once, and your next few purchases are on me.”

It isn’t much of an offer considering most of the shit he gave you was either free or already extremely discounted, but your eyes light up regardless. “Really?”

Heeseung nods, “I swear.”

You think it over for a moment, the pros instantly outweigh the cons and lead you to accept Heeseung’s desperate offer.

A few minutes later, you find yourself in a comfortable lounge chair with Heeseung in his backyard, grateful that the remaining partygoers opted to stay indoors, giving you privacy and alone time with him.

You’re sitting sideways on his lap, trying your best to ignore the feeling of his dick pressing right against your ass, neatly rolled blunt in one hand as he uses the other to fish a lighter from his pocket. “You’re nervous,” he comments.

You shake your head, “I’m not.”

“You are, I feel you shaking.”

“I’m fine, just kinda cold. Go on.”

Heeseung studies you for a moment, eye contact strong and intimidating as ever as he brings the blunt to his parted lips. You watch carefully as he brings the lighter towards the tip, focusing entirely too much on the concentrated look on his face as he lights it. Slowly, he begins to rotate it as the end continues to burn, taking a few small puffs here and there.

Satisfied with his creation, Heeseung takes a long, slow drag, inhaling the smoke into his lungs before titling his head away to exhale.

“Your turn,” he says, offering you the blunt.

You hesitantly stare down at it before accepting; it was intimidating to say the least, the scent alone strong enough to make your head hurt. Heeseung watches you patiently, eyes darting between your lips and the blunt in silence.

Deciding you need a little bit of encouragement, he brings his thumb to your lips, parting them slightly as his free-hand wraps around your wrist, “You’ll be fine, trust me.”

Under the guidance of his calloused hand, you finally bring the blunt up to your lips and briefly inhale before immediately exhaling.

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head, “How’d that feel?”

You ponder for a moment, passing the blunt back to Heeseung, “I don’t feel anything. Literally nothing.”

“I mean, yeah, you didn’t even inhale it.”

You roll your eyes, “Why are there so many steps? This is why I prefer edibles.”

“I’m just showing you that you have other options, babe.”

“Yeah, well I’m sticking to my baked goods. You can have the rest of that, I don’t want anymore.”

Heeseung’s well aware that you’re a woman of your word, and the chances of you ever smoking again were a definite zero, so trying to get you to change your mind was pointless. However, there is one thing that may just work on you.

“Mind if I try something?”

You perk up, “Try what?”

“I do all the work but you still get high.”

You raise a brow, “That’s possible?”

He nods, “All you’d have to do is take deep breaths.”

Taking a deep breath, you accept Heeseung’s offer with a sigh, resting a hand on his shoulder as you adjust yourself on his lap. “Fine.”

Here goes nothing.

He guides the blunt back to his lips, taking a long drag as he holds the smoke in his mouth. He tilts his head upward towards you, taking your chin in his hand, signaling for you to part your lips. You follow his command and part your lips open, just enough for Heeseung to close the distance and allow the smoke into your mouth, his lips barely brushing against yours in the process.

You take in a deep breath, eyes closed shut and inhale the smoke, careful not to exhale too quickly and have a repeat of your previous attempt.

“How was that?” Heeseung asks, taking note of your sudden silence.

Truthfully, it wasn’t bad. The smell is still too strong for your liking and requires much more effort than biting off a piece of dessert and calling it a day, but it wasn’t bad. You’re certain that Heeseung shotgunning it into your mouth only added to the experience.

“Not bad,” you admit, “probably because you did all the work.”

He chuckles at that, “I’ll always take care of you, remember that.”

Heeseung is having the time of his life, thoroughly convinced that he finally has some power over you. Here you were sitting on his lap in his backyard letting him blow smoke into your mouth. Sure, it may have taken a lot of convincing and begging on his end to get to this point, but none of that matters; baby steps are still movement.

As if the night couldn’t have gotten any better, you’re asking Heeseung to shotgun more smoke into your mouth over and over. He’s careful to maintain a calm and nonchalant demeanor as he does so, not wanting to come off as too eager out of fear of scaring you away. Or even worse, giving you back that power you have over him.

On the fifth time, you swipe your tongue across Heeseung’s bottom lip when he passes the smoke into your mouth, a low groan escaping from him in the process. He’s fully hard in his jeans by now, and there’s no way you can’t feel his dick pressing right into you. Despite the cold weather, your entire body feels warm all over, Heeseung only adding to the pleasure.

You should’ve taken Heeseung a bit more seriously when he said you’d still get high from this; after a few minutes, your limbs were already starting to feel lighter and weaker. A delicate, cloud-like haze fills your head; your vision blurs slightly and it takes a few minutes for you to fully relax.

Heeseung, attentive as ever, remains silent and still has he watches you; primarily due to the fact that you squirming around on his lap is only adding to the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. One wrong move, and he’d surely be cumming in his boxers.

You rest your forehead against Heeseung, pressing a firm hand against his chest when he moves to blow more smoke into your mouth. He hums, staring up at with a concerned look on his face.

You close your eyes, mumbling, “Heeseung…”

He hums again in response, still holding the smoke in his mouth.

You open your eyes briefly before closing them again, balling up the collar of his shirt in your fist as you lean down to press your lips against his. He opens his mouth on instinct, as if it were a second nature, parting his lips slightly and exhaling the smoke into your mouth once again.

Heeseung absentmindedly sets the blunt down, his hands moving to your waist to pull you closer to him until your tits are pressed right up against his chest. He groans into your mouth at the feelings, tilting his head to allow himself further into your mouth.

You cup his face in your hands, hips moving forward as you slowly begin to grind yourself against him. “Fuck,” he moans in a low voice, “keep doing that.”

You grind down harsher this time, capturing his moan in your mouth in the process. With each movement of your hips, a shiver descends down your spine at the friction; Heeseung is painfully hard, and from what you could feel, he was definitely packing. Bigger than what you would’ve expected.

It all feels too good; you grinding against him, the state of his high, your tongue in his mouth. It’s all so overwhelmingly euphoric that Heeseung hardly realizes how close he is to literally cumming in his boxers.

His body was always overly sensitive whenever he got high, and often avoided any sort of intimacy that involved another person due to how embarrassingly quick he would finish, and tonight doesn't seem to be any different. What makes matters worse is the fact that Heeseung was already desperately attracted to you and had been dreaming of this moment since he’d first met you.

He pulls away quickly, cursing under his breath, “YN, h-hold on,” he stutters, “slow down, please.”

You don’t listen; in fact, you can barely even hear him with how caught up you were in your own head. “Hmm? Say that again?”

“S-slow – ah, fuck – slow down for a sec, baby.”

His grip on your waist tightens, and despite the urgency in his tone of wanting you to slow down, he makes no effort to still your hips move you off of him. Fuck it, it is what it is.

“Why?” You question, tilting your head, but you’re a few seconds too late.

Heeseung’s entire body shivers, hips jolting upwards as he comes on himself, making a mess of his boxers. While that alone was definitely embarrassing, Heeseung is more annoyed over the fact that you’ve regained your power over him. His priorities were definitely fucked, but he didn’t even care; he could clean himself up later, but the damage to his ego would take longer to repair.

Your hands fly to your mouth in shock, eyes widening as you process what’s just happened, “Oh, Heeseung…” you mumble into the palm of your hands.

He throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he runs a hand down his face, “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding.”

“It’s okay! It happens! No big deal!” You try to reassure him, but it goes in one ear and out the other.

Sure it happens and maybe it isn’t a big deal, but it is for Heeseung. He’s not the type to bust a nut over someone squirming around in his lap for ten minutes, this shit was fucking insanity.

“I’m seriously not like this, I’m just overly-sensitive when I’m high. I swear, I-”

“It’s fine, Heeseung,” you interrupt, standing from his lap, “if anything, I’m flattered! Why don’t you, uh, get cleaned up and I’ll see you later?”

“YN, come on, don’t do this.” He pleads, following you and you make your way towards the sliding door.

“I told you, it’s fine! I’m not like,” you pause, opening the door with a loud grunt, “mad or weirded out or anything.”

You slip back into the living room, Heeseung hot on your tail with every step. “Let me make it up to you!”

You sigh, “Honestly, I don’t think you have it in you to do that right now.”

“I do! Just let me, please.”

“Heeseung, please drop it. I said it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, at least let me eat you out or something!”

“Heeseung!” Your eyes widen at his lewd, shameless offer, “Lower your voice! We’re in a fucking party surrounded by people!”

He smacks his teeth, “I don’t care. Please, YN.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me, you do not owe me anything.”

A beat of silence passes, then he says, “Then do it for me. Please.”

Even though Heeseung was the one literally begging to go down for you, there is a possibility of him having some sort of power over you; or maybe you just have a soft spot for him. Either way, you end up lying in his bed twenty minutes later, skirt bunched up around your waist as Heeseung’s wet tongue circles your clit, desperate attempt at coaxing a second orgasm from you.

He hadn’t even realized he’d grown hard again just from eating you out, and would likely end up cuuming in his boxers again just from doing this.

“Fuck,” he moans into your folds, pulling away slightly to pepper kisses on your inner thighs, “been waiting so fucking long for this.”

“Yeah?” You question, your grip on Heeseung’s hair tightening.

This earns a low groan from him as he nods against your skin, “You have no idea.”

Deciding he’s spent enough time away from your cunt, his lips make their way back onto you; his tongue falls flat against you, dragging your wetness upwards towards your swollen clit before wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud.

Your body shivers, a beam of sweat dripping down your forehead as your second orgasm approaches. You’ve been eaten out before, countless times, but never like this. It was almost as if Heeseung was doing it for his own pleasure rather than your.

He teases your entrance with his finger before sliding two of them in with ease, curling them upwards and immediately hitting the spot you needed him the most.

“H-Heeseung…hold on…”

He hums, but he’s not really listening, too occupied with kitten-licking your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you. The knot in your stomach finally snaps and you’re gushing against his hands and mouth, Heeseung only takes this as a sign to continue lapping at your cunt. You have to literally grab him by the hair and drag him away from you.

He stares up at you, pupils blown wide and his chin coated in your juices, but he definitely looks happy. “What?” he asks.

You struggle to catch your breath, “You’re hard again?”

He looks down at his crotch momentarily before shrugging, “I guess.”

“You…don’t you wanna do something about that?”

His eyes flash down to your cunt for a split second, “It can wait.”

You scoff, “Well, I need a minute.”

Heeseung nods in agreement, impatiently drumming his fingers on his bed as you flop against his mattress. “Ready?” He asks once a minute has passed.

“No.”

He sighs, then sighs again, and again and again until you let out a frustrated groan. “Go get me a glass of fucking water.”

“Okay!” He shouts while standing, exiting the bedroom in a hurry. Maybe you really do treat him like a bitchboy, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

#enhypen imagine #enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #lee heeseung #lee heeseung imagine #lee heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #kpop imagine #kpop smut #kpop scencario #jake sim #park sunghoon #park jongseong

2K notes · View notes

jezebelblues · 8 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞.

𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭, 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ fingering, penetration (p in v), a smidge of spanking, mommy issues, 2016!harry, angst, i guess. all in upper case if that gets u goin. fem!reader, unedited cause i fell asleep writing this. gn. mwah :*

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 17k

❏ burning hill by mitski teehee !! was the main inspo for this

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

It’s been fifteen months since the group announced their hiatus.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

It was them, just them—like she’d never left.

#harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #hs1 #2016 harry #lhh #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #one direction #one direction smut #one direction imagine

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clockwayswrites · 12 days ago

Text

The Haunting of Danny Fenton

Chapter 6 Part 2

materpost (no edting/concrit pls. did you know 8+ moderate-sever migraines in a month are too many? ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ)

“Oh, you’re a real freak of nature, aren’t ya?” Constantine said as he looked Danny over.

Danny grinned at Constantine like a wolf grins before it rips something’s throat out. “Yep.”

The weird thing was, Constantine actually looked a little afraid. “They know what you are?”

“Okay,” Dick said as he moved between the two. He wasn’t afraid to push either of them back a little. “Yes, we know that Danny is a half ghost, but that’s not actually the important part here.”

Constantine blinked at Dick. “Say what, bruv?”

“I know, we had it backwards at first ourselves,” Dick said. “But if everyone will just sit down for a moment, we can talk through it.”

Constantine looked like he was actually going to argue before he took the chair next to Zatanna with an exaggerated huff. Bruce, who’d of course been standing off to the side, swept over to a seat himself. It was the signal that everyone else needed to sit. Dick took the head of the table with Danny nervously to one side and Wally flanking the other.

“As the Justice League knows, our Flash disappeared while on a solo investigative mission a little over three months ago. Initial investigations by both the Titans and the Justice League found nothing. During that time, the Flash managed to make contact with Danny Fenton,” Dick explained with a little motion towards Danny.

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. “As Nightwing said, I’m Danny Fenton. For a few years as a teen, I was a local hero known as Phantom in Amity Park. The usual lab accident origin story gave me my powers. I’m half ghost. It’s along story and not actually important. Mostly these days I’m just a psychopomp; sometimes I get visited by ghosts and I make sure they move on.

“I assume that’s what Flash was once he showed up, but he also felt wrong right away. He also caused seizures if he touched me, which wasn’t great. That had me reaching out to Miss Wilhelmina Aleshire. She’s a local oracle and friend I made through the pyschopomp mess. After trying a tea she gave me, I was able to make clearer contact with Flash. He gave me a message to take to Titan Tower.”

“And caused a heart attack,” Wally said, guilt heavy in his voice.

Danny just shrugged. “Not the first time my heart’s stopped. Anyways, once I was awake I checked myself out of the hospital, came here with the phrase, and got in contact with the Titans.”

“They called me in,” Barry picked up, “and we worked on using Danny’s connection as an anchor to isolate Flash’s reading. Main players were Danny, Raven, and myself. Obviously once we got Flash to the point that we could see and hear him, he helped also.”

“Obviously, not dead,” Wally said. “I’m trapped in the Speed Force. Unfortunately, my existing and using Danny as an anchor is continuing to cause health issues.”

“Which is fine,” Danny said with a little glare, “but when we got the signal as clear as it seemed to get, meant rethinking things. It’s when I realized that I’m not able to see Flash and serving as his anchor because of being a psychopomp. He’s right, he isn’t dead. One of my… mentors in the Infinite Realms is a being known currently as Clockwork. He’s basically a god of time. We call them Ancients there. He’s been pretty determined to take me under his wing. There might be some powers at play, but I’m certain that the bigger reason that I’m able to be Flash’s anchor is because I have a medallion of time as part of my being.”

“Wow, more of a freak than I thought,” Constantine said, squinting at Danny.

“Says the man with mince meat for a soul,” Danny snapped back.

“I can slap him for you, if you want,” Zatanna offered calmly.

Danny smiled sweetly at her. “Would you?”

“Ow!” Constantine squawked as Zatanna backhanded him right in the sternum. He rubbed at the spot with a pout. “We’re teammates, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m your teammate, but when you’re being an idiot I’m not on your side,” she said with a viciously pleasant smile.

“Anyways,” Dick interrupted. “Because we want to make sure that Danny survives—or at least revives from this process—we called in you all. Flash and Batman to continue to help us refine the signal isolation machine, Constantine and Zatanna to try and safeguard things from a magical perspective, and MM to keep a track on things mentally. Obviously our Flash, Cyborg, and Raven will continue to help. We have a medical team standing by. It’s my opinion that we should expect Danny’s heart to stop.”

“Nightwing… might be right about that. I seem to have an annoying habit of it,” Danny said with a little shrug.

“He’s also annoyingly unconcerned about it,” Wally added with a sigh.

“What exactly is the plan?” Bruce asked, finally speaking.

Dick gave him a nod. “We will set up in the reinforced training room and the connecting observation room. Danny will transform into Phantom and remove the medallion. Flash will make contact with both it and Phantom. We believe that while he’s doing so, his signal will become stable enough for us to isolate and lock into this timeline. Luckily, that’s science that we’ve done before for different reasons.”

“We have to expect a large amount of electrical discharge from that,” Wally added. “Which won’t effect me, but will Danny.”

“Lessened because I’ll be Phantom, but none of me gets along with electricity much. It’s likely to snap me back into this form which is where the heart stopping might occur,” Danny said.

“So, as soon as Flash is locked, we need everything can to protect Danny from the effects and then medical in there the second the secondary effects have died down,” Dick stressed. “Anything that we can plan in to help Danny, we need to plan in. We’re not making an exchange here. I expect both of them to be just as alive at the end of this as they should be. Understood?”

With a course of agreement, the teams split up into magical, medical, and science to brainstorm. There would need to be a lot of cross talk, and some like Raven and MM would jump between a few groups, but it was a place to start. Dick would play leader. At least it was a roll he was well used to.

Bruce slowed his steps to hang back from the science group and walk with Dick. “You care about him.”

“Danny? Yeah. Wally developed quite a crush on him, which I get. He’s kind, smart, funny—lots of things. We’re going to go on some dates once Wally’s solid enough to do so,” Dick said. “I don’t know if I’m gone like Wally, I’ve been more focused on getting him back, but that’s what dating is for, right?”

Bruce hummed in agreement. “But?”

Dick sighed. “But he has to survive, and I’m worried about that. There’s also some things that the Titans or the JL need to look into about ghosts. Danny has been through some shit and that’s with him only alluding to it as he tried to brush it off. I don’t know, I just… Wally has been isolated for months. Danny has anxiety about being a lab rat and for this to work we have to make him into one. I’m worried about both of them coming out of this aright.”

“You’ll be there for them,” Bruce said.

“Of course, but will I be enough?”

Bruce was silent for a bit, watching the group in front of them. “Maybe not. But the Titans are there too. As are the Wests. As your family is.”

Dick couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yeah, you going to explain polyamory to Damian?”

��I’ll make Tim do it.”

Dick snorted. “You just want to make Tim realize his own bullshit.”

Bruce just smiled that Bat smile of his and increased his pace to catch up with the rest of the group.

#hopefully this part isn't too boring #dp x dc #danny/dick/wally #thodf

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vanteguccir · 2 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: CAN I CALL YOU TONIGHT? * CHRIS STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　Where during the Orlando show of the Surprise Party Tour, the Group Chat segment is interrupted by a call from Y/N to Chris, and who said him being on a stage, in front of so many fans, would stop him from answering it?

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: Go stream LIKE ME right now!

The screen behind the triplets flickered as the group chat segment loaded in, the audience instantly cheering. This part was one of the public's favorites, mainly because it gave them the feeling of seeing a little more of the three's lives behind the cameras.

The screen displayed the first screenshot of their chaotic text thread. The crowd leaned in, ready to hear them narrating it.

Chris was already smirking when he noticed which one was it. He was sunken into the couch, one leg bent, the other hanging off the side, his left arm resting on the back of the arm rest. His mic sat comfortably in his lap as he bounced his knee.

Matt leaned forward a little.

"Oh god, this scared me so much." He said, leaning into his mic. "AC is on."

A few giggles rolled through the audience.

Nick sat on his solo couch across from them, completely deadpan. He leaned his mic up to his mouth, squinted dramatically at the big screen, then read aloud.

"Goodnight, I love you guys."

Matt added quickly, still scrolling through the screenshot with his eyes.

"And it’s set to 70."

Nick dragged the mic to his lips and repeated again in the exact same tone.

"Goodnight, I love you guys."

The crowd cracked up, especially when Chris’s laugh echoed through the mic.

Matt kept going.

"It was already at 71."

Nick glanced at the crowd with an exasperated gaze, then back to the screen.

"Goodnight, I love you guys... Matt, are you serious? Goodnight, I love you guys."

Chris was already leaning forward, giggling, eyes creased in joy as he grabbed the mic closer, gluing it to his pinkish lower lip.

"Okay, um..." He said through a grin, reading from the screen. "Matt, leave the AC alone. Nick, goodnight, we love you too." He read it in a light, soft voice, unsuccessfully trying to imitate her voice.

The audience chuckled, some screaming with the slight appearance of Y/N on the GC, but then something buzzed.

Loud and sudden.

Chris paused.

From his pocket, a low, rhythmic vibrating started up, followed by a specific ringtone that every real fan in the room knew belonged to one person only.

That dreamy little indie-pop loop.

Matt raised his eyebrows without even turning his head.

"Oh my god." He said, just loud enough for the mic to catch it.

Nick groaned, running a hand down his face.

"Here we go." He muttered, already sitting back in the couch like he was preparing himself to stay there for hours.

Chris blinked, laughing as he reached into the pocket of his grey sweatpants.

"No, wait, just hold on-" He pulled the phone out, looking at the screen, smile growing even bigger the second her name popped up, pearly teeth shining below warm lights.

Matt didn’t even need to see it.

"It’s Y/N. It’s always Y/N." He said, throwing his arms up.

Nick leaned into his mic and tilted his head to the audience, a bored expression resting on his facs.

"Y’all, we gotta pause the show real quick so Christopher can take a call from his missus."

The crowd started giggling, observing closely.

Chris didn’t care. He held up a casual hand to the audience, signaling for a quick second of patience and silence. Then he slid his thumb from left to right, brought the phone to his ear, and spoke in the softest voice ever.

"Hi, doll."

He was still smiling a boyish smile, head tilted a little, his voice low in contrast to the booming echo of the theater. The audience sat in stillness, just watching him.

He nodded, tongue peaking between his lips, still listening to the other end.

"You made it? That’s good." His eyes flicked to Matt for a second. "She’s in Boston. Just landed."

Matt gave him a thumbs-up. Nick stared at the ceiling like this was an everyday occurrence.

Chris kept his tone gentle, adjusting his body above the couch.

"Dinner with mum? Okay. Have fun with her, doll. Take care, alright?"

And that was when it happened.

As if Y/N wasn't already enough, at the mention of Mary Lou, the crowd collectively lost it.

Screams erupted across the theater.

Chris chuckled and pulled the phone slightly away from his ear. On the other side, Y/N’s voice got a little louder.

"Wait... what was that sound?"

Chris grinned.

"Hold up, baby." He brought the mic closer to his mouth and leaned forward again. "Alright." He said to the audience, voice playful and warm. "On three, can y’all say hi to Y/N?"

The fans screamed in agreement before he even counted.

He put her on speaker, flipped his phone toward the mic, and started counting.

"One, two, three-"

"HIIIIII, Y/N!!"

The theater shook. It was chaos. Screams, laughs, some people yelling "WE LOVE YOU!", the whole thing sounded like a stadium.

Y/N’s laugh echoed from Chris’s phone, loud and shocked.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL?!"

Chris was laughing too, just beaming at her voice.

"You forgot what time it was, huh?"

"I forgot y’all were on stage! I thought it was, like... four."

Nick leaned into his mic, voice dramatically dry.

"It is. Four. In California."

Matt waved at the phone like she could see him, smiling widely.

"Hi, Y/N!"

"Hi, Matt! Sorry for interrupting the show!"

Nick added quickly.

"Don’t worry, Chris interrupted it for you."

Chris, with zero shame, smiled into the mic.

"She’s allowed."

Y/N’s voice still came through speaker.

"Tell everyone I’m sorry! I’m gonna go eat with mum now, okay?"

Chris was back to soft-mode, all sweet and boyfriendy, heart warming - as usual - with how Y/N called his mom 'mum'.

"Okay, love you. Say hi to her for me. And text me when you’re back home, alright?"

"Uh-hum. Love you. Bye, everyone!"

The crowd screamed again. Chris finally ended the call and tucked his phone away, looking dizzy and flustered.

Nick shook his head, pretending to scribble something in the air.

"Someone write 'Chris Sturniolo is whipped' on the big screen, please."

Chris shrugged, unapologetic.

"I am. And I’m thriving."

Matt leaned forward, grinning.

"Anyway! Where were we? Oh yeah. 'Matt, leave the AC alone'."

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jaemlover101 · 5 months ago

Text

love you (from afar) - na jaemin

jaemin x female reader (feat. jeno and the rest of the dreamies)

synopsis: When you’re finally pulled out of your house and pushed into your first party at the ripe age of sixteen, you meet Na Jaemin. In an instant, you're captivated and obsessed while he remains oblivious. Unrequited love is hard but it’s even worse when time proves it isn’t on anyone's side.

Or alternatively: To you, Na Jaemin is the center of your universe but to him, you are an awesome friend.

genre: fluff, angst, unrequited love, basically a love triangle, coming of age if you squint?, strangers to friends to ???

warnings/notes: underage drinking, swearing, no one rlly gets closure, time skips?, haechan is readers best friend lol, lots of mirroring!!, lmk if i missed any.. :3

wc: 9.6k+

a/n: hello hello!! my writing debut! (or return if you can even count the works i published in middle school...) i'm so excited to finally put out a finished piece for the first time in years and hopefully you enjoy it! i'm a person who enjoys writing, i'm not a writer so i'm sorry if this is not perfect- it's just something fun for me! feedback is appreciated and happy reading <3 p.s. i barely proofread this sry!

this piece was loosely inspired by this song! love u (from afar)

The first time you realize you’re in love with Na Jaemin is at your first high school party.

You couldn’t believe your friend had somehow managed to finally get you away from your desk and into a crowded and overly-heated house. You did not belong here.

“Aren’t you excited to finally live a little?” You look up at the tanned boy throwing his arm around you. Scoffing, you dig your elbow into his side a little, “I live everyday, you just think it’s boring.” Haechan laughs at the eye roll you send him, “Can’t argue there.”

You know Haechan is feeling proud of himself. In your many years of knowing the boy, he was always the one trying his hardest to pull you out of your room. Even though you almost always refused his pleading, you couldn’t help but secretly like that Haechan had never given up on you.

Hearing your name, you whip around to lock eyes with your other friend running up to you, “I can’t believe you got her to come!”

Rolling your eyes must be a new habit of yours. “I had to bribe her,” Haechan shakes his head, disappointed with the truth, “but she’s here! Finally the trio can thrive!”

Haechan wraps his other arm around the boy as the three of you continue your journey into the kitchen, “What should her first drink be junnie?” the other thinks for a second, “maybe something easy, she’d probably like a smirnoff ice” You look at the boy, a little worry in your eyes, “don’t worry, it’s an easy drink, low percentage.”

As the night progressed, you became more comfortable as you stuck with your friends, feeling more confident with each drink you consumed.

Haechan watched as you and Renjun went shot for shot, wide-eyed at the sight. He blinked twice just to make sure he was seeing things correctly.

Wincing after your third shot, you tap out with Renjun’s solo celebration in tow. Haechan can’t help but pinch at your rose-colored cheeks, “Who knew the introvert had a wild side!” You jab at his side with a laugh contradicting your movements.

Maybe Haechan and Renjun were right. You needed to let loose more often.

“I need to use the bathroom.” you blurt out, looking between Haechan and Renjun. “It’s down the hall, first door on the left.” You follow Renjun’s finger as best as possible.

You nod, reminding them not to leave this spot without you. After all, you were in a stranger's house, inebriated, and new to this scene.

Your body glides along the wall as you make your way towards the door. It’s a little quieter down the hallway, making you aware of how loud your inner monologue is.

Reaching for the doorknob, your hand misses it as it swings open, your body colliding with something hard.

You figure you must’ve run into the door until a pair of hands rest on your hips.

Shooting your head up, you lock eyes with the prettiest boy you think you’ve ever seen. He smiles down at your shocked face. “Well hello to you too.” Your cheeks manage to flush red even more.

What. The. Fuck!

You push out of his hold, looking everywhere but at him. “Sorry I have to pee!” Is all you manage to croak out as you push past him, closing the door.

With your back against the door, you feel your heart beating out of your chest. Who was he? God he was so handsome! No, get it together. Haechan this is all your fault! Thoughts race around your head, too quick for you to catch any of them.

Returning back to your friends after finally relieving yourself and regaining composure, you're being pulled to the backyard by Haechan, Renjun following right beside you. “I want you to meet my friends!” You let your body relax, completely forgetting about whatever transpired moments ago.

Feeling the cool breeze hit your body, you realize the backyard is significantly less packed and you can’t help but shiver a bit.

“Haechan!” You hear a chorus of boys chime out as you approach a fire pit. Going from left to right, you recognize some faces while others are brand new or barely holding on in your foggy memory.

You recognize Jisung right away. You had gym with him freshman year and you cried when his “stellar football throw” went the wrong direction and nailed you right in the head. You had become acquaintances after the incident. He had offered to buy you ice cream at the shop near school and you figured he wasn’t a bad person, he just had bad aim.

Chenle sat right next to him. You didn’t know him well but you knew Jisung and him were tied at the hip. When the football incident happened, instead of helping either of you, Chenle opted for falling onto the ground, tears threatening to come out as he gasped for air from his incessant laughter.

Next to him was another boy, sporting wire-rimmed glasses and mindlessly strumming a guitar in his lap. He shot you a soft smile before focusing back on the conversation Haechan had started. You figured his name was Mark from the way Haechan whined for the boy's attention.

Beside him was another boy who looked oddly familiar. Watching the way his eyes formed crescents as he laughed felt like deja vu until you realized it was Jeno. In your first semester of your sophomore year, you and Jeno had shared a theatre class to fulfill an arts elective. You interacted once or twice during the semester but only as characters, never as yourself and Jeno.

Lastly, beside Jeno was a recognizable face but a stranger all in one. The boy from the bathroom. You watched as the light from the flames danced across his features, making him look ethereal. Was he even real?

You admittedly stare longer than you should and you’re snapped out of it when Renjun grabs you by your arms, pushing you forward to sit down right next to the boy.

Your frame instinctively shrinks as he turns, sending you a smile, “Hello again.” You meet his eyes, the fire floating around in his dark brown orbs. You could stare at him all day if he’d let you. “Hi,” Really? That’s all you can muster up? “Sorry for bumping into you earlier, It’s my first time drinking so I’m kind of all over the place up here.” You make a scrambling gesture around your head.

It’s embarrassing to admit that you’re new to all this but at the moment you don’t have a great filter.

He laughs and you swear you feel butterflies in your stomach. Did you always feel like this when you heard laughter? You could’ve sworn you wanted to kill Haechan most times you heard him laughing.

“It’s alright, I’m Jaemin by the way.”

Jaemin?

Jaemin.

Even his name was nice. Was he God’s favorite?

The night continues with the eight of you huddled around the fire getting to know each other. You can’t help but think you really like these guys, especially the one next to you.

You naturally bounce off one another throughout the night as if you’d always been friends. When someone says something funny, you’re both locking eyes before busting out into laughter.

It’s weird you think, but you’re not opposed to how comfortable the boy makes you. Your heart’s beating faster than you can keep up with and the way he makes you feel so comfortable has you leaning in, feeling weak in the knees.

Is this what liking someone feels like? Is this love?

That night, when you sneak back into your room, Haechan and Renjun passing out immediately on your floor, you make it a priority to find your journal and scribble down how you feel.

First high school party

I think I fell in love with a stranger today.

· · ─────── · ·

The second time you realize your feelings for Na Jaemin is at the end of your senior year of high school.

Hearing your name from behind, you whip around in the crowd of people to see your friends standing a little bit behind you with stupid smiles plastered on all their faces.

You run straight to them, crashing into a huge group hug, “Guys!” Your voice is laced with celebration, sadness, and fear all at once, “We did it! We graduated!”

Thanks to Haechan’s persistence to get you out of the house your sophomore year of high school, you now have a rather large group of friends but you’re not complaining.

After your first ever party, your trio had turned into an octet. It was chaotic but it worked and you loved it.

After a few pictures, insisted by all of your mothers, you hug your friends one by one as if you’re not all about to drive back to Chenle’s house for a pool party.

You end your hugs with the best hugger of them all, Na Jaemin. And no, that is not just because you like him. He really gives great hugs.

His taller frame engulfs yours and his touch feels warm.

You feel him lean down before you feel his breath on your ear, “I’m so proud of us,” you remove your head from his chest, opting to look up at him instead.

You can’t help but think Jaemin has always been so handsome.

“Me too.” Is all you can muster up, getting lost in his eyes. He stares down at you softly, the interaction feels vulnerable, intimate even.

“Guys, let's go! Renjun just got the keys to his new minivan!” Chenle shouts, clenching his stomach as he tries to hold back his laughter.

One man’s graduation gift is another man’s comedic relief.

Arriving at Chenle’s house, you’re always blown away at the size and at the fact that the party you all met at was here.

Even though you’ve been friends for two years now, you still don’t think you’ve seen his house in its entirety.

You hear Haechan call your name from downstairs and you’re quick to check yourself in the mirror one more time before heading down.

You don’t personally love the color pink but Jaemin does so you opt for one of the only pink two pieces you own.

“Don’t you hate the color pink?” Haechan asks before opening the door to the backyard, “It grew on me.”

“Let’s play chicken!” Chenle shouts as soon as you walk out. He knows you’re the only one ever willing to play against him and Jisung.

Slowly getting into the pool to acclimate yourself, you wade over to Jaemin and Jeno.

“Pretty swimsuit, I love the pink,” He noticed! You smile as you finally settle in front of the two, “Thank you! I saw it a few weeks ago and thought the color was pretty,” Jaemin hums as he continues to smile at you.

You feel small under his gaze, you decide to avert your gaze to Jeno, who’s already looking at you.

“Are you excited for Summer?” Jeno asks as he pushes off the pool wall, moving to stand closer due to Haechan and Chenle’s screaming contest impairing his hearing.

“Very excited to spend everyday with you guys,” you say with a sigh and an eye roll. He knows you’re being sarcastic and the boy can’t help the smile forming on his lips.

He matches your tone, “Yeah cause you hate us soooo much,” he leans towards you in a teasing manner and you can only laugh before admitting defeat, “Sadly no, I love you guys too much.” you place your hands over your heart and give your best sob face before you’re suddenly pulled away.

You follow the hand wrapped around your arm and you see Jaemin’s figure pulling you to the middle of the pool.

“Ready to win?”

“Obviously.”

Jaemin dips under the water, allowing you to easily mount his shoulders.

You’ve done this action a thousand times but his hands on your thighs never fail to make your heart beat like crazy.

“You’re going down.” Jisung mutters as he comes up from the water with Chenle on his shoulders, “Keep that smack talk up and I’ll make Renjun apply your sunscreen instead.”

At this Jisung is quick to shut his mouth with Renjun painfully screaming ‘noooo!’ in the background.

Mark goes in between your pairs as the makeshift referee. Everyone knows he won’t rig it because frankly, he doesn’t care who wins, he just thinks it’s funny to see his friends flail around.

“Go!”

Pushing at Chenle’s incoming figure, you feel Jaemin’s grip on your thighs tighten to steady you both. It’s a never-ending pushing match between you and Chenle, both always being full of energy when it comes to a game of chicken.

“You got this! Push him harder!” You hear Jaemin’s support over the screaming coming from Chenle and the rest of the boys.

You’re quick to push hard, but your hand slips past Chenle’s shoulder, giving him an open opportunity to push you over.

Before he gets the chance, Jisung screams, suddenly becoming unsteady. You take that opportunity, pushing Chenle with enough force to make him and Jisung topple over.

You cheer as Jaemin bobs up and down in the water to push you up like a champion.

“That wasn’t fair! Jeno and Haechan scared me!” Jisung spoke up as he emerged from the water. Your eyes move to the two boy’s floating innocently on the side, catching Haechan’s mischievous eyes and Jeno’s playful smile, “We did no such thing!”

You don’t miss the playful wink Jeno sends you .

By the time the sun starts to set, Chenle sets up the firepit next to the pool with his dad’s help before you all begin making s’mores.

When you packed for today’s events, it never dawned on you to bring an extra pair of clothes to wear but thankfully Jaemin offered his hoodie and you were quick to take his offer.

With the fire, Jaemin’s hoodie, his body heat radiating right next to you, and the blanket he made sure to drape over both of you– you were more than warm.

“Want me to make you a s’more?” You nod at his offer as he pushes a marshmallow onto his stick.

Jaemin’s always been extra sweet to you and sometimes you wonder if he might like you back but other times you chalk it up to you being the only girl in your friend group.

But the way his touch lingers, the way he looks at you with care, how his voice becomes softer around you– you swear there has to be something.

“Ahhhh” the boy holds a completed s’more up to your mouth, as he looks at you expectantly with a sweet smile.

Just like the night you met, the fire dances in his dark brown orbs and you swear you would willingly get lost in his eyes.

Taking the s’more you smile at the boy as he nudges you playfully.

That night you make sure to find your journal as soon as you close the door to your bedroom.

Graduation day

Jaemin is such a gentleman, it makes me so giddy. How could someone not fall for him?

· · ─────── · ·

When you’re finally used to your feelings for Na Jaemin, you’re in your first year of college.

By some higher being, you and your friend group had ended up at the same school and although you pretend like they’re a pain in the ass, you’re thankful you didn’t have to say goodbye to any of them.

“Are you coming over tonight?” You look up from your phone to see Jaemin mindlessly picking at the fruit cup in front of him.

It was Friday meaning it was Jaemin and Jeno’s turn to host movie night. You smile as you watch your friend pick the strawberries out and place them on a napkin in front of you. At this point in the semester, this was routine for you two. Meet after class, share a snack, and catch up.

“Do I even have a choice?” you sigh, taking a strawberry. The boy can only laugh at your weak attempt to sound upset about tonight.

You feel the way his feet mindlessly play with yours under the picnic table. Jaemin has always been like this. Touchy. Playful. Clueless.

As years passed and you grew closer to Jaemin, that weird feeling lingered through it all. His soft touches, his compliments, his banter, his everything– it all burned you but you wanted nothing more than to be engulfed by his flame.

But you were friends. Nothing more, nothing less. So you tried to push those feelings to the side, opting to be Jaemin’s friend up close and his admirer from a distance.

“I hope we don’t have to watch spiderman for the fourth time in a row,” You joke, pushing your overbearing thoughts to the back for another time. “Maybe we should watch horror or something. I don’t think we’ve done that in a while.” He hums in thought before chiming in, “Haechan would probably die then come back and haunt us.”

You laugh at the thought of your friend in ghost form, “I don’t know if I could handle Haechan for an eternity.” Admittedly, you spent a lot of nights praying to the air that your friendship with Haechan would surpass time and break the barriers of infinity, but you would never admit that to him. It would boost his ego too much.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you. He continued to play footsie under the table as you took the strawberries he despised. Every so often, you stole glances across the table. He hadn’t changed much over the years, instead he had grown into his features. His dedication to the gym paid off though it wasn’t noticeable under the black hoodie he wore but you knew. You knew all too well from the countless beach trips and pool days.

You needed to stop staring before someone caught you. But it’s almost impossible to not stare when your friend is Na Jaemin. How was Jaemin everything you wanted but everything you couldn’t have?

“So did you get the right popcorn?” You glance at Haechan as you make your way down the street to Jaemin and Jeno’s shared apartment. He flashes a wide smile as he holds up the family size popcorn box.

You were running fifteen minutes late because of Haechan’s dilemma on what popcorn seemed the best. You were always in charge of getting the popcorn for movie nights but this time you sent Haechan so you could finish and submit an assignment. “Thank god.”

Walking up the lawn, you drown out whatever Haechan is complaining about beside you as your eyes focus on the door.

As you get closer, something inside you keeps telling you to retreat, to not go in.

Leave! Leave! Don’t go inside! Turn around!

You question your internal monologue but proceed to knock on the door. What could that be about?

Greeted by Jeno, you give him a quick hug before walking in to see the rest of your friends already surrounding the tv. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You quickly say hi to your friends, catching Jaemin’s sweet smile, before moving towards the kitchen to make the popcorn. Ever since the first movie night and Chenle’s terrible attempt at making popcorn and Jisung’s terrible attempt to salvage it, you were put in charge of popcorn when you popped it to perfection after the scarring (and smelly) event.

Unwrapping four bags for the first round, you flattened each one making sure the kernels spread throughout the bags.

“No wonder the popcorn always tastes good when you make it,” You look up to see Jeno leaning against the counter, hands stuffed into his pockets. “You put so much care into your craft.” He jokes and you can’t help but laugh along with him.

You don’t know when you and Jeno had grown close throughout the years but it was nice to be considered a friend to the boy who was, for the most part, very closed off. You would say out of everyone besides Haechan and Renjun, Jeno had grown closest to you, Jaemin trailing close behind. It was an unexpected duo but Haechan noted that it made sense due to your similar lifestyles.

“Gotta make sure my boys are well fed.” He rolls his eyes with a laugh while shaking his head, “Yeah cause we’re always starving without you.” You know his sarcasm is laced with a certain sweetness.

“Help me with the drinks?” He moves towards you as you continue prepping the bags of popcorn before dipping down to be eye level with you. He pinches your cheek while sighing, “I guess” He draws out his words with an annoyed look only making you stick out your tongue at his playfulness.

You miss the way Jaemin watches the interaction between the two of you, only noticing his presence when he walks up to you punching in the time on the microwave. You feel his stare on you as you focus on pressing the right numbers. You feel small under his gaze.

“Sit next to me?” Your cheeks heat up at the simple question and you can only look down as you squeak out, “Sure.” Jaemin smiles triumphantly. He wants you to sit next to him because you're his friend but he also knows you’re not a popcorn hog like the rest. He misses the very obvious signs of your bashfulness.

You wonder how someone can be so clueless but you’re thankful nonetheless.

Plopping down beside Jaemin at the end of the couch, you situate the bowl of popcorn on your lap. Haechan and Jeno sit next to you, Mark occupies the single chair near Jaemin’s end with Renjun sitting on the floor in front of him, while Jisung and Chenle lay sprawled across the floor.

“Per the princesses request, we will be watching horror tonight!” Jaemin alerts your group as he starts making his way to the horror section of netflix. You feel Haechan’s eyes staring daggers into your side and you can only send him a hesitant smile while mouthing a quick ‘sorry’.

“Don’t complain when I sleep in your bed tonight.” You regretted your choice immediately.

The night had gone on like usual. Jisung jumping when Chenle made sudden noises to scare him, Renjun nagging at them saying they’re drawing him out of his immersive experience, Mark laughing at his friends and mindlessly scrolling on his phone every so often, Haechan cowering in fear and holding onto Jeno for dear life as said boy tries his best to push him away.

This left you and Jaemin to exist in your own little world of uncertainties– mainly on your behalf. His arm around you, your head on his shoulder. You can feel his thumb drawing circles into your side when you jump at a scary scene.

It all feels too intimate to mean nothing or maybe you’re just a chronic overthinker.

By the end of the movie marathon, your group is more than tired. Your body feels so comfortable against Jaemin but you know you need to head home.

“C’mon Haechan, get up.” You nudge at the boy as you stand from your seat. Somewhere throughout the night, Haechan had fallen asleep. He swatted your hand away as he curled more into Jeno.

“Okay, I guess you’re walking home with all the evil spirits tonight.” At this, Haechan shot up with wide eyes. “No! Just give me a second!”

Saying goodbye to your friends as they leave in pairs, Jeno is the last to hug you before retreating to his room for the night. Haechan was taking forever.

You decided to sit on the front porch, wanting to get some fresh air. You feel a presence sit down and you don’t have to look to know it’s Jaemin. “Hi,” His voice is groggy and laced with tiredness. “Hi Jaemin.”

You look up from your shoes to meet his eyes. It’s his turn to stare for a beat too long. Why is he looking at you like that? Like he feels something?

The silence engulfing you both isn’t normal. It’s heavy and questioning.

“Can I do something and it won’t change anything between us?” His question catches you off guard, your palms suddenly starting to sweat. You reluctantly nod, still looking at him intently.

Before you know it, the space between you is gone. His lips press to yours as his hand comes up to rest on your cheek. It’s over before you can even close your eyes or kiss back.

He leans back and you watch his eyes flutter open before he completely pulls away. “I didn’t feel anything. Did you?”

What? Was this some sick joke?

In all your years of knowing Jaemin, he rendered you speechless a lot but never like this.

He just stole your first kiss.

“Why did you do that?” Is all you can blurt out before standing up to look down at the boy. An ounce of you hopes that maybe you misheard him, maybe he did feel something.

Matching your actions, Jaemin stands up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. How could he be so calm right now? It almost made you angry.

“Mark kept saying something about me and you being so touchy and saying things like ‘don’t think I miss the way you both look at each other’ so I wanted to see if he was right.”

“And?”

“He was wrong.”

You swear you could feel the cracks forming on your heart as a horrible feeling settled in your stomach. You should’ve listened to your instinct. You should’ve never come over tonight.

Unrequited love is one thing but it’s another for Jaemin to confirm it so carelessly, as if he thinks there was nothing there for either of you.

Before you can say anything, Haechan opens the door, interrupting the horrific silence.

You thank the universe that Haechan is more focused on his surroundings out of fear of a ghost attacking him rather than on you. How can you explain the tears threatening to spill at any second?

When you make it home, Haechan holds true to his promise of sleeping in your bed that night. You sit at your desk feeling the need to write or else you’ll explode.

You find the page with your two confessions written down. While the other pages are jumbled with words, this page remains untouched.

You know his answer, he made it more than clear there was nothing. It’s better to know for certain rather than chasing mindlessly anyways, right? You feel a tear run down and land on the page.

From now on, you would love Na Jaemin from afar.

Movie night

He kissed me and said he felt nothing. It feels selfish, what about how I feel? I’m in love with you Na Jaemin.

· · ─────── · ·

When you start getting good at loving Na Jaemin from afar, he starts trying to close the distance.

To celebrate the end of your first year of college, your friends decided it would be a great idea to go to the beach.

You were excited but you knew this trip would test your abilities of keeping your distance from Jaemin.

Ever since the kiss, you limited the number of times you were alone, the amount of times you touched, the amount of times you joked and talked. You didn’t want Jaemin completely out of your life, truthfully, that was impossible. But you wanted to give space for your feelings.

As much as it hurt to admit, you wanted to love him from afar but you secretly hoped your feelings would fizzle out over time.

Somehow throughout the course of your first year, Haechan caught on to your actions. It shouldn’t have surprised you, he knew you better than anybody. You just thought you were being more subtle than you actually were.

You finally told him after weeks of pestering but you made him promise not to tell anyone or else he wouldn’t get to be the flower boy at your wedding. That’s how Haechan knew it was serious. He definitely was not telling anybody.

So although he knew there was no hatred towards Jaemin and he had never done anything horribly wrong, he helped you create distance, always conveniently needing you whenever Jaemin got you two alone or inserting himself and saying he never got to sit near you during movie nights. A complete lie that Jaemin fell for over and over.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, Jeno calls your name. “You okay?” His brows are furrowed, voice laced with concern as he takes your bag to situate it in the trunk. “O-Oh yeah, just lost in thought. Thank you.”

You watch as the boys pack up the two cars in Mark and Renjun’s driveway. Unfortunately, without Renjun’s minivan (which had died during the first week of college), it was hard to haul eight people on a roadtrip altogether so thankfully Mark and Jaemin had offered to drive this time around.

“Wanna watch a movie with me on the way there?” Jeno closes the trunk to Jaemin’s car, wiping his hands off onto his shorts. You smile with a nod, “Let’s do it.”

As Haechan and Jaemin come out from the apartment with snacks, Renjun following to lock the doors, Jaemin throws the snacks into the backseat before coming over to you with an easy smile.

“Do you wanna sit up front? You can pick the music.” The offer stings but not as bad as it could’ve a few months ago.

Your plan was slowly but surely working. By loving him from afar, you were falling out of love with Na Jaemin.

“I’m actually gonna watch a movie with Jeno,” His smile falters for a second before biting his cheek, “Don’t worry though Jaem, Haechan has a good road trip playlist!”

The tips of his ears feel hot at the use of the nickname you had given him at the beginning of your friendship but why was he annoyed that you were choosing Jeno over him?

As your ride to the beach began, you decided it would be easier to sit in the middle seat to be closer to Jeno in order to see his small screen. He lended you an airpod and as he held his phone on his lap, you had a pack of gummy bears in your lap for the two of you.

“What should we watch?” He asked as he looked into the bag for a green gummy bear. “Let’s watch something funny,” Your hand dives into the bag at the same time as his and you look at each other before laughing.

Jaemin can’t help but look at the two of you through his rearview mirror wondering what could be so funny? And why are you sitting so close to each other? And why, oh my god, why was it bothering him?

“Haechan, what funny movie should me and Jeno watch?” You lean forward, tapping the boy in the passenger seat. He thinks for a moment, tapping his finger on his chin, “Over the hedge!”

“Genius!”

As the car ride continues, Jaemin can’t tell if he’s overstimulated, irritated, or going crazy. With Haechan’s 2000’s music blaring, the boy singing along and your laughter reaching to the front of the car every so often with whispers between you and Jeno following, he doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping the wheel until he sees his knuckles turning white.

What is this feeling? He thinks for a moment, ‘am I jealous?’ and he can’t help but scoff at his own idea. Don’t be crazy Jaemin.

Nearing the end of the drive, Jaemin finds himself growing more and more agitated. The last time he looked into the rearview mirror, your head was resting on Jeno’s shoulder as his rested atop yours. You fell asleep like that?

Although Jaemin was never one to be petty for no reason, he found himself taking a turn sharper than he should’ve. He wouldn’t admit it but he was glad to see your head rise from his friend's shoulder.

“We’re here sleepyheads!” Haechan shouted as the car came to a stop.

As Jeno opened the door for you both to get out, you're overwhelmed by the smell of the ocean and the warmth engulfing your body.

You look up at the house before going to help the boys bring in the luggage. This is going to be a long weekend.

Stepping into the entryway, your eyes scan over the layout. An open kitchen to your right with an island in the middle with four chairs and a breakfast nook on the side. To the left was an open living room, the couch being significantly larger than any couch you’ve used for movie night, a flat screen hanging off the walls. Directly in front of you is a long hallway with doors on either side, four to be exact. Two to a room wouldn’t be bad.

You all explore the house for a moment, leaving your bags at the front door.

Upon further investigation, you find a pool in the backyard with a grill, firepit, and large table that would easily accommodate your group. There’s easy access to the beach and a basketball goal near the garage. You decide to walk down the hallway last and notice that all bedrooms have two beds except the last one, the master bedroom.

Joining the others on the couch, you realize they’re already fighting over who will get the king size bed.

Renjun decides it’s best if they draw names to choose where everyone sleeps and Haechan is quick to find a pen and paper. The boy states it’s best for him to pull so no one can see since he’s sitting at the end.

The others scoff saying he just wants to rig the game.

Haechan starts with the double beds, saving the king for last.

The first room on the left belongs to Jisung and Mark, they high five at the revelation of sharing a room.

Next is the first room on the right. Chenle and Renjun get chosen next and even though they both wanted the king, they aren’t upset with being roommates for the weekend.

That leaves two more rooms and four more people. You have a chance of rooming with Jaemin. If it’s the double beds, you can live. If it’s the king, you will die.

Haechan pulls out the first name for the last set of double beds, “Jeno!” he cheers with the boy only nodding.

Pulling out the next name, Haechan leans back like every other time so no one can see.

Your leg bounces in anticipation and Jaemin gnaws at his lip, both nervous for different reasons.

You watch as Haechan hesitates for a split second, his eyes flickering up to you.

Looking down at the ground, you know you’re done for.

Haechan shouts out your name, your head shooting up with wide eyes. He sends you a secretive wink before calling his and Jaemin’s name out for the king size bed.

So yes, Haechan did rig the game but technically not in his favor.

Moving to your rooms to unpack, you feel light knowing you won’t have to share a room with the one person you’re trying to, borderline, avoid.

Jaemin passes your shared room with Jeno and hears your muffled laughter. He doesn’t understand why Haechan purposefully made you room with Jeno. Did you like Jeno? Did you not like him?

Walking into his own shared room with Haechan, he lazily throws his bag onto the bed as he starts to unpack alongside the other.

Silence engulfs the two as if Haechan knows Jaemin sees right through him while Jaemin is searching for the right way to word his question.

“Why did you call her name out when you pulled yours?” Haechan glances up at the boy folding his clothes, his jaw tense.

Quick on his feet, Haechan feeds into what his friends said earlier, “I wanted the king, duh”

“I know you’re lying… what was that wink about? Does she like Jeno?”

Haechan can only scoff as he closes the drawer, now full of his own clothes, “If that was the reason, I would’ve made sure to put them in here. Trust me, I would’ve made sure she got action.” There he goes, always trying to make a situation light. The thought of you and Jeno together makes Jaemin feel weird. He doesn’t understand why but he doesn’t like it.

“Either way, it’s none of our business.” Jaemin scoffs this time, lazily throwing his empty duffel bag into the corner. “I think it’s my business to know why my friend doesn’t want to room with me?” His statement comes off as more of a question and he watches as Haechan rounds the bed to exit the room, “Not everything is about you Jaemin.”

Jaemin doesn’t understand when the switch happened.

You used to be tied to him. You were a duo. You completed each other. You had such a good friendship.

So what happened? Why is Jaemin walking to the pool alone instead of you by his side? Why are you on Jeno’s shoulders playing chicken against Jisung and Chenle? Wait what?

Why are you on Jeno’s shoulders? That’s supposed to be him and you! That’s his thing!

Stepping into the backyard, he watches as you and Chenle push back and forth at one another. He can’t help but wonder if you always look this pretty? His eyes flicker down and his stomach twists seeing Jeno’s hands gripping your thighs to keep you stable. Why did that leave such a bitter taste in his mouth?

He sat next to Mark on one of the pool chairs, watching chaos ensue as Haechan started spraying at both you and Chenle, stating it would make the game more fun.

Hearing the way you laugh out Jeno’s name to warn him to keep you stable has Jaemin rolling his eyes.

Maybe he’s just in a bad mood today.

For the rest of the day, Jaemin makes an effort to be near you but he picks up on how you turn down his advances. Cuddle on the couch? ‘Sorry I’m going to help Mark… gotta make sure he doesn’t burn the kitchen down’. Wanna watch me grill? ‘I was actually gonna play a game of horse with Chenle while we wait’. Sit next to me at dinner? ‘Sure!’ but then Haechan conveniently sat next to him, leaving you to sit between Renjun and Jisung.

That last one really wasn’t intentional, Jaemin just thinks everyone is out to get him now.

Something that has really been bothering him is the fact that you haven’t been blushing at his compliments. He always figured you were blushing because you were shy with praise but he was just oblivious of how you only blushed when he said something nice, meanwhile you would simply say ‘thank you’ with a smile to anyone else.

The question still plagued his mind, When did everything change?

He had never realized it but he really liked the way your eyes shined when you looked at him. How you followed him around and how you were ready to jump at anything he suggested. He liked you right next to him.

Now your eyes are getting duller, you’re not sticking to him at all and you’re turning down every suggestion he sends your way, you haven’t been near him this whole trip. And now that he thinks about it, you haven’t been by his side for a few months.

And when he looks up from his plate he wonders if you were always this beautiful. Did his heart always beat like this?

His eyes flicker to your lips and he can't help but think back to the night he kissed you. Was he nervous that night for fear of losing you as a friend or did his fast heart rate mean something else?

Shaking his head, he focuses his attention on Mark who’s saying something about going to the beach tomorrow.

Haechan says a joke that he doesn’t quite catch but his eyes move to yours, wondering if you’ll look at him the way you always do after someone says something funny.

His stomach drops and he thinks he’s gonna be sick. Your eyes shoot straight to Jeno’s as you laugh together.

Jaemin is in trouble.

· · ─────── · ·

The next morning is when you stop loving Na Jaemin from afar.

Waking up, you’re blinded by the lights peeking through the curtains.

Groaning as you stretch the sleep from your body, you turn your head towards Jeno’s bed to see him already facing you with a lazy smile. “Hi.” His voice is groggy, laced with tiredness.

“Hi Jeno.” you flash your own lazy smile before continuing to stretch under the sheets.

The whole interaction feels like deja vu to you but you shrug it off.

Today was a new day. Today you felt lighter. But most importantly, today was beach day.

Taking turns with Jeno in the bathroom, you both get ready for the day before heading out to the kitchen to prepare for the long day.

Realizing you were the first two awake, you take it upon yourselves to cook breakfast for everyone.

You and Jeno work well together. Where one lacks skill, the other makes up for it. You’re good with eggs and dicing fruit, he’s good with meats and getting the perfect toast on bread.

While focusing on cutting the rest of the fruit, Jeno comes up behind you with a slice of bacon between his fingers, “ahhh” he mocks to alert you to open up. Skillfully taking the bacon from his hands with your lips, you hum at the taste. You shoot him an ‘Okay!’ sign with your fingers as you continue to chew and he flashes his signature crescent smile.

You mirror his previous actions, bringing a piece of pineapple to the boy’s mouth, “ahhh” you copy and he laughs before biting the fruit in between your fingers. He closes his eyes at the sweet and tangy taste. “Delicious!”

The rest of the boys file into the kitchen, creating their own plates as they fuel up for the day. Jeno and you continued to snack on breakfast as you started to tackle the sandwiches for the beach.

It was weird how you and Jeno worked so well together. You knew you were alike but the fact that you could easily pick up where each other left off, finishing the task the way the other intended– it was fascinating to you.

“Jeno can you pass me–” His hand appeared in front of you with the head of lettuce suspended in the air. You look at him to see he’s still focused on spreading condiments on the bread. “Thank you.” You glance at him one more time to see a soft smile on his lips.

Jeno had always been attractive. He was handsome and sweet but with the way he always matched your energy, you couldn’t help but congratulate the lucky person he’d end up with.

Turning around as you finish your last sandwich, you notice Jaemin staring at you. This time though, his stare doesn’t make you feel small and all of a sudden your heart beats normally under his gaze. You flash him a smile before continuing to pack the sandwiches into a bag.

Watching you and Jeno work together to prepare everything for the day, Jaemin wonders if you two had always been like this. Did you bounce off each other just as easily as you and Jaemin had?

Thinking back to that one movie night where he walked in on Jeno teasing you before helping you with drinks, Jaemin reluctantly agrees that yes, it’s always been like this for you and Jeno. Had he simply not cared until now or had he been bothered this whole time?

He can’t help but notice that shine in your eyes. But this time it’s not directed at him, it’s only when you focus on Jeno.

He thought about it a lot last night, his mind not allowing him to sleep. All he could think of was you.

Na Jaemin has come to the conclusion, he likes you.

When you finally finish fighting against the sand as you make your way towards the ocean, hauling supplies and chairs, your group starts to set everything out.

While Haechan and Renjun argue over how to set the umbrella up, Jisung is already leaving to go look for shells with Chenle following right behind him. Jeno and Jaemin set up the chairs while you and Mark set out a big blanket to sit on.

“You seem happier these days,” the boy starts as he flattens out his side of the blanket, “like your consciousness isn’t being weighed down.” You look up at the boy as you finish your side and you can’t really grasp onto what he means.

Mark had always had this ‘talk in riddles, be philosophical and then move on like it didn’t happen’ way of reaching out to people. He knows things without having to be told and you know Mark Lee has you read front to back, fully memorized– just like he has all of his friends.

“I guess I have been happier,” you start as you scan your group of friends scattered around. Your eyes land on Jaemin and you can’t tell if the love you feel for him is romantic or platonic. But it doesn’t scare you. The thought of not being loved by Na Jaemin doesn’t hurt anymore, “What do you think changed?” Your question is mindless, not expecting an answer.

“I think you finally like someone who likes you back.” The statement rolls off his tongue, bounces your way, and smacks you right in the face.

Your eyes subconsciously flicker to Jeno.

Before you can say anything, Mark is already moving to settle the quarrel between Renjun, Haechan, and the umbrella.

Eyes locking with Jaemin, he smiles and you can’t help but smile back. Something in your heart is telling you not to run away from Jaemin anymore, that there’s nothing to hide– nothing to protect.

You don’t have to love Na Jaemin from afar anymore. You can love him upclose– the same way you love the rest of your friends.

Jaemin notices the switch.

Compared to yesterday, you entertain his conversations and you’re by his side. But he notices it all– especially the fact that it’s all half-hearted.

Truthfully, it’s not half-hearted. You let your guard down with Jaemin for the first time in months. He only views your actions as half-assed because he’s so used to being the center of your universe. But now he’s just like everyone else. To you, Na Jaemin is just another friend.

Nonetheless, he’s thankful you’re not avoiding him anymore. It makes him feel giddy when you laugh at his jokes or lean your head on his shoulder for a moment. When you flash him a smile he can’t help but feel lightheaded and when you shout his name he feels hot all over.

Is this what it feels like to like someone?

He eyes your figure now laying out on the blanket as you mindlessly play with its loose strings, listening to whatever Haechan is talking about.

Jisung sits beside you as he places the shells he collected along your back in a spiral pattern. The boy makes a very important note to you, “stay still”.

“You look like a creep staring at her like that,” Chenle leans over to whisper in Jaemin’s ear. His face goes red as he whips his head to look at the younger, “I’m not staring,” he defends but his voice is so weak, Chenle almost lets a laugh slip before continuing to joke, “You’re not the only creep. At least he’s more subtle about it.” Jaemin follows Chenle’s nod and his eyes lock onto Jeno’s figure, looking at you with the most lovesick gaze he’s ever seen.

“It’s getting hot, I wanna get in the water!” You whine out. The closest any of you got to the ocean today was Jisung and Chenle’s shell collecting and truthfully, you do not count their fingers grazing wet sand while running away from the waves as getting in the water.

Jaemin hesitates before he decides to speak up but he’s cut off.

“I’m almost do– Jeno!” Jisung screams as Jeno quickly gets up, grabbing your hand and pulling you up, knocking Jisung’s shells all over the place.

Jaemin watches you scream as Jeno throws you over his shoulder, running towards the ocean with Jisung chasing after him screaming about how he’s going to drown the older boy.

He watches as his friends get up and follow after the three of you and he wills himself up to follow.

When did Jeno get so confident but more importantly, when did Jisung get so loud?

It dawns on you that you really love your friends. As you watch the boys splash one another and Jisung holding true to his promise of trying to drown Jeno, sure enough you feel at home.

You float on your back, letting the water hold your figure as you look up at the clear sky.

Today felt like a rebirth for your emotions and you were thankful. Head not clouded by the same boy anymore, you had the opportunity to explore new connections and the thought of it was thrilling.

“Hi,” you slightly move your head to see Jeno swimming up to you and away from the chaos.

“Hi Jeno,” your tone is teasing, dancing on the fact that you’ve already had this same encounter today.

You feel him mindlessly drip water onto your exposed stomach as you continue floating. Your cheeks flush a soft hue of pink at the change in energy.

“You look really pretty,” The shyness in his voice catches you off guard, causing you to look up at the boy. His cheeks mirror yours, dusted lightly with pink.

Before you can respond, he continues, “Can I ask you a question?”

Jaemin watches from afar and wonders what you’re talking about.

He finds himself battling internally with whether or not it’s morally okay to pursue you while knowing his best friend might also have feelings for you. Jaemin believes he has a better chance because in his eyes, you’ve always been closer.

Little does Jaemin know, you’re already far out of his grasp.

That night, you all decide you’ll make use of the firepit as Chenle says he’ll order some food delivery and s’more supplies.

You had gone back to your room to change before going to the backyard but you felt silly when you realized you really hadn’t packed anything warm considering it was Summer.

“Do you wanna wear my hoodie?” You hear Jeno’s voice from across the room and you look up to him already holding out the enticing material. He must’ve noticed the way you kept running your hand up and down your arm for warmth

“Are you sure? You won’t get cold?” He smiles with a nod as he walks over to you, “Just wear it,” You take the hoodie, throwing it over your tank top. Your thank you comes out muffled but he hears you just fine, “Sit by me as a repayment though.”

You nod with a smile as you follow him out to the backyard, his hoodie engulfing you like a blanket.

Sitting down next to Jeno, he drapes a blanket over the two of you before beginning to impale a marshmallow.

“I’ll make this one for you.” Jaemin overhears Jeno’s good deed and he can’t help but feel like he’s watching an out of body experience. The scene looks all too familiar to him, feels too familiar to him– like you and him had done the same exact thing once.

He catches your eyes from across the fire– you shoot him a playful smile that he can’t help but return. The way the light from the flames move across your features make Jaemin’s heart race and he swears he can see the light dancing around your eyes, making them even more beautiful.

How had he never noticed before? You’re so beautiful.

Before you know it, it’s the next day and you’re packing up to leave.

Watching as the other boys climb into Mark’s car, you let your head rest against the seat with a lazy, but satisfied smile plastered on your lips. You hope you all can do this again before Summer’s over.

In the backseat with Jeno right next to you, scrolling for another movie you can watch together, you can’t help but let your eyes follow through the window and up to the house with a smile. You thought this would be a long weekend for other reasons but in the end, you’re wishing the trip didn’t feel so short.

This trip was good for you and your heart.

Jaemin starts the car, glancing at you through the rearview mirror with a soft smile. He made up his mind last night. He doesn’t think there is anything wrong with him pursuing you, if anything– may the best man win. He swears he has a whole plan on how to win your heart.

Unfortunately for him, Jaemin misses the way your pinky finger is intertwined with Jeno’s.

When you make it home, you don’t miss the way both Jeno and Jaemin hug you a beat longer than usual.

Saying your goodbyes as you and Haechan walk up to your shared apartment you feel a sudden need to scribble more in your journal.

This was a turning point. This. This was monumental.

Beach trip

My heart finally knows its place with Jaemin. He’s a great friend.

· · ─────── · ·

Jaemin is four drinks in when he realizes he’s in love with you.

To celebrate the beginning of your second year of college, your friends, mainly Haechan, deem it appropriate to turn movie night into a gathering to drink.

At the moment it’s just six of them, you and Jeno missing from the group.

Jaemin wonders where either of you could be. Jeno had mentioned going out today but didn’t tell him where. Ever since the beach trip, the boy seemed to always have something to do on Fridays but Jaemin never paid much attention to his whereabouts, though one time he checked the boy's location out of pure boredom and saw him at the mall which was strange.

The only information he had on your whereabouts was Haechan saying you’d be late, so truthfully, he knew nothing.

Over the summer, things between you and Jaemin had gone back to normal, sort of. You accepted his touch, you hung out with him one on one, your banter was back and forth, you were by his side.

He thought he was doing everything right. He was drawing you in slowly but surely. It was gonna be so perfect.

But he noticed the way you didn’t let your touch linger longer than it needed to, how it wasn’t him you sat next to during movie nights, how you still looked at Jeno instead of him when something was funny.

They had started drinking without you two, Haechan assuring that the early bird always gets the worm– or something like that.

So as Jaemin finishes the last of his third drink, he’s starting to feel his tongue become more loose. “Where are they? Is she gonna be okay walking here alone?”

The others can only murmur ‘i don’t know’ with shrugs, “They probably stopped by the apartment so she could change,” Haechan states, taking another sip from his drink.

What? You’re together?

Putting his empty can down, Jaemin reaches for another, cracking it open, “They’re together right now?” Jaemin feels strange but he chalks it up to the alcohol.

“Yeah? They go out like every Friday… They leave me all alone!” Haechan pretends he’s been wounded as he cries into Renjun’s shoulder who can only roll his eyes at the boy’s dramatics.

“What do you mean?” He feels himself clenching his can tighter, trying to use what’s left of his sober consciousness to navigate what Haechan’s saying.

“Dude, does Jeno not tell you anything? Ever since the beach trip he’s been waltzing into my apartment every Friday and stealing my best friend like I’m some sort of wicked witch!” Haechan scoffs at his own statement, “He’s a friend stealer!” Haechan shouts but Jaemin could care less.

So that’s where Jeno’s been every week. With you.

All Jaemin can let out is a soft and confused, “What?”

As if on cue, the front door opens and his eyes shoot up from his can. There you are in all your glory, Jeno’s hand wrapped in yours.

Jaemin swears he’s about to have a heart attack as he feels his chest clench in such an uncomfortable way. He thinks he can feel his heart being ripped to shreds and he wonders if you can feel so torn apart about someone you like.

He concludes that no, you cannot be this torn up about someone you like so with a heavy heart, the boy admits to no one but himself,

He is in love.

· · ─────── · ·

It’s weird how your sophomore year of college feels oddly similar to your freshman year.

The only difference is that you’re walking hand in hand with Lee Jeno.

You don’t know when the switch occurred but you noticed Jaemin distancing himself from you. At first you figured he was trying to be respectful of your relationship but when he stopped inviting you out and jumped at the feeling of your skin on his, you knew it was something more.

In fact it was.

The tables had turned, the roles reversed, the ball in the other’s court but never to be served.

Na Jaemin started falling in love with you at the exact same time you were falling out of love with him. For his own sake, the boy had no choice but to start loving you from afar.

To you, Na Jaemin is a wonderful friend but to him, you are his whole world.

a/n: and scene! thank you for reading⭐ p.s. - thinking abt writing a jeno au from his pov in the same universe! lmk what you think <3

#nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #jaemin x reader #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #jeno x reader #na jaemin #nct jaemin #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst

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didishawn · 3 months ago

Note

hey! Can you make one which reader and Pedri are at the canary's island, sharing the bedroom with Fer for some reason, but Pedri is feeling like doing something, and Fer there doesn't stop them, and they do it, and it's hard for reader be quiet, and next morning when they wake up and go down to breakfast, Fer asks if they sleep okay and smirks, playing with Pedri

Islas Canarias (Pedri x reader) smut

Warnings: +18, smut, a bit of voyeurism, poor Fer, lots of Spanish

Masterlist

"Mami, ¿como que le has dado mi habitación al tío?" (Mom, what's that about you giving my room to my uncle?)

"El pobre necesita su espacio, Pedro, la casa ya está muy llena y él es nuestro invitado" (the poor boy needs his own space, Pedro, the house is too full and he is our guest?)

"Y/n también es nuestra invitada y la quieres poner en el colchon de Fer" (y/n is also out guest and you want her sleeping on Fer's mattress)

"Esa ya no cuela, Pepi, ella ya es familia" (that won't work, Pepi, she is family already)

From your spot on the coach, you can see your boyfriend's pout to talk his mom out of sleeping in the floor.

It's unusual for Flick to give so many free days, so from the moments him and the rest got the green light for the break, Pedri had already picked you up and put you both on a flight back home.

What he didn't know-more like completely forgot about it-was the fact that not only him happened to have some free days, so you two got quite the surprise when you arrived to his parents house and were greeted by half his family already staying over.

You can hear your brother in law snickering next to you on the coach at the little drama scene taking place on the kitchen, and you can't help but chuckle too.

Honestly, you didn't find the whole ordeal yo be that bad, the three of you have had sleepovers since you met Pedri all those years back in primary school.

Of course, this would ve the first sleepover with the Gonzalez brothers since you started dating Pedri three years ago.

"¿Debería bajar al chino a por algo para picar, o crees que tu noviecito estará muy ocupado haciendo pucheros como para ver una película?" (Should I go down to the grocery shop to pick up some snacks, or you think your boyfriend will be too busy pouting to watch a movie?)

"Yo más bien me preocuparia con que no se le ocurra echarte con golpes de almohada de la habitación" (if I were you, I would be more worried about him kicking you out of the room by hitting you with the pillow)

"Si hombre, lo que me faltaba, encima que os tengo que aguantar" Pedri drops down with his head on your lap in the coach, pouting at having completely lost the fight against his mom. "Ni se os ocurra hacer guarrerias conmigo ahí durmiendo, que te juro que me chivo a mami" (yeah right, just what I needed when I already have to stand the two of you...you better not do any dirty stuff with me sleeping there, because I swear I will tell mom)

"Mira, calla que te echo del cuarto" (look, shut up or I will kick you out of the room)

Fer ignores his brother, happily grinning. "Esto es karma por todo lo que os tengo que aguantar en Barcelona" (this is karma for all the things the two of you make me endure in Barcelona)

Your boyfriend only goes on to pout harder and you can feel these couple of days will be very long.

It's not like the mattress is uncomfortable itt's ok, really. And Fer surprisingly doesn't snore that loudly anymore.

Still, you can't sleep, and it's all your boyfriend's fault.

His kisses on your neck are hot and he has a hard grip on your waist, his boner pressed tightly against your ass.

"Pedri, Fer se va a despertar" you whisper as quietly as possible, trying to stop the moans forming on your throat from coming out.

He shakes his head, mumbling against your skin. "Que va, si ese no se entera de nada" he kisses your ear, leaning forward to whisper into it. "Venga, por favor, te prometo que solo será la punta, pero de verdad no aguanto" (no, he never notices anything...come on, please, I promise it will only be the tip, I really can't handle it)

"Tú y yo sabemos que nunca es solo la punta" (you and I know it's never just the tip)

"Te juro que sí, ya verás" (I promise it will be, you will see)

You sigh, and as much as you love to play hard to get, from the moment you felt him pressing against you, you knew what would go down.

You reach down to your shorts and underwear, pulling them down as you leave him some space to settle between your legs, still, your back faces him. You feel him pull down his too, and can feel his hot cock pressing against your ass cheeks. A hand of his picks up your leg, separating them as his tip starts teasing your entrance.

"Tenemos que estar callados, que luego Fer nos echa la bronca" he mumbles, and you nod. (We have to be quiet, because if not Fer will scold us)

He presses inside you, and incredibly, true to his word he only puts the tip inside, a hand of his sneaks to your front, rubbing your clit and his head pushing back when he feels you squeeze him at the stimulation.

The pace is slow, still you have to bite your lips to keep yourself from making any noise. By the sounds coming off his throat, he too is having difficulty keeping quiet, even if just the tip.

It's not enough, and you both know it, but when you turn around and see the smug look on his face, you can tell he is waiting for you to beg.

No way.

You start to move your hips too, but don't take in any more, you want him to suffer, give in before you do. His grip on your hips tightens, almost as if trying to take the control from you, but you don't let him, squeezing tighter making him groan.

"Joder, no estás jugando limpio" he groans, you can hear his pants, can tell he is just about to give in. (Fuck, you are not playing fair)

You just didn't expect for him to give in so quickly, ramming his whole cock inside you in one go as his hand goes on to cover your mouth to stop the grand moan you let out.

He seems to forget there is another person in the room -and honestly, so do you. His hips are know moving against yours in an almost punishing pace, he bites into his lips as to stop from moaning out.

You can already feel yourself nearing the extasis, he is in so deep inside you stretching you out so good. He rubs circles into your clit, making you basically see white as you cum around him.

He is not that far behind, painting your walls white as he cums deeply inside you. The both of you are panting messes, and only care about putting on your clothes again, quickly falling asleep and completely forgetting about the mess you created.

You hope he doesn't notice it-because you know he will bully you for it, bit you can barely walk as the two of you walk around the kitchen grabbing something quick to eat before going out.

Steps come down the stairs, and Fer's expression is not one he likes as he comes in stupidly grinning.

Pedri doesn't notice, but he watches over the two of you unashamedly, and you can already tell he knows, but Pedri doesn't.

"¿Pasa, mano?" he greets, going up to make their special handshake when Fer refuses. (What's up, bro?)

It's honestly kind of funny and flattering how yesterday's pouting is all gone just because you fucked.

Fer raises an eyebrow at Pedri, not taking his hand and leaving his younger brother confused.

"Ni de coña te toco la mano sabiendo lo que hacía anoche, sinvergüenza" (no way am I touching your hands knowing what it did during the night, shameful)

Pedri just grins, bit you could as well die as you turn Red.

Pedri's grin instantly goes away when you announce him of the sex ban for the next two weeks just because of this.

#barca #fc barca #barcelona #pedri #spain nt #spanish nt #pedri imagine #pedri x reader #football imagine #pedri barça #pedri smut #pedri gonzález x reader #pedri gonzalez #fc barça #fc barcelona

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diceroll65 · 5 months ago

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party animal - b.e

billie eilish x fem!reader

summary: you are recovering from being cheated on by your now ex-girlfriend, and decide to attend billie's party where you know she will be. (billie is NOT the ex-girlfriend in question btw)

warnings: cheating, smut, praising, slight orgasm denial

part one, part two, part three

you have been laying around all day after finding out your girlfriend of a year and a half fucked another girl in the bed you share. you found out by finding a g string under your side of the bed, where you strictly only wore cheeky underwear. you confront your girlfriend as soon as she gets home from work, and tell her to pack her shit. the situation escalates to where she admits she cheated, but expresses the reason she did was because you guys haven't fucked in a while. boxes of her possessions sit in the living room later that night, as you clean up the kitchen to your now solo apartment. she leaves as soon as she finishes packing.

you wake up the next morning with the unsettling feeling of your close friend inviting you to her party, you and your now ex-girlfriend. up until this point, you had no desire to go. though, this feeling soon washes over, leading to a burning desire of you wanting to look absolutely sexy and rub it in your former girlfriend's face.

when it comes time to start getting ready for the party, you grab your mini black, skin- tight, halter dress that hug your curves exquisitely. you pair this with your vinaceous red pumps, along with your matching white gold pendant and bracelet set. your freshly pampered hands, amore at the grand canal colored oval-shaped acrylics dance across your chest as you admire yourself in the mirror. for makeup, you decide to be daring, doing a smoky eye look with a dark red lip. you spray tom ford's vanilla sex lightly over your pulse points, creating a more confident air about you.

you pull up to billie's place, with your attention focused on finding billie and letting her know the situation. you spot her immediately standing behind a girl, guiding her hips as she twerks against her. "classic billie" you say internally. the girl moves and billie's eyes go directly to you. "holy fuck, y/n-" she says admirably. you interrupt her "i need to talk to you" you say with a sense of urgency. she nods quickly, following you as you lead her away from the crowd. "you know tay is here right? i thought you guys were coming together?" billie utters, confused. "that’s actually why i wanted to talk to you" you start "she cheated on me" you say with a disappointed face. "no fucking way" she says with a dumbfounded expression. "want me to kick her ass out?" billie asks genuinely. "oh no, i actually want the opposite" you start, leaning against the wall. "i want her to be here, more than anyone, to realize how badly she fucked up" you declare, with a smile. billie takes in what you say, her eyebrow slightly rising "i think i have an idea" she states with a sinful smirk. you nod "whatever you have in mind, i'm down."

billie grins, reaching down to grab your hand. she escorts you towards the middle of the room. Good Ones by Charli XCX begins to play, as if it were planned. billie places both hands on your hips, twirling you around. her right hand gently grasps your lower abdomen, pulling your back against her front. you bite your lip at her unanticipated gesture, unaware of what else she has in mind. you situate your head against her shoulder, as your attention diverts to her face. billie smiles into your hair, breathing directly against your ear. your chest warms up due to the proximity.

you realize tay is in the back corner, and avoid looking in her direction. at this point, billie’s hands roam down to your hips, moving them to the beat of the music. billie leans into your ear subtly and says “she looks pissssed” in a low voice, slightly chuckling. you giggle at the thought. “good” you say, amused. you then turn to face billie, wrapping your arms around her neck. your left arm leaves her neck, going into the air, in spirit of the song tempo picking up.

“i always let the good ones go ooh-ooh-ooh ooh” pours out of the speakers as billie pulls you in as close as possible by your lower back. her eyes are narrowing, and she admires how lost you are in the music. you open your eyes to meet her gaze, finding yourself forgetting how to breathe. your mouth slightly ajar, the now heavy tension weighing on your chest. you both simultaneously lean in, your lips merging in sync. your arms meet each other again behind her neck, pulling her closer towards your face.

billie's hands desperately drag across your back, her grip tightens as you begin to fall into her due to the passion. it takes almost no time for you and billie to enter the closest room, which was the hallway closet, as your mind races with possibility. billie locks the door, quickly returning to your embrace. her expression completely unrecognizable, her eyes taking laps as she fervently admires your figure.

billie gently but firmly pushes you against the closest available surface, which in this case is against a shelf. your moans fill her ears, as she kisses and hovers over the pulse point in your neck, feeling your heart pulsate against her lips. she pulls back and looks at your now smeared lipstick, taking her thumb, rolling it over your lip and sticking it in your mouth. you suck on her finger, holding eye contact. as she pulls her thumb out, you kiss it and crash your lips into hers once more. she desperately reaches for the straps of your dress, and whispers into your mouth, in a begging tone "please, can i take this off you?" your stomach begins to twist, as you respond with "please do." she drags your straps off your shoulders, sliding the dress down to reveal your bare breasts and a pair of imperial purple lacy panties.

"my god, how could anyone cheat on you?" she says, her voice laced with lust. she places her thigh in between your legs, as you begin to grind involuntarily. she smirks at how instinctual that gesture was for you. you begin to slowly rub against her denim thigh, creating friction. meanwhile, your hair is aggressively rubbing against the shelf, creating knots you will have to attend to later. "fuck, you are so mesmerizing" billie says, watching you attempt to bring yourself to completion. "this is how you deserve to feel" she says, delicately fondling your breasts. you struggle getting yourself there, and you let out a sigh of agitation. "it's okay, let me help you" she suggests replacing her thigh with her hand. she adheres to your speed, picking up the pace a little more. billie is now rubbing your clit so fast that you are unable to stand. your balance is now being supported by the shelf behind you, as your knees begin to buckle. "holy fuck- oh my god-" you stammer, on the brink of finishing. "are you almost there? say my name when you get there, baby. she needs to be reminded that she can't make you feel this good anymore" billie voices, her eyes not able to steer away from you clenching around her touch. "bi-billie fuck" as you release with your knees giving out, causing you to slightly lean forward into billie's arms.

billie catches you immediately, one hand holding your abdomen, the other supporting your back. billie, now with a devious grin plastered across her face says "can we go one more time?" billie asks, clearly not wanting this moment to end. you nod tiredly, as she begins to kneel in front of you. she looks up to you through her eyebrows and asks "can i take these off?" as she motions towards your underwear. you nod desperately, as she without hesitation glides them off your figure. she is admiring your vagina, stalling to take in its beauty. "such a beautiful pussy" she whispers, watching you shift your weight because of how her compliment made you feel. "i just wanna-" billie says holding onto both thighs and hovering her head over your left thigh, breathing onto it. "i wanna have you gasping for air when i'm done with you" she says as she kisses your bikini line. she then licks along your clit, sending you a jolt of pleasure. billie proceeds to lick, as she then switches to sucking. you slide up and down the shelf once more, as you cannot support your weight due to the gratification. by now, moans are tumbling out of your mouth. "louder" she whispers into your sex, smiling at the groan you let out, feeling her voice through your body. you obey, as your moans increase in volume. she is smiling from ear to ear (ha) as she notices how well you listen. "so so good for listening, baby" she praises, as you are unable to pay attention. "billie oh my god-" you exclaim, as you are seconds away from releasing. "can you hold on a little longer for me, my love? i promise it will make you feel so so good" she says, as she returns back to your sex. you bite your lip, unsure if you are able to contain yourself from letting go. "i bet she's never made you feel this good, huh?" she says in an angry tone. "such a piece of shit" she says as she picks up her speed. tears begin to form in the corners of your eyes as you say "no one has ever made me feel so good, fuck." billie eyes light up hearing this, as she picks up the speed to an even faster rate. at this point, you are quietly screaming as the pressure of the climax becomes unbearable. "go ahead, baby. cum for me. right here, that's it" she says, as you completely release from the built up tension. billie helps you ride out your climax, as your legs are now shaking with how hard she just fucked you. and you are now letting your entire weight be supported by the shelf.

you look at her with your eyes barely open and cover your face, feeling vulnerable. billie replaces your hands with hers, as she traces shapes along your cheeks. "you deserve to feel this good every time, y/n" billie states "let me know if you ever want to do it properly" she says, with a genuine smile. you smile back, nodding and mouth "thank you" as you try catching your breath. all of a sudden your eyes completely widen as very harsh knocking is coming from the other side of the door.

part two -> so you don't have to scroll all the way back up! :D

#billie eilish smut #billie eilish x reader #diceroll65 #diceroll65 writing #wlw #Spotify #billie eilish #hit me hard and soft #billie eilish imagine #hmhas tour #billie ellish lyrics

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jack-of-heartstrings · 1 month ago

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With us getting such big gay wins recently, I wanna take a moment to appreciate how inherently queer Miraculous has always been, even when it was far more subtle. I don't know if it was corporate pressure, actual meddling and censorship, or simply the writers being afraid of such things and finally taking off the gloves now, but I do know you could always feel it, and I don't just mean the previously implied couples now made canon, though maybe more in them than most really appreciate too.

It's in Marc's whole everything, how he's a walking gay pride banner to a point his name is a pun on "arc en ciel" (rainbow), yet his episodes have always been about belonging and acceptance and his personality revolves mostly around his passion for writing (and occasionally sports!) rather than Liking Boys being his defining trait as many shows with such an obvious design would do.

It's in how WAY back in season 2 Rose straight up kissed Juleka on the mouth, just slightly off-screen, and under the Zombizou effect.

It's in Kitty Section's whole vibe, and multiple characters directly assigning Luka the David Bowie song Rebel Rebel. (The song starts "You got your mother in a whirl, cause she's not sure if you're a boy or a girl." Bowie was also openly bi.)

It's in the ways the Love Square plays with gender norms. In the way Chat Noir's aesthetic would be traditionally only be for Catwoman and (Spider-Man's) Black Cat types. The way Marinette is frequently portrayed as the Knight to Adrien's Princess, the way Adrien is allowed to be a "damsel" in a lot of ways and still worth of love and treasured just as he is with no need to "earn" that, in Adrien being the Yin and Marinette the Yang with their symbolism. The ways their presentation and energy varies between personas. Etc.

It's in Alec, and the fact that they were one of the first characters we ever met in the show, and maybe the writers hadn't planned anything with them yet but even if it was retroactive that's still cool. The fact that their change was so casual and just remains a thing now.

It's in the pregnant lesbian dressed as a French flag sans-culottes wielding a fucking guillotine as a weapon storming the Paris capitol a day or few before Bastille Day and yeah okay maybe the lesbian part is relatively small but come on that was just one of the sickest things ever lmao. But yeah Miss Bustier and her wife are nice to see, as are Majestia and Knightowl while we're talking about relatively minor but still present adult queer couples. (I hope we'll meet Kim's dads in the show this season, too!)

It's in the occasional crumbs of polyamory acknowledgement. When Andre says he could make a three-person ice cream, it just "might throw off the delicate balance" (which is more than the vast majority of everything would give us). When Marinette says Zoe's crush could like two people. When Marinette acknowledges her feelings for Luka and Adrien as valid at the same time even though she still pressured herself to choose and then to shift flavors with Luka. Nathalie's whole everything and arguably the implications she was in love with both Gabriel and Emilie.

It's in how Alix is only said to be aromantic via Twitter but she's clearly so happy in her solo time guardian role, just chilling with herself. And the ways her reactions to Marinette's issues occasionally vary from the rest of the cast, i.e. "Wouldn't it be more logical to buy her a smoothie and help her work out her love problems?", are so good.

It's in how they treat chosen names in the series. That one I feel is so easy to overlook or take for granted, but whatever someone identifies as right then is their objectively true and correct name (see: the Book of Truth identifying Pharaoh, not Jalil, in Reunion). Every time Gabriel changes his villain name everyone uses the new one immediately. It's just really nice.

Nearly all of these things individually are so small, but there are so so many of them and I'm probably forgetting more. The series has always had queer influence, and it's honestly not surprising that they went through the steps needed to use the Progress Pride flag in a commercial work, let alone that we're finally getting more loud and explicit rep this season after the bolder steps they took in s5. But I'm so glad for every bit of it, deeply glad that it's finally more front and center, and I hope we get more moving forward, too!

#miraculous ladybug #mlb fandom #mlb analysis #miraculous analysis

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keeryhours · 7 months ago

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lover boy - steve harrington

Modern College AU

Frat King! Steve Harrington x female! Reader

Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

You absolutely do not want to see Steve tonight, but your friends convince you to go to his frat’s big party anyway. This is definitely not going to end badly.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), p in v, rough sex, sort of mean!Steve but also not at all, drinking

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N:

I’m interested in writing more about frat Steve if y’all like this and want more! Requests are open :)

—

“Oh, come on,” your friend, Kayla, said. “It’s going to be fun.”

You weren’t so sure. It’s not that you didn’t like going to college parties, because you definitely did, it’s just that this one was being thrown at a specific frat house. At his frat house.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I just don’t know.”

Your other friend, Jenna, spoke up then. “There’s gonna be so many people there, you probably won’t even see him.” She attempted to reassure you. You didn’t really believe it, but you wanted to make your friends happy.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll go.”

Kayla and Jenna both began screaming then, both of them wrapping their arms around you which made you laugh.

“It’s going to be amazing,” Kayla said, absolutely beaming. “This is supposed to be, like, the party of the year.”

—

You, Kayla, and Jenna all crowded into your dorm room to get ready for the party that night. Your entire closet was on your bed by the time you were dressed, since your friends wanted to see every option possible before you decided on an outfit. You ended up in a cute new top you’d bought recently and a short skirt. You felt hot, at least.

Your friends looked equally hot. You all crowded into the mirror together as you pulled your cell phone out and took a photo, all three of you smiling. You posted it on your story before the three of you left.

Living on campus, the frat house wasn’t far away. You all decided to drive in Kayla’s car anyways because none of you wanted to walk blocks in your outfits.

The three of you sang along to music loudly as Kayla drove, the excitement for the party already high. You were the only one who couldn’t relax and just be happy, your mind racing about whether you’d see him there. You felt like you would - how could you not? He was president of the whole fraternity. You regretted letting your friends talk you into this, but at the same time, you didn’t want to let him ruin yet another night.

The party was already going strong when you pulled up to the house. The lawn was dotted with drunk college students, empty red cups all over. The three of you linked arms as you walked up to the front door, always a unit.

You had to separate as soon as you walked into the house, however, the crowd pushing in at you on all sides. You tried your best to form a hand holding train to the kitchen, which worked well enough.

You laughed as the three of you stumbled into the kitchen, and you grabbed three red solo cups, handing one to each of your friends. You made your drink strong, you knew you’d need it tonight.

You were pleasantly surprised at how well the night started. You didn’t see him, you didn’t run too close to any of his asshole friends. You started your night getting tipsy and dancing with Kayla and Jenna, but of course they each ended up being pulled off by some guy, and you were left alone. You’d had multiple guys approach you, but you weren’t interested. You had just wanted to hang out with your girls tonight.

You found yourself heading back into the kitchen for another drink refill. You would have to come up with a new plan for the night since your friends had been distracted.

You poured another strong drink in your cup, taking a big sip immediately. You were already feeling pretty loose and comfortable, after this drink you felt like you’d be having a really good time.

Tommy found you in the kitchen, which wasn’t ideal, but he had Carol with him so you weren’t too upset. The couple practically cornered you, and you ended up in a conversation with them as you finished your drink. By the time you were done you really were having an amazing time, laughing so hard your stomach hurt at some story Tommy was telling.

“I wanna go dance now,” Carol said, rubbing her hand over Tommy’s chest. He looked down at her hand before meeting her eyes again, giving her a smirk.

“You got it, baby,” he said, grabbing her hand. “See you around,” he said to you with a nod.

“You should come dance, too!” Carol called as her boyfriend dragged her off.

You didn’t think that sounded like a terrible idea. You tossed your cup in the trash can as you walked - you were plenty tipsy for now and you’d just get another one if you wanted another drink.

Back on the makeshift dance floor, you let yourself feel the music, dancing alone. Carol smiled at you from across the floor, and you giggled back at her. You were feeling incredible.

The feeling of large hands on your hips and someone’s body pressing up behind you took you by surprise, but it wasn’t unwelcome. You danced on this mystery guy, grinding your ass back against his hips. You thought maybe you’d found your entertainment for the evening, until you heard that voice in your ear.

“Hey, pretty lady,” Steve hummed in your ear as he danced against you, pushing the bulge in his jeans up against your ass. His fingertips teased up your bare thighs, slightly pushing up your already tiny skirt.

You had done so well avoiding him all night, and now here he was, as close to you as he could get, his hands trailing under your skirt. And you weren’t pushing him away. Your skin tingles everywhere he touches. It always went the same way with him.

“Steve…” you breathed out, continuing to dance slowly to the music. Steve’s grip tightened on your body.

“I feel like you’ve been avoiding me…” he said, his voice low and right in your ear. He caressed your thighs as he danced against you, pulling you tightly against his own hips.

“No,” you lied, a blush rising to your cheeks that you were glad he couldn’t see. “I just didn’t see you.”

“Well here I am,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. Yeah, here he was.

“I’ve missed you,” he continued to purr in your ear. “You haven’t been texting me back.”

You fought back the urge to sigh. “You know why, Steve.”

Steve laughed lowly against your neck, his hands moving up to grip your hips and guide you back against him. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

Steve liked to play games. You swore to yourself and your friends that you were over him, and you weren’t going back to him again. He was no good for you, he only ever wanted to fuck and then act like he doesn’t even know you at school. Yet every time you came face to face with him, you fell back into him every time.

You didn’t respond to Steve. You kept dancing on him instead, grinding your ass back against him until you could feel just how hard he was through his jeans.

He wasn’t shy about moving his hands wherever he wanted to go, starting from your hips up and over your stomach and breasts, then back down to feel your bare thighs again, hands reaching beneath your skirt until fingertips traced lightly over your panties.

You gasped at the feeling. You were suddenly aware of how exposed you were.

“Not here…” you mumbled back to him, hoping he could hear you over the blaring music.

You felt him grin against your neck. “Wanna go up to my room, then?”

You should have said no. You were going to say no. At least that’s what you tell yourself. In reality, you didn’t hesitate before you were nodding your head, which only made Steve grin wider.

He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, before pulling you through the party and up the stairs. You caught Jenna’s attention for a moment as Steve dragged you off, and she gave you a wide eyed look that said, Really?, to which you could only shrug. She shook her head at you as you followed Steve upstairs.

You had been in his room many times before, so this was nothing new. He locked the door behind you, turning to you with that cocky smile on his face.

“Did you wear this tiny little thing for me?” he asked as he walked right up on you, his fingers toying with the hem of your mini skirt.

“No,” you responded with a scoff. “What, I can’t want to look cute without it being for you?”

“Who else do you wanna impress?” he asked, chuckling darkly. He slid his hands beneath your skirt, cupping your ass in his large hands and squeezing.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” you huffed, but then Steve was leaning down and before you knew it his lips were on yours. You hesitated for only a second before you kissed him back, your arms wrapping around his neck. He felt you up as he kissed you, his hands continuing to feel your ass and play with the hem of your panties.

He pushed your panties down your legs, and you stepped out of them and kicked them away when you felt them hit the ground. He groaned, his hands having full access to wherever he wanted now.

He felt around your smooth legs, one hand sliding around your front until he was slipping a finger between your folds, feeling how slick you were already.

“So wet for me,” he groaned against your lips. “You always act like you don’t want me anymore, but your pussy always begs for me.”

He circled around your clit with a single fingertip and you leaned your head back, letting out a sigh of pleasure. Steve took the opportunity to attack your neck, biting and sucking at your skin before soothing it with his kisses. You figured he’d be leaving marks again. You knew you’d regret letting him do it tomorrow, but for now it just felt so good.

Steve moved his hands back up to your hips, then slid them up your sides, feeling the skin beneath your shirt until he was pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. He undid your bra with expert fingers, then he cupped your breasts with his hands, thumbs rubbing over your hardening nipples.

You tangled your hands in his perfectly styled hair, messing it all up. He didn’t complain as he moved back up to kiss you again, his tongue tracing along your lips until you let him in. You moaned at the feeling of his tongue pressed against yours as he kissed you deeply, making him smile into the kiss.

He pulled away from you with a smack to your ass. “Get on your hands and knees for me, baby.”

You moved to push your skirt down your legs, but he stopped you.

“No. I think I like the skirt,” he said, a smirk on his lips.

You smiled to yourself as you climbed onto his bed on your hands and knees, lowering your upper half to lay on his soft sheets, the side of your face pressed into the mattress.

Steve groaned in approval, flipping your skirt up and rubbing a hand over your ass as he took in the view. He gave it another harsh slap, causing you to jerk forward and moan out at the feeling.

You heard him quickly undressing himself. His shirt hitting the floor, his belt unbuckling and zipper coming undone as he pushed his jeans and boxers down.

You felt his hands on your hips as he positioned himself behind you, his hard cock grazing against your thigh as he adjusted himself.

You closed your eyes in anticipation, subconsciously moving your hips back against him, wanting to feel him inside you immediately.

He smacked your ass again, and you let out a mix between a yell and a moan.

“Always so eager for me…” he mumbled, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock and giving himself a couple quick strokes. He rubbed his tip between your glistening folds, coating his dick in your wetness.

You gasped when you felt him against your entrance, but you barely had time to think about it before he was thrusting in without warning, filling you completely in a second.

You screamed his name, your fists balling into the sheets, looking for some kind of leverage over the intense pleasure and slight pain from the stretch of him. Steve had a big dick, and he knew it.

You could hear the smirk in his voice even as he praised you, setting a brutal pace as he thrusted into your pussy. “Taking me so well, baby. She’s so fucking tight, every time for me.”

You moaned as he fucked you mercilessly, your eyes rolling back in your head and you thought you might also be drooling. Your brain was already hazy from the pleasure, when Steve reached forward, grabbing onto your shoulder so he could pull you back on his cock harder and faster.

You didn’t know if you could take much more of this. You felt your orgasm building fast, just from the perfect way he was fucking you. You felt like you had lost your mind and the only thing that was left was Steve and the way he was making you feel.

Steve grunted as he thrusted into you harshly while also pulling your body against his hips with every movement. His head dropped forward, hair hanging in his face, as he groaned loudly.

“Fuck, baby…” he panted out. “You have the perfect fucking cunt. I’ve never fucked a pussy this good, I swear to god.”

You whined at the compliment, arching your back as he took everything he wanted from your body. And you were happy to let him do it.

Steve reached one hand around your body to rub quick circles against your clit. You were already close just from his dick, so when you felt his touch you cried out, eyes closing hard and desperate moans spilling from your lips as you came hard around his cock. You tensed around him, making him groan loudly as he only pounded into you faster, chasing his own release.

“Yeah…that’s it, good girl,” he grunted out as he leaned his whole body over you. He rutted into you nearly desperately at this point, his grip on your hip tightening until you were sure it would leave a bruise.

“Fuck…gonna cum,” he groaned, and you felt his thrusts becoming more frantic and sloppy. “Can I cum inside?”

“Yes,” you answered him immediately. “Please. I’m good. I want you to.” You were practically begging him, it was your favorite way for him to finish and you felt like you needed it desperately.

Steve moaned, moving his hand up to grab your hair as he buried his face in your neck, thrusting into your pussy from behind at that brutal pace until he pushed in one last time, moaning your name before he groaned as he filled you deeply. You felt the warmth of him deep inside you and you whined, pushing your hips back against him as if wanting more even though you were both now utterly spent.

Steve tried to catch his breath as he laid over you. Realizing you were probably uncomfortable with all his weight on you, he carefully pulled out, rolling onto his side next to you.

Your body felt used in the best way. You ached, both from and for him. You were always insatiable when it came to Steve, that was one of your many problems.

Steve stood, pulling his boxers and jeans back on. You still hadn’t even moved from your position on your stomach, feeling like your body was made of jelly.

“You should get cleaned up and get back out there,” he said, pulling his shirt on over his head. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to fix it.

You looked over at him. You always wished he’d stay, even just for a little while. Cuddle a little, maybe. But this was King Steve and he didn’t do things like that.

You lifted your aching body from the bed, feeling a little embarrassed as you had to nakedly hunt for your clothes on the floor. You found your top, but couldn’t find your panties anywhere until Steve tossed them to you with a smirk.

“I would have kept them, but with that little thing,” he eyed your skirt hungrily, like he wanted to get beneath it again, “I think you need ‘em more than I do.”

You blushed, sliding your panties back on. “You’re a pig.”

Steve laughed, leaning over to look at himself in the mirror attached to his dresser. He fixed his hair a little more, and then he was heading to the door.

“Take your time in here,” he said, unlocking and opening the door. He slipped through, careful not to expose your still topless form to anyone in the hallway. He looked back at you before he fully left. “I’ll text you,” he said, giving you a wink, and then he was gone.

You sighed as you pulled the rest of your clothes back on. You felt the same way you always did after you ended up sleeping with Steve again - guilty, angry at yourself. But also longing for more from him, which was probably the part of yourself you hated the most.

You slipped out of his bedroom, straightening your clothes and hair. You managed to get back to the party undetected.

You swore that you weren’t going to let Steve ruin your night, and you didn’t plan to let that change even though you’d fucked him again.

You went back into the kitchen, making yourself another drink. Steve was across the room, leaning against the wall and talking to a group of people hanging on his every word. This included at least three girls, one of which was literally hanging on his arm.

You rolled your eyes and walked into the living room, drinking from your cup as you walked. You wanted to get drunk now, forget all about Steve. Again.

Jenna caught your eye as you entered the room, and she left the guy she’d been with the whole night to run over and grab your arm.

“What the fuck was that?” she hissed at you, not wanting the whole party to hear. “Did you fuck him again?”

The look on your face was answer enough. Jenna sighed and looked at you like she was disappointed, which made you feel terrible.

“Come on, girl. I love you. You need to respect yourself more than that.”

You knew she was right, but you didn’t want to think about it anymore. You tugged on her hand. “I don’t want to talk about him. Come on, come dance with me.”

She looked at you strangely as she let you lead her to the dance floor. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, concerned.

“I’m great,” you assured her, a smile plastered to your lips. “I just want to have fun tonight, okay?”

She looked at you for a few seconds longer, but then she gave in, sighing and squeezing your hand. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s dance.”

You smiled gratefully at her, and the two of you started dancing along to the music. The current song ended, and the one that came on next happened to be your friend group’s favorite. You both laughed and began singing along, Kayla running from wherever she had been all night to join in dancing with you.

You didn’t need Steve or any guy to have a good time. Even though you let him in again, let yourself be let down by him again, you could push that out of your mind. Right?

He watched you from across the room as you danced with your friends. You could feel his eyes burning into you, but you only allowed yourself to look up once, only for a moment. He turned his attention back to the girl he was talking to the second your eyes met, but you saw him.

You were tired of stressing over Steve. Fuck Steve.

Whatever. You were going to have fun. The night was still young.

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alchemistc · 6 months ago

Text

Part One

Oh, I've got plenty to be thankful for

I've got eyes to see with

Ears to hear with

Arms to hug with

Lips to kiss with

Someone to adore

-bing crosby

He keeps waiting for someone to say something. To accuse him of lingering where he doesn't belong, or remind him he'd never actually made it all the way in. To tell him to go home, maybe get a halfhearted promise to let him know how Buck is at some point.

Maddie lays an exhausted head on his shoulder and Bobby sneaks him a slice of pumpkin pie he's apparently been hiding in the tote at his feet. Hen tosses him a power bank with a lightning cord and Karen makes a joke about his holiday attire.

When the coffee comes, Howie takes the trip to the lobby with him, pulls out his wallet and does his damnedest to strong arm Tommy into letting him tip the haggard looking girl another twenty bucks on top of the fifty Tommy'd figured was appropriate for having to balance a literal stack of hot beverages from the parking lot on Thanksgiving. She eyes them both with a smile and Tommy is more compelled the grab the drink carriers from her tired arms than stop Howie.

They're halfway back when Howie purposely slows his pace, and Tommy fights the urge to pick his up and avoid whatever's coming down on him. "So. Was this the wake up call you needed, or can I expect Buck to order a freezer on a Black Friday deal for my garage to store more baked goods?"

He doesn't know what that means.

He can extrapolate, though. "He's been baking?"

"Tommy, I cannot stress enough exactly how much he's been baking."

He'd tried his hand at a few things here and there, but Tommy's used to experimental chef Evan Buckley, not baking Evan Buckley. To be fair, if he'd seen Evan working a KitchenAid, apron tied loose and flour on a cheekbone, Tommy doubts he'd have actually had the time to finish whatever he had planned. That was then, of course.

"What was he doing on that trail, Howie?" That, too, he could maybe extrapolate. He doesn't want to, but he could.

Howie eyes him. Uses his free arm to elbow Tommy in the ribs. "You were the first person he ever invited to a 118 Thanksgiving, you know. My guess? He wasn't in the mood to be reminded of it while there was no room in the oven to bake away his feelings."

Yeah.

Jax had been over the moon when Tommy offered to take his shift, no trades necessary. What would the point have been, when Christmas and New Year's would be unbooked too?

Evan had bribed like six different people to ensure they'd be able to swing dinner on the day. Hobbes had sounded so thrilled to hear Tommy asking for the time off that he'd approved it without even looking at the shift.

"I'm just warning you in advance. The grovelling process is gonna involve eating your weight in loaves, most likely."

And that's that, apparently. No heavy handed warnings, no suspicion about why Tommy hasn't fucked off yet. Like it's some foregone conclusion that Tommy's not gonna panic and bolt a second time. Nothing has changed, yet Tommy gets the feeling they're all expecting some tearful reunion and a return to TommyandBuck.

Tommy slips the tea into Maddie's hands and watches her sniff it in distaste, which is an interesting nugget he'll have to revisit later if -

If.

There's no guarantees, here. That Tommy will be able to articulate how fucking terrified he is, that Evan will understand it. That the two of them will find a way through it together. All he has to go on is a solo hike on a day Evan should have been with family, an apparent bakery full of feelings spread between the 118, and the quiet calm that had washed over him when Eddie prompted him to make a decision.

Feet to the fire, he'd stayed.

---

Maddie's pregnant. It hits him between the eyes right around hour three of sit-and-wait. He's not an idiot, or a fool, and he hasn't spoken to any of these people in weeks so he's not going to announce it to the world, but somewhere in between the sporadic naps on Tommy's shoulder and the way she is attempting (failing) to power through her now cold tea makes him think. She and Bobby had driven here, and it's clear everyone else had been indulging. Maddie's no lush, but he's seen her knock back half a bottle of wine before when she's got nowhere to be.

She excuses herself to the bathroom for a third time, looking a little green, and Tommy ends up locked in a staring contest with Howie that only ends when Tommy mimes zipping his lips.

He still hasn't gotten the story about Eddie and why he's not here.

Bobby and Athena are apparently closing in on a new house.

Howie is less than a year away from having a second kid.

Athena's kids are apparently at Howie and Maddie's, attempting to keep Mara and Jee from destroying the house in the absence of adults.

And Tommy wants.

Wanting has never really been the problem, though. Wanting is the easy part. Wanting doesn't get him over the hurdle of knowing he's not enough. For Evan, for this family he's built that just keeps growing bigger and bigger. It'd been a relief, those first few days after, not to have to wonder which member of the 118 would land in the hospital next, not to have to rearrange something else on his schedule because Evan was convinced he was cursed, or Eddie'd had another shitty call with Christopher.

The relief hadn't lasted. A week in, he'd stayed up all night demolishing the half-bath off his dining room, because he'd been putting it off for months and he'd nearly texted Evan something that was startlingly revealing and left him exposed on all sides. Two weeks in he'd finished grouting the backsplash in his kitchen. And in between, he wondered how Eddie was doing, if he'd made any progress with his son. He'd wondered if Maddie enjoyed the bottle of wine they'd brought back from a spur of the moment trip to Napa. He'd wondered how Nash was doing, if he was readjusting to having his crew and his station back. He wondered how Hen and Karen were, how many things Denny had already gotten stuck in his cast trying to ease an itch.

He'd wondered, and he'd sat in it, and then he'd rewired the shoddy work an electrician had done in his spare room that he kept telling himself he'd get around to.

The wanting never goes away. He just finds new places to put it when he starts to care too much.

"Kinard and Buckley?"

Maddie's still in the restroom. Tommy - has no fucking clue why the nurse is staring at them like they'll just materialize the right people. She sucks in her lips and gives him a dead eyed stare before her eyes dart to his chest. More specifically, the nameplate on his chest.

Tommy blinks.

---

The having is where he's always floundered. Things are temporary. People are temporary. He's always been borrowing. Borrowing time, attention, affection.

For a few months there, he'd really started to think he could handle the having. That he'd get to keep it.

---

"I'm Buckley, he's Kinard," Maddie says from somewhere over his left shoulder, and he turns in time to see her adjusting her jacket, wiping at her lip. She stabilizes, looking unfazed, and stands tall. As tall as she can, at least. "You have news about my brother?"

The nurse glances around the room. No one is bothering to pretend not to be listening. Maddie hovers a wave behind her.

"Ignore the audience, we're all waiting with bated breath to see how obnoxious my brothers going to be. It depends entirely on whether or not he gets pie tonight."

She gives them all a disapproving look. This must not be one of their normal nurses.

Christ. They have normal nurses.

"Well, no pie tonight, but he should be able to eat a sandwich in the morning."

He's fine. He's fine.

Tommy knew going in that most of his injuries were superficial. The ribs had been a concern but with the pain meds and the collar he hadn't really had a chance to exacerbate those injuries. There's no reason he should feel quite so relieved to know that Evan will have a few annoying splints to work around and he'll probably need to rehab his ankle for a couple weeks once it's healed. The concussion isn't ideal, and he'll need help for a few days, but he's fine.

Tommy can feel the tears building.

"He'll likely be out for a few more hours, but I'll let you know when he's set up in a room. Two visitors at a time," she warns. "The concussion will effect his response time. Don't be surprised if he doesn't remember much, loses his train of thought."

Hen shifts somewhere behind him. It feels a bit like she's being held back from correcting the nurse about the normal side effects.

Things move on around him. The nurse leaves, Hen passes a Stanley cup around that definitely isn't filled with water, the normal sigh of relief is released while Maddie drops into the seat next to him with a groan, the team has a strange competition around him to battle for visitor position.

Tommy breathes.

I should go, Tommy thinks to himself, as half the people in the room raise their phones.

His own phone vibrates against his thigh.

A message from Howie, time stamped two minutes - Tommy squints to make sure - two minutes ago, an update on Evan. Another from Eddie reminding them all to give Buck a patent Eddie look from him while they were giving him shit. A selfie of Eddie, with Christopher somewhat reluctantly bending into the picture over his shoulder.

In another thread, he's got three messages from Eddie.

If I have to remove you from this group I'm sending my kid after you with his crutches.

You guys hiked Griffith Park for your Not-A-One-Month-Anniversary-We-Swear date, right?

Send Buck my love. Not like that, though.

Tommy sends back: When the fuck did he add me to his emergency contacts? and then decides he doesn't want to know anyway so he turns off his phone.

---

Maddie goes alone, and Tommy spends the time alternating between tapping his foot against the tile to distraction, and clamping his hand over his knee in an attempt to stop the tapping.

Bobby and Athena go next, then Hen and Karen. Then they're pulling on jackets and promising to save a plate for Buck.

Howie slips away for a few minutes and then returns, looking amused. "You think everyone else got the same greeting?" he asks his wife, who grins tiredly at him, pats his wrist. Her gaze turns to Tommy.

"Should we stay?"

That's a trap of a question. That's an assumption Tommy doesn't have a clue how to handle. He clears his throat. Shakes a few curls loose.

"What makes you think he'd want me to?"

Maddie's perfected the unimpressed eyebrow. It must be a parent thing.

Tommy barely holds in the sigh. "Go enjoy your meal."

---

Evan's been watching the door. It's clear the moment Tommy makes it to the threshold - he presses up, winces, tips sideways just enough to peek around the corner.

"Tommy," he says, and his expression melts.

Tommy's heard some iteration of that name a million times. Tom, from his dad. Tommy, fond and quiet from his mother, who'd never really learned how to speak up before she was gone. Thomas, in school, from teachers annoyed that he wouldn't just apply himself.

He was Kinard, to teammates, then fellow soldiers, to the firefighters he'd worked alongside for a decade before he ever let any of them know him.

No one says his name with quite so much reverence as Evan Buckley. He's convinced himself, over the last few weeks, that he'd been hearing adulation in that tone. But now it just sounds...relieved. Happy.

Evan slumps back and tries to cross his arms in a pout. There are too many cords and wires attached to him for it to work. "I'm pretty sure I'm mad at you," he says, and Tommy steps over the threshold.

---

Hobbes sounds fucking thrilled to find out he's going to be down a pilot for five days.

Evan throws a fit when he finds out Tommy's plan is to sleep on his own couch for the short duration of Evan's stay. Evan wins the proceeding argument and doesn't even complain that Tommy hadn't argued too hard

Bobby brings over enough leftovers to keep them in turkey sandwiches for a week, and Tommy doesn't think to ask how he got Tommy's address.

Tommy breathes. Tommy thinks. Once Evan can hold a train of thought for more than five minutes, Tommy talks.

Evan listens.

---

"So no Christmas," Evan pouts, and Tommy wants to bite it. "And no New Year's."

Tommy shifts a hand over his shoulder, tucks his chin over top of it so he can't see the pout anymore. "We were both already working those anyway."

"Do people do anything to celebrate Presidents Day?"

"Evan."

"Tommy," Evan mocks, and pulls far enough away to catch his gaze. "In the interest of transparency that was mostly a cover so I didn't ask about Valentine's Day."

"Is this you not asking about Valentine's Day?"

His smile is deceptively sweet. "I need help with my sandwich."

Tommy's seen him balancing a glass of water, his phone, two books and a takeout bag in his one good hand. He's absolutely full of shit.

Tommy leans forward to grab the sandwich off Evan's plate for him.

---

"You should stay," Tommy says, an hour after midnight two days into the new year. He's tipsy on his second glass of cheap champagne and he can't think of a reason to keep this in, anymore. Evan crinkles a brow at him.

"I... wasn't planning to go?"

There's a gold crown perched in his curls, and Tommy still hasn't taken the cheap plastic 2025 glasses off. The house is quiet, and there'd been shockingly few fires started by fireworks this year, so he's less tired than he'd expected to be.

"I meant -." Tommy starts, and then pauses. "I meant permanently. You should live here."

Evan laughs. Takes a bite out of his cake, and rolls his eyes, and then...stops. His entire body stills. "What."

It's ridiculous. The very thing that had pushed Tommy up out of his seat just a few months ago, sent him out the loft door with wet eyes and a heaviness in his heart.

"Tommy," Evan prompts, and Tommy catches the hand frozen on the countertop. He'd planned to hold this back, wait until something significant or poignant. But Evan had baked them a red velvet cake and argued with him the entire drive back from dinner about the proper way to fold a towel, and Tommy's tired of denying this isn't everything he's refused to let himself want for decades.

"You don't have to say yes just to confirm you're not breaking up with me," he tries to joke, and it falls flat.

"Tommy," Evan murmurs, quieter but more insistent.

"I'm serious. I want you here. I want -."

"Yes," Evan says, and squeezes his hand before he ducks his head bashfully. "Sorry. Continue."

"I want a life with you." The tears tickle at the back of his throat. He's gonna fucking cry, again. He'd always fucking known opening himself up to this was just an invitation for more tears in his life.

He can't quite convince himself the rest doesn't make them worth it.

"Yes. Again. Tommy, of course." He tips his chin. Purses his lips. "If you're sure."

Tommy swallows down the lump in his throat. He's never been more sure or more terrified of anything in his life. So he tells him so.

The words are like knives, but he works his way through the soreness, fights up past the fear that he's not sure will ever completely go away, and claws past the reminder that it's been a blink of an eye since Tommy walked out on this.

"Well. You can't walk out of your own house," Evan points out when he's finished, and of all things, it's that that snaps the tension of for once in his life prioritizing something other than fucking survival. He tips a grin, curls his elbow to bring their entwined hands to his lips. "It's gonna take years to coordinate another Thanksgiving with everyone," he bemoans, looking suspiciously watery-eyed himself as he holds Tommy's own wet gaze.

Tommy can extrapolate from that.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #happy Thanksgiving #pls feel free to piss off your relatives at the dinner table this afternoon!#tommy and buck would approve!

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prettylilyanime · 5 months ago

Text

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 05

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: subtle yn lore gets dropped here…

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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After Bakugou had been generous enough to help haul in your endless pile of boxes—a consequence of your admittedly irresponsible spending—it seemed he decided to spare you further torment by announcing his departure.

Something about heading to the training arena to "get some real work done."

Not that his presence was bad.

No, it was torturous in the best way possible!

The I-want-him-to-stay-in-my-room-forever-and-keep-calling-me-princess kind of way.

Did that sound crazy?

Even with your ever-growing crush on the blonde, you couldn’t deny the wave of relief that washed over you at his exit.

He’d seen you like this—flustered, fumbling, barely holding yourself together—had even insisted you put on those stupid glasses, and yet…

Somehow, it wasn’t as horrible as you expected.

A warm flutter settled in your chest at the realization. He hadn’t cared about your appearance, hadn’t picked you apart like so many others had. It was a refreshing change from the judgment you’d grown used to.

You never quite understood why people felt so comfortable talking about your looks.

You barely felt comfortable talking to people, period.

And yet, strangers—people who didn’t know a thing about you—felt entitled to comment.

Your figure was amazing. Your hair looked great. What diets had you gone on?

God…

Bakugou didn’t seem to care about any of that.

His focus had been on your vision—or lack thereof. A stupid little thing, but the fact that he didn't seem to care about your looks made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

Now, left alone in the quiet of your room, you sat cross-legged on your bed, manicured fingers scrolling through your phone.

Your official account, @OfficiallyFlora, gleamed on the screen. The blue checkmark beside your username felt more like a weight than an accomplishment.

Your profile picture, an overly polished shot of you in your glittering hero costume—stared back at you. The flawless image, taken against a pristine white backdrop, was the product of your mother’s money and marketing efforts.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

Too pretty. Too refined. Too far from the girl sitting here now, sock clad in her bedroom, still reeling from the lingering scent of caramel and smoke that Bakugou had left behind.

Are your teeth really even that white in person?

You don’t know…

Your bio reads: Official Page of Pro-Hero Prospect Flora, making your hearts bloom with every step towards justice!

You sighed, rolling your eyes hard enough to strain something. The bio had been written by your mother’s PR team, dripping with saccharine energy that made you cringe every time you read it.

The rest of your feed wasn’t much better: high-definition shots of battles, cherry blossom-themed merch promotions, and glamorous magazine features.

It was a glossy, manufactured version of you that bore little resemblance to the person staring at the screen, glasses perpetually sliding down her nose.

Growing bored of the staged content, you switched to your private account.

Your followers on this one are, well. Your classmates, surprisingly enough, and one of your mother's pool boys who had asked for your Instagram years ago before you ever even had an official page in hopes of getting to talk to you more?!

You can't help but quirk a brow, you should really get him off your page...

Here, the photos were more personal: snapshots of your travels, close-ups of meals you’d enjoyed, and a random assortment of things that caught your eye.

The likes rarely climb beyond single digits, but it was real and a better representation of yourself than the other page.

A pang of curiosity struck as your fingers moved on autopilot, typing in Bakugou’s name.

His official account, curated by Best Jeanist’s team, popped up first. His posts were as structured as yours—action shots, hero promotions, and carefully orchestrated PR moves.

But unlike how you felt about your feed, his action shots were breathtaking.

One image, in particular, caught your attention: Bakugou holding a tiny kitten that had been stuck in a tree. His sharp features softened as he cradled the fluffy creature, his biceps bulging against his hero suit.

You snorted, amused by the juxtaposition. No matter how intimidating he looked, the sight of him with a kitten was almost too much.

Shaking your head, you scrolled through some of your classmates’ accounts. Their updates showed them at the beach, enjoying pizza nights, and huddled around a glowing campfire.

Seems like without Bakugou around to act as head chef, they had to order takeout instead.

You frowned, an unshakable pit forming in your stomach.

You drop your phone onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. Maybe what you needed was a nice meal—something indulgent to shake off the restless energy.

The thought of heading to the nearest convenience store for another pint of ice cream crosses your mind, the idea warm and tempting. But no.

Not this time.

Instead, maybe you could make an effort. Doll yourself up a bit, put on some makeup, and head out into town. Who needs a big group when you’ve got yourself?

Determined to follow through, you sit up and scan the endless boxes of your new purchases. Finally, you land on a little buttercup-yellow tweed Chanel set, complete with a mini skirt and cropped blazer.

You slip it on, the fabric hugging your figure perfectly and highlighting your silhouette in all the right places.

Hell, for this price point, it better do all of the above!

You turn to your vanity, reaching for your makeup bag. You opt for a soft, casual look—subtle yet radiant, with just enough shimmer to catch the light. Twinkly in all the right places.

To complete the look, you sling a new ivory-colored purse over your shoulder. A cute yellow dandelion charm clipped to the side adds just the right touch of cuteness.

Standing in front of the mirror, you take a moment to admire your reflection. You look polished, confident, like someone ready to take on the evening—even if it’s a solo adventure.

Maybe you’d check out that new sushi spot closer to home!

Yeah, it’s fine that your classmates wouldn’t join you! They'd probably just make you more anxious anyways.

But as you’re heading downstairs and toward the door, you suddenly freeze. A realization dawns on you.

Hajime has the weekend off.

You groan out loud. How are you going to get there? You can’t drive!

Frustration bubbles up, and you slap your forehead. Were you really this helpless? The thought makes you wince, embarrassment creeping in at the edges of your thoughts.

"If I speak, you gonna jump and scream again?" A voice, an irritatingly familiar voice announces his presence.

The familiar gruff voice startles you, and admittedly, you do almost scream. Holding it back though, you whirl around to see Bakugou having just walked out of the elevator behind you.

He seems freshly showered, with his hair still a bit damp, out and pushed back from his handsome face. You could smell him from where you're standing.

Ugh, delicious as usual.

“You did kind of surprise me,” you admit, voice sheepish as your eyes dart away from him.

His eyes roam over your figure quickly, though you don't notice the action over your own mourning of the evening.

“You’re going out?”

The question leaves his mouth before he can stop it, and if he could, he’d smack himself upside the head. Why the hell did he even ask? It’s obvious you are. And more importantly—why is he even starting a conversation in the first place?

Up until literally yesterday, you were just another classmate. Background noise. But these back-to-back interactions are becoming unavoidable, and unfortunately, you’re slipping out of the backdrop and into his world.

You shake your head, lips pulling into a soft, resigned smile. “Well, I was going to, but… I just realized I don’t have any way of getting there.”

“Hah? Can’t take the train?”

Heat blooms across your face, creeping down your neck. “Oh, well… I’ve never taken public transportation.”

There’s a beat of silence—just long enough for you to see the exact moment Bakugou short-circuits.

“Is that some shitty joke?”

You thought your cheeks couldn’t possibly burn hotter, but—oh, look at that! They can!

“I- um, well, no. It’s not.” You swallow, fiddling with the strap of your ivory purse. “Hajime’s driven me everywhere since I was little.”

He blinks, slowly. More in disbelief than anything.

“Hajime?”

You nod. “Yeah, um… my personal driver.”

For a second, you think he might actually roll his eyes. On anyone else, the whole spoiled rich kid routine would piss him off. But with you, it’s different.

Maybe it’s the way you look so flustered, like you’re embarrassed to admit it. Or maybe it’s the way your voice dips, like you’re apologizing for just existing.

Either way, it leaves him feeling something weird—something dangerously close to wanting to help. Again.

Twice in one day. A world record, if he says so himself.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

You wince, shoulders curling inward. “I know! It’s bad, okay? But it’s just how I was raised…”

How you were raised?

Bakugou’s brow lifts slightly. So what, you were raised to be a stay-at-home daughter? Spend money like it’s a full-time job?

He knows about your family. Everyone does.

A mother who inherited an entire hero firm from your grandparents—a dynasty so powerful its stocks and investments practically fuel Japan’s economy. And a father who died in the field before you were even born—a rising star in the hero world, gone far too soon.

Your mother, a young heiress to millions. Your father, a pro hero at the height of his career. Expecting their first child. A baby girl—you.

And then, just like that, it all came crashing down.

A mission gone wrong.

A hero lost.

Your father’s death sent shockwaves through the country, leaving Japan in mourning—not just for the man he was, but for the legend he never got the chance to become.

He doesn’t say anything right away—just stares at you with an unreadable expression that makes your stomach churn.

Then, without warning, he mutters, “Get your stuff. We’re going.”

Your head snaps up. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.” He’s already pulling on his sneakers, his movements brisk and determined. “No way in hell am I letting you graduate from U.A. without knowing how to take a damn train. That’s pathetic.”

“Bakugou, you really don’t have to—”

“Second time today.” He cuts you off with a sharp look over his shoulder. “It’s already happening. Move it, princess.”

Your mouth opens, ready to argue—but the words die in your throat when you see the set of his jaw, the fire in his gaze. He’s not going to back down.

You’re not sure what’s more overwhelming—the idea of taking your first train ride…

Or the fact that Bakugou Katsuki is the one dragging you along for the ride.

You gulp, hurrying after him as he strides out of the dormitory, his natural pace effortlessly long and brisk. You almost trip trying to keep up, the heels of your boots clicking against the pavement.

God, why does he walk so fast?

“We’ve got a station down the block from the UA gates,” he says, barely glancing at you. “We’ll go to that one.”

You nod, stiff as a board. “Gotcha. So, um… where did you want to go?”

His blonde brow arches, the side of his lip curling like you just said something unbelievably stupid. “What? This isn’t about me. This is about teaching you how to get on a damn train.”

You wince, embarrassed. “Right. That makes sense.”

The two of you walk in relative silence, the crisp evening air settling over you like a thin veil.

The streets leading to the station aren’t crowded, but there are enough people out that you can feel the occasional passing glance—whether they recognize you as a hero-in-training or simply because you look like you don’t belong in a place as mundane as a train station, you’re not sure.

Your perfectly tailored blazer, Italian leather purse, and neatly manicured nails feel almost too polished for the scuffed pavement beneath your feet.

Bakugou, on the other hand, fits in seamlessly.

His hands are shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his comfy sweatpants loose around his legs and tight at his waist.

He looks completely at ease, like this is just another part of his day—meanwhile, your heartbeat is rattling in your ears at the thought of navigating a train station for the first time.

After a few minutes, you reach the station entrance, the underground stairway yawning open before you. A few commuters shuffle past, swiping their cards at the turnstiles, moving like they’ve done this a million times.

You, however, stay frozen at the top of the stairs.

Bakugou doesn’t notice at first, too busy pulling out his own train pass. But when he looks up and sees you still standing there, brows drawn tight with hesitation, he sighs.

“Seriously?” He tilts his head, exasperation flickering in his red eyes. “It’s just a staircase, princess.”

“I know it’s just a staircase,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing down at the tiled steps leading into the station.

You’ve never been in one of these before, never had to navigate the organized chaos of public transport, never had to think about swiping a train card or picking a route.

A ridiculous thought hits you—you’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you don’t know how to take a train… or the fact that Bakugou Katsuki is the one who has to teach you.

You bite your lip, it's silly and you know it. “What if I mess up?”

Bakugou stares at you for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he snorts.

“With that attitude, you’re definitely gonna mess up. Sour face you got going on”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

His smirk is almost smug. “But that’s the whole damn point. You mess up, you figure it out, and then you won’t be a clueless dumbass next time.”

You scowl. “Your motivational speeches suck.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes before nudging your shoulder—just a small push, barely enough to make you step forward, but it’s enough to shake you out of your own head.

“Come on,” he mutters, starting down the stairs. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You inhale sharply and, with no other choice, follow him down.

The air shifts as you descend—cooler, tinged with the metallic scent of rails and the distant hum of an approaching train. Your grip tightens around the strap of your purse, nerves bubbling in your chest.

Why is everything so loud down here?!

Bakugou moves ahead, seamlessly navigating through the turnstiles. He scans his card with an effortless flick of his wrist, stepping through without hesitation.

You, on the other hand, stop in front of the machine, frowning at it like it’s a puzzle you weren’t given the pieces to.

Bakugou turns, watching you expectantly.

“Well?” he drawls.

You glance at the screen, then back at your card. “Do I just… tap it?”

“No, you rub it on the damn thing and hope it opens.”

Your glare is sharp, but you say nothing, instead hesitantly pressing the card against the sensor. The gate beeps, unlocking with a mechanical click.

You blink. That’s it?

“Wow, you did it.” Bakugou’s tone is mockingly slow, like he’s congratulating a toddler for taking their first steps.

You don’t know how, when, or what possesses you with a sudden surge of confidence, but before you can stop yourself, your hand reaches out, shoving his shoulder.

His muscled frame barely budges under your touch, solid beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

He snorts, a short chuckle slipping out as he steps toward the platform, the train’s arrival chime ringing through the station.

Then, as you approach the edge of the platform, a realization slams into you like a ton of bricks.

“…Wait.” You stop in your tracks, eyes widening. “How do I know which train to take?”

Bakugou exhales so deeply it sounds like his soul is actively trying to escape his body.

“God help me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw tightening as if he’s physically restraining himself from saying something he’ll regret.

For the first time today, you swear he actually looks pained.

Oh lord. Oh good grief. If you were just about anybody else right now, Bakugou wouldn’t just be snapping—he’d be out of here so fast, you’d be left choking on smoke.

The fact that a pro-hero-in-training, someone who’s supposed to be saving lives, has never taken a damn train is the kind of thing that should be illegal.

So why is he still here?

Why hasn’t he turned on his heel, thrown up his hands, and left you to fend for yourself like any rational, self-respecting person would?

He blinks, his gaze lingering on your face, and for a brief moment—so fast you almost miss it—you swear there’s something unreadable flickering behind those sharp red eyes.

Maybe it’s the way your lashes frame your doe-like eyes, dark and long, casting delicate shadows across your cheeks. Curse you and your stupid, stupid eyes. Is this some kind of second quirk? A hypnosis ability?

Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the way you fidget without realizing it.

Your hands twist together, fingers tangling like they’re trying to hold onto something steady.

Absentmindedly, you twirl the diamond-encrusted eternity band on your index finger, turning it over and over in a nervous rhythm. It catches the dim station light, flashing every time you spin it.

Bakugou’s gaze follows the movement, and something about the unconscious gesture makes his scowl deepen.

“…Tch.” He clicks his tongue, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “You really are helpless, huh?”

The words are gruff, edged with frustration, but he still doesn’t walk away.

Instead, he takes a step toward you, nodding toward the digital display overhead. The glowing letters flicker slightly, listing station names, times, and train lines in a way that makes your head spin.

“C’mon, dumbass. I’ll show you how to read the damn schedule before you get yourself lost in the middle of the city.”

Relief washes over you as you quickly follow his lead. “Ah, thank you!”

“Don’t thank me… just pay attention.”

And you do. You pay such good attention that by the time you finally grasp how the whole system works, you’re practically bouncing on your heels in excitement, a bright grin stretching across your face.

You stand on the platform, buzzing with a newfound confidence, while Bakugou—looking as perpetually unimpressed as ever—waits beside you with his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

Then, the distant hum of the train grows louder, and soon enough, the sleek cars pull into the station with a sharp metallic whir.

The doors slide open, and you eagerly step forward, your heeled boots clicking against the platform as you move inside. Bakugou follows closely behind, scanning the interior in one quick glance.

The train is relatively full—enough that only one open seat remains near the doors. Without hesitation, Bakugou nudges you toward it.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, grabbing onto the nearest safety pole as the doors begin to close.

You shake your head, brushing him off. “I’m okay.”

He scoffs, tilting his chin toward your feet. “The train moves fast and isn’t super smooth. I’m sure you don’t wanna go through all that with those on.”

You glance down at your shoes—sleek, heeled boots, stylish but sturdy. Your lips curve into a small smile.

“I’ll have you know my hero costume boots are even higher than these.”

His brow arches slightly, the hint of sarcasm sparking in his eyes. “Yeah? I’m impressed, considering how fast you ran away from me on day one.”

Oh, hell.

Heat creeps up your neck at the reminder, your confidence faltering for a split second. But you recover quickly, squaring your shoulders with a dramatic huff.

“Wow, Bakugou Katsuki, impressed? By little ol’ me?” You place a hand over your heart, feigning exaggerated awe. “It’s an honor.”

He snorts, shaking his head, but there’s something unreadable in the way his gaze lingers on you for just a moment longer.

Then, the train lurches forward.

Despite all your earlier bravado, you do wobble slightly—just enough for Bakugou’s smirk to return in full force.

“…Told you to sit, dumbass.”

But you can’t.

Not because you’re too stubborn. Not because you’re still trying to prove a point.

But because—oh.

A singular, large hand is suddenly tight on your waist, steadying you with an effortless grip.

Oh my.

Who needs a safety rail when Pro Hero Dynamight is holding you like this?!

You internally scream, the realization hitting you all at once. The touch itself isn’t anything crazy—it’s barely even a thing, just a reflex, something automatic, instinctual. Nothing compared to the absolute torture of this morning’s, uh, straddling situation.

And yet, this feels just as bad—if not worse.

Why? Because Bakugou, in all his brash, loud, obnoxious glory, doesn’t even seem to realize he’s still holding onto you.

His grip is firm, warm even through the thick expensive fabric of your clothes, and worst of all? It lingers.

Still there.

Still present.

Still burning through your skin like a brand.

Oh, hell.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

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