#the music industry is screwed up

[sunshineandlyrics]

Sigh, small bands in the music industry.

*A member of Monuments, a British metal band (28 February 2023) x

[readymades2002]

HEARTBREAKING: local blogger saw someone with an einsturzende neubauten tattoo at work and couldn't compliment them on it because i do not know how to pronounce their name yet <//////3

[earlgraytay]

I really wish that people had a better grasp on what The Average Person's Life was like pre-industrialization. If you're living in the global North the odds are good that your life is, in fact, better than a medieval king- yes, even with the political stuff- and would make your ancestors cry wild tears of envy.

The things that suck about your life are things that suck about the baseline human condition (at least since the invention of agriculture, but that's 10,000 years of humanity). Yes, including all the political stuff.

The baseline human condition is "being terrified of losing the harvest and starving", compared to that, losing a job is no big deal. (It's bad, it can be life-upendingly bad, but it's still not "you are guaranteed to die if you screw this up" bad for most people.)

The baseline human condition is "getting kicked around by a tin pot dictator", whether that be a king, a baron, a warlord, or a chief; it's taken centuries of social technology to get the world to a point where that's Not Normal.

The baseline human condition is "losing multiple siblings and/or children at a young age to diseases that are entirely preventable". That's a shocking tragedy now. The baseline human condition is "being in the pathway of said tinpot dictator's wars of conquest" and having to deal with soldiers' pillage, looting, and worse (even if they're nominally on your side). That is, again, a shocking tragedy-- it still happens, and happens in way too much of the world, but no one is going to tell you that it's normal.

I'm not saying that we can sit back and rest on our laurels. We can't. I've been calling the pre-industrial world the "baseline human condition" for a reason- unless you're very, very careful, that's what your society eventually reverts to. It takes a lot of people working very hard to make sure you don't have to live at the baseline human condition, and if you start slacking on that, you start backsliding into it.

How we treat each other- and how we use the technology, material and social, that we've developed to make things easier- matters. We can make the world even better than it is now. We can also make it significantly worse. The choice is ours.

...But if you know that you can reliably have food regardless of the season, you don't live in fear of a random attack killing you tomorrow, and you can listen to music on command whenever you want? You do actually live a better life than a medieval king. Because even kings and emperors were much closer to the baseline human condition than a random farm worker in Bumfuck, Iowa is today.

[nope-body]

.

[neowinestainedress]

wave | lee donghyuck

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You simply couldn’t care.

Yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you can be sure I will.”

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

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

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

Haechan is going to find out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mind to explain?”

“I… I didn’t do it on purpose?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You think I did that on purpose?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in.”

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

“Mark, can you lower the music?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re just mad you can’t beat me.”

“I can,” he retorts smugly.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Grating? Really?”

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

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

“I am studying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you mind?”

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing? I was kidding!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, anybody in mind?”

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

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

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

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

“Not yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you close, brat?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not smart of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not.”

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

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

“So I know how to beat you?”

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

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

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

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

“We are not studying together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but there should be a prize.”

“Being better than you is the prize.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haechan hates you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you mistake our notes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, just not every…thing…”

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

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

“So you plan on being terrible tomorrow?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With what notes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I swear, I — I want to… I want to —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just replied.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a deal.”

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

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

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

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

“Not now.”

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

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

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

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

“Elaborate and change my mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t write anything down.”

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

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

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

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

“Can’t compare Vang Gogh to Picasso.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you can’t come in,” you say.

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

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

“Is it really that small?”

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

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

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

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

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

“But you love it.”

“No.”

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

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

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

“And I’ll be at the library!”

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

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

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

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

“Want to go out with me?”

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

“Great, we’re going out tomorrow.”

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

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

“Where would you even take me?”

Haechan smirks. “It’s a surprise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I appreciate almost everything.”

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

“You have a car?”

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

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

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m poor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanted to take the metro?”

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

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

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

“You have a car?”

“No, I have a driving playlist.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh God,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Once,” you reply immediately.

“Twice, with the kiss…”

“You did that to shut me up.”

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

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

“Unfortunately, your mouth ruins everything.”

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

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

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

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

“And attracted to honey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now, lyricist… I try, sometimes…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have some notes to edit and —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haechan, what are y—”

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

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

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

“You really think I fucked Professor Kim?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

“What if they lock us inside?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, until you forget everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leaving,” he replies, shrugging.

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

“What? Are you wet? Do you want me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a deep breath. “I hate you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop mocking me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eager, honey?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not the professor so…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, would he fuck you better?”

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

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

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

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

“He seems —fuck— fitter than you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chuckle, deciding to believe him.

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

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

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

“They locked us in!”

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you say resolutely.  

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t believe you followed him blindly.

Your hands are still intertwined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh, humming. “Oh, I know.”

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

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

“Are you hinting at something?”

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

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

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

“Do you?” He winks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I played with your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. “Really?”

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

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

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

“That’s a crazy choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, don’t test me, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

Haechan shakes his head, waiting for you to talk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel your breath taken away as you feel like you’re falling behind in the river as the wind blows harder and your hands immediately leave the handrail to reach for him.

You’re not sure that wasn’t an attempted murder from him, but you can’t care when you feel your heart flutter and your legs give up as he deepens the kiss.

“Let it flow,” he whispers, kissing you again, whispering against your lips, “and the song will come at you.”

You know it’s not what he’s talking about, but you kiss him again, this time pushing him down so your feet are on the ground again. Your hands are holding tight on his sweatshirt as you pull him even closer and he does the same wrapping his arms around your frame tighter.

You find yourself in the same position in the living room of his apartment, struggling to make it to his bedroom without waking some of the others up. Not that you care much, it would be fair payback for all the chaos they make when you and Haechan are studying together.

The clothes fall on the floor as quickly as he’s on top of you on the bed.

“I hate that I have to ruin your pretty face,” he whispers, fingers deep inside your sopping wet cunt, pumping in and out painfully slowly as he stares at your face, a cute mix between ecstasy and annoyance because he’s giving you something but not enough. “The red eyeshadow looks really good on you, you know?”

You groan, rolling your head back. “It’s not time for compliments.”

“I’ve been complimenting you all night,” he says, teasing your clit with flicks of his thumb but without giving you much. “It is a shame you will look like a mess once I’m done with you.”

“We can’t be loud,” you say, hating that, for one reason or another, you two always have to keep quiet.

“Nah, Jeno has his headphones on playing games with Yangyang. Renjun has headphones on with music to don’t listen to Jeno. Mark’s not home and not even bombs wake Jaemin up.” The explanation is particularly non-sexy now that he has his fingers inside of you and it doesn’t make you relax much, but you hum nonetheless and beg him to keep going.

“Patience, honey. We’ve got all night,” he smirks.

“Yeah but —”

“Ah, ah,” he says, clicking his tongue and silencing you with a finger on your lips. “What did I tell you before? Let it flow.”

“It was different it was —ugh,” you mumble when he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes widening before they narrow to send him a deadly glare, but he only smirks. He has control now. He always does when he has you underneath him, he still has to fight with you a bit, but you both know this is the only time he can ever win against you. And tonight is special, he wants you to let go of the reins completely, he wants you brainless, because even if your brain is the sexiest thing of you —yeah, yeah, and the thing that is making his college years hell on earth— your brain is also the thing that makes you obsess over the smallest thing and doesn’t make you follow your heart so freely.

Yeah, tonight Donghyuck wants you free, but for the sake of the dirty talking later —and to fool himself he doesn’t care about you that much— he’s going to say he wants you dumb.

And he’s starting strong tonight, his beautiful, long fingers reaching deep inside you, hitting right against your sweet spot, causing so much cum to pool around them and drip down while your pussy clenches hard and your hips buck up to ride the pleasure with him. And you don’t have it in you to fight; it feels too good, especially when he starts rubbing your clit and whispers dirty talk about how well you’re taking him.

Your eyes flutter open, just in time to catch the proud smirk on his face as he stares at your body, you dare to say, in awe. It shouldn’t warm your heart, but it does. You don’t even care if he sees you like a prize he won, right now, because even if he does, you know he only fights hard to win the trophies he cares about. He wants you, he likes you, even. Between the hate and the tension, something about what attracts you two together makes this work. And it’s fine.

“Hyuck,” you breathe out, chest panting and toes curling as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach. But you don’t expect the next words that come out of your mouth. “Kiss me.” When you realize what you said, you anticipate him mocking you, your ears already hear the snicker you know, oh so well, but it never arrives. What arrives are his lips on yours as he leans down, pressing his chest against yours while his fingers keep working wonder inside you.

The kiss is passionate, but not rough like the ones you’re so used to sharing. There’s no anger in it, just need and greed, and chemistry. So much chemistry, your hands have to run in his hair and tug them, making him moan and his dick throb against your thigh.

“I want you so bad,” he slurs against your lips. “I will do some dumb shit one day for you.”

You don’t get what he means. You don’t even know what he could mean by that given the nature of your bond, but his words, mixed with the sultry tone of his voice, are enough to make you come. You barely register the orgasm, hitting you like a singular explosion of a firework, leaving you gasping, exploding as quickly as it came yet slowly running through your bones as the feeling tones down.

Haechan snickers softly. “You love it when I get in trouble for you, don’t you? Even when it’s just a promise.”

Your lips part to reply but he shuts you with a kiss. “No talking, not unless I tell you to. I know everything I need to know, your body tells me that,” he says, grinning like an idiot when he shows you his cum coated fingers, tapping them against your lips, silently ordering you to taste yourself. You would never do that, but tonight it’s like he’s commanding you like a puppet on a string, and you obey. Closing your lips around him and sucking hard.

He smirks, feeling his dick get even harder as he stares at your lips. “That’s what I do to you, pretty girl. And I’m not even started.”

Your pussy throbs in anticipation while he pulls his fingers out. You know he’s one to keep promise, and you can’t wait for what’s to come. But he’s taking too long, and you can feel his hard dick against your leg, so your hand creeps down to touch it.

“You’re not in command tonight, angel,” he says, grabbing your wrist to stop you from moving your hand on him.

“But I want you,” you whine, trying to win him with a pouty look on your face.

It doesn’t work as he pushes your hand over your head and leans in. “Patience, princess. Keep quiet, don’t be greedy and just trust me. Can you do that? Or is it too hard for you?” He groans against your ear, making your hips buck up.

“I — I can,” you whisper but he stops with a glare and your brain replays his words ‘quiet, no words from you tonight,’ and he means it. So you nod, breathing in deeply as you feel weak in the knees for the way he looks at you.

“Good girl,” he says, pushing up to stand between your legs, pushing them open.

When he slips inside you, you gasp, dragging your nails on his back. “Are you alright?”

You nod, forcing yourself to look into his eyes.

“Good, and now,” he whispers, kissing your lips, and dragging out of you, “I want you to give into me and completely turn your brain off. You have me, that’s all you need right now.”

When he starts moving in and out, your body succumbs to the pleasure. Your muscles relax as you let him take care of you. His lips trace over your sensitive skin, leaving kisses on your neck and chest. His hands run over your body, touching and squeezing every inch. And he reaches so deep inside of you that you feel you can barely breathe.

“Just like this,” Haechan whispers close to your ear, gently biting the skin on your jaw. “Don’t think about anything,” he groans, hitting you deep after pulling out of you completely. “Not a single worry in that pretty brain of yours.”

You rarely let him win, but you have to admit that the way he makes you feel, the way he can lift all the stress off your shoulders, is a talent. He knows what he’s doing, and the scary thing is that he knows how to get you. So easily wrapped around his fingers, crumbling into nothing at his tiniest touch.

You whimper loudly when his fingers press against your clit, seeing stars at the new stimulation.

“You can take it,” he groans. You’re about to talk but he traps your lips in a messy, wet kiss as he pulls you closer by your waist, hitting even deeper. “You’re a good girl, right? You can take it.”

You’re doubtful, but you do take it, over and over again. You lose track of time and stop counting your orgasms after the third. There’s no need for that. All you need is the pleasure Donghyuck gives you, fucking you until both of you can’t do it anymore.

There’s nothing left once it’s over, no strength to talk or clean up the mess, just the warmth of your bodies cuddled against each other.

“Good morning, I will kill Lee Je — what the hell,” Renjun exclaims, entering the kitchen, making you turn around as if you’ve been caught stealing, holding the mug full of coffee in your hands and giving him a shy smile. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp, pushing your hair out of your face before coming up with a lie. “We studied too late.”

Renjun steps further into the room, staring at you with a raised brow before he tilts his head and studies how you’re dressed. You’re wearing Donghyuck’s sweater and pants.

“Oh, now they call it studying? Last time I checked you’re not med students, didn’t know music had anatomy in the program,” he taunts, grinning at you as he comes to your side.  

You choke on your saliva and don’t have time to come up with a reply because he strikes again.

“Oh, no, maybe you were exercising vocalization, it’s better when it’s done together, right?” He winks and you glare at him.

“It’s not what you think,” you lie, but honestly you feel so embarrassed about everything. You didn’t think anybody else would be up this early on a Sunday, but it’s clear you don’t know Renjun well. You could’ve left, but you didn’t want to. It was slowly starting to sink in that you didn’t like the solitude of your life anymore.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he says, sitting in front of you. “Come here, don’t stay up.”

You do as told, and smile when he offers you a pack of biscuits. “I would’ve cooked something usually, but Jeno kept me up all night.”

You chuckle. “It’s fine, normally I don’t even have breakfast.”

“You don’t?” He gasps, and you nod.

“Yeah, just coffee.”

He looks down at you, shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s not healthy.”

“I know, I know, I’ll try to eat more, okay? For you.” You reach out your hand and he takes it.

A fit of cough brings both of your gazes to the door and you see Haechan stand against the frame. “Once it’s Jeno, another time it’s Renjun. I bring you home to study and you flirt with my friends.”

“Drop the bullshit, Hyuck. He knows,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Haechan’s eyes widen, but he slowly fakes indifference. “Knows what? That you don’t have time for a relationship so you can’t date him?”

“That you two fuck,” Renjun answers instead, making him cough.

“That’s not true,” he defends. “I hate her,” he says, laughing, but when he meets your eyes and sees them sadden, he feels pain in his heart. “No, no, I don’t hate her, but we’re… you know our relationship, why would we fuck?”

“Who’s fucking?”

“Not you, Jeno. Not you for sure,” Renjun says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! Why do you always gotta be so rude,” Jeno whines.

“I doubt he’s not getting laid,” you chuckle, and Jeno winks playfully.

“See, words of a wise woman,” he brags, walking to the fridge to grab something.

Renjun sighs loudly. “A woman that doesn’t know you.”

“Would you fuck him?” Haechan asks out of nowhere and you glare at him.

“I just said that he’s hot and smart, I don’t see how he can have a hard time finding somebody,”

“’Cause he’s annoying,” Renjun answers, but Haechan’s not listening.

“I didn’t ask that,” Donghyuck says instead, his attention is all on you as if there’s nobody else in the room.  

“I don’t answer stupid questions,” you reply before sipping from your cup and drifting your gaze away.

“Wait, why are you here?” Jeno asks, only now realizing you’re not supposed to be at their place, not in the morning at least… wait… “Wait! Are you two fuck—”

“No,” Haechan answers sternly, glaring at him. “We’re studying. And it got late, so since we were closer to my place, I let her stay the night.”

“I thought you left yesterday saying you had a date, though,” Jeno says confused.

You chuckle under your breath before you feel Haechan’s hand wrap around your writs to pull you out of the room, not even giving you time to finish your coffee. “A studying date, and now drop it.”

When you reach his room, he groans loudly, walking to the closet to pick something to wear. You watch him move for a while, but then you can’t keep your thoughts inside your head anymore.

“Are you ashamed of me?” You ask and he turns around with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Am I something to be ashamed of? Do I don’t fit in the standard of the people you would usually fuck?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want them to get invasive, they don’t let me live once they know something. And with you, it’s more embarrassing because of our history…”

You giggle, trying not to show the relief you’re feeling because, for a moment, you thought he was one of those types of men.

“Why can’t you ever make things easy for me?” He asks, annoyance in his voice. You have so much power over him, more than he likes to admit, and he feels like he can’t even be too mad at you about it.

“Sorry, it’s just, it’s funny having a history with you,” you explain. “My mortal enemy, always ready to steal my number ones, and my good grades.”

“You’re so annoying, you’re never sleeping over ever again.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I won’t let you fuck me ever again.”

“Liar,” he says. “And now move, I’ll drop you home.”

you can find part two on my account on the story masterlist or haechan’s masterlist (i can’t link it because if i do the post won’t appear in the tags)

general taglist: @froggyforhyuck, @wingsss45, @tddyhyck, @technologyculturedneo

fic taglist: @hcluvie, @gusgus0517, @multifandomania, @413cl, @odgsuji,

@hey-hey-heybitch, @nctrawberries, @n0hyuck, @haechoshi,

@girlwholoveslpreppyattire, @viciousdarlings, @hyuckmoon,

@jaeymark, @hqech, @xntlax, @milkyway-vxm, @fullsunahceah,

@beomgyusonlywife, @toroufriteh, @yesohhsehun @shxnz

@haecastor, @hyucksaint, @sk8ermark, @midnightrained

@maiteeeeesstuff, @smwhrinthehaze, @yoursyuno

© neowinestaindress ; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours. 

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

You are now reading Part 2 of my series!

Part 1 Part 3

The rumble of engines vibrated through your core, a familiar rhythm sending a wave of excitement. Two weeks since the cops and the car chase, and the adrenaline was back, thick in the grimy air of the deserted industrial park. A new place was chosen since the police were heavily patrolling your previous gathering ground.

Tonight's race was going to be electric, a head-to-head between Bakugo and Midoriya.

You knew the greenette had a crush on you. The way he stammered whenever you spoke to him, the lingering glances you caught him stealing – it wasn't hard to miss. A sly smile played on your lips. Maybe you could use that to your advantage tonight.

Standing at the starting line, you felt like a perfect match for Bakugo's car – a vibrant orange that soaked up the lights from street lamps and cars, mirrored perfectly by the conspicuous shade of his new car.

He had mentioned it to you over a call the two of you shared at two in the morning... it was a Pagani Zonda R, you think, remembering the blonde's smirk as he held the phone over his head, sitting on the trunk of the car, claiming it was supposed to be a surprise for you.

You decided to give him a little surprise of your own. A daring combination of shorts and a matching orange bandeau top, something that surely caught his attention. The outfit left little to the imagination and Bakugo's thoughts were running wild.

Bakugo, with a glint in his carmine eyes, sat behind the wheel, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. Lined up next to him was Midoriya, his signature curly green hair whipping in the wind as he fidgeted with the rearview mirror of what you presumed to be a Lamborghini.

As the crowd settled, a hush falling over them in anticipation, you notice Bakugo climbed out of his car. A slow smirk spread across your face. What in the world was he up to?

He swaggered towards you, confidence radiating from him like heat waves. Your breath hitched as he reached out, his rough fingers brushing yours, interlocking your hands before he pulled you close. Before you could even think, his lips were on yours – a rough, possessive kiss that left you breathless. With your free hand in his hair and his free hand on your lower back. This was sure to make it up on social media.

It was a blatant message, scrawled across your lips in a language only Bakugo could speak: you were his.

The crowd cheered and hollered and the small whine that you let out was a symphony to Bakugo's ears, a music that drowned everything else out. He pulled away, resting his forehead on yours.

You swore you saw Midoriya turn green (well, greener). He was frozen in his car, his normally bright eyes clouded with a mix of shock and…jealousy? The thought sent a playful flutter through your stomach. Maybe this race would be more interesting than you thought.

Actually, screw that. This race is going to be more interesting than you would ever imagine.

Pulling away, Bakugo left you reeling, a cocky grin plastered on his face. Then, he climbed back into his car with a wink that had your stomach doing backflips.

Composing yourself, you grabbed the microphone and addressed the buzzing crowd. "Alright racers, listen up! Tonight's race is a special one. The winner takes home the usual prize money, sure. However, we have some special guests! Everyone, please give it up for Endeavour and All Might!"

The two mentioned males reeled in, two of the most fanciest cars you have ever seen, no doubt custom made. One a striking yellow with hints of red and blue and another a crimson read, with fire designs lining the bottom and flaring up, both vehicles heavily tinted.

To say the crowd went bonkers was an understatement. People were screaming, throwing popcorn in the air, jumping wildly and flailing their arms all over the place.

"Calm down everybody. I know this is a big moment, having Japan's two greatest racers here is an unexpected surprise, isn't it?" You inquired through the mic, laughing softly.

Bakugo's face went red. Your laugh was... what was the word shitty hair said again? Cute? No, fuck that.

Your laugh was like music to his eardrums. He never wanted it to end. And the way you scrunched your nose told him that you were genuinely laughing and not forcing it.

"Alright you two, whoever wins this race will have the opportunity to be recognized by the duo of the racing world. Now, racers... Start your engines!" you raised a flagged fist in the air as the low rumbling of Bakugo's engine started up, followed closely by the wild sound of Midoriya's.

"Okay, you guys. Ready?" you grinned, reaching into your back pocket. They revved their engines, hyping up the crowd.

"Set?" you whipped out your phone and turned on the camera, turning your back to the two cars, which Bakugo loved. Your whole ass was in his sight and he committed the picture to memory. You turned on the flash as your face formed a little pout, and you clicked the shutter, capturing the two expensive cars in the background along with a whole assemblage of people.

"Go, go, go!" you screamed while turning around and swishing the flag to the ground. The sound of tyres screeching against the muddy racetrack filled the night, and both Bakugo and Midoriya shot off the line like rockets. This time, though, the race felt different.

If there was one rule about the racing world, it was probably to never let feelings get into the way. Emotions, especially uncontrolled ones, can cause serious harm on the tracks.

And that's exactly what happened.

Bakugo drove with a controlled fury, taking every turn with calculated aggression, showcasing his raw talent. Midoriya, fueled by a mix of determination and a silent vow to prove himself, pushed his car to its limits, weaving through traffic with surprising agility. One of the parts of the race was of course, a tunnel.

"Kacchan, get the fuck off of my car!" he screeched, as Bakugo closed in on him, causing his left side to graze against the tunnel wall. Midoriya knew he could've hurt innocent people if he sped up or slowed down too fast, so he had to bear the ear-piercing sound of his new paint job filing against the rough concrete.

"Damn nerd. You think you're better than me, huh? Tryin' to get her attention, you know she prefers me." Bakugo's grin never seemed to go away, swerving his car outward and just when Midoriya was about to get out of the small corner, Bakugo collied with his car again.

Midoriya's eyes glowed in the darkness. Bakugo had pushed him to his limits and sent him over the edge. Midoriya activated his nitro, pulling the custom-built lever in his car and sped off. Bakugo took this as a challenge and did the same, pulling out behind him.

The nitro kicked in, a boost of raw power gliding through Midoriya's Lamborghini. He felt the car surge forward, pulling away from Bakugo's Pagani for a short moment. But it wasn't enough. He needed to get even, to prove himself not just to the legendary people in the crowd, but to you.

He slammed his foot on the brake, taking a sharp turn into a tight corner. This was a risky maneuver, known only to a few seasoned racers who frequented this track. It was a shortcut, a notoriously dangerous shortcut. He gritted his teeth, steering with white-knuckled accuracy, pushing the car to its absolute limit.

"Think you can outrun me, Deku?" Bakugo's voice crackled over the race's communication system, laced with a sickening amusement. "You're just a useless nobody trying to impress a girl with a fancy car."

Midoriya ignored the taunt, focusing on the road ahead. His green eyes narrowed in concentration as he navigated the narrow passage, the concrete walls a blur on either side. Bakugo wasn't wrong. The car was a gift from his mother, a way to prove himself worthy, not just to you, but to everyone who doubted him. And a part of him hoped, a foolish part, that maybe, just maybe, winning this race, getting noticed by the heroes, would get your attention.

Suddenly, a flash of orange emerged from the tunnel and bright headlights blinded Midoriya's sight momentarily, causing him to slow down.

Bakugo, with a daredevil's audacity, had followed him through the treacherous shortcut. The space was barely wide enough for one car, let alone two.

"Where the hell d'ya think you're going, Deku?" Bakugo roared, his voice distorted by all of the wind rushing past them.

Midoriya slammed on the brakes again, the tires screeching in protest as he tried to create space. But Bakugo, fueled by his own competitive fire, nudged his car closer, forcing Midoriya towards the wall.

"Don't play dirty, Kacchan!" Midoriya screamed back, his voice tight with anger. "This is about proving myself!"

Bakugo laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Proving yourself? You're a fuckin' joke, Deku. Always have been, always will be. Y/n knows who the real winner is, and it ain't you."

The taunt, the obvious and continuous disregard for his feelings, snapped something inside Midoriya. A force of raw power, possessed by anger and a desperate need to prove everyone, especially Bakugo wrong, coursed through him.

Ignoring the warning lights flashing on his dashboard, Midoriya slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The car, overloaded with power, lurched forward, a blur of green against the night.

Bakugo, caught off guard by the sudden burst of speed, swerved to avoid collision with an upcoming wall. He clipped the side of a stray tire left behind by another racer, sending his own car spinning out of control.

"Fuck, Bakugo! Get yourself in control!" you screamed as you watched the swerving car from the live on your phone. Midoriya's car was long gone and when you looked up, there it was, lunging at an impossible speed towards the finish line.

Hesitantly, you waved the flag, signalling others that Midoriya Izuku, had indeed won the race.

Bakugo's car pulled up shortly after and you, Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, Mina and Jirou rushed towards the smoking piece of metal.

"Bakubro! You good?" Kirishima called out, ripping the smashed door open with pure strength and hauled the unconscious blonde out.

You dropped to your knees. '"No, no, no, no... Bakugo..." you placed his head on your lap, running your fingers through his hair as the rest of the group worked on cleaning up whatever nasty wound he had.

Your fingers brushed against his forehead and face, rubbing off whatever soot was on it. A groan pulled you out from your worries. "Bakugo!" you gasped in relief. "You're alive!"

The blonde opened his eyes, adjusting it to the lighting and was met with an orange blur above him.

"Course I am, shortcakes, why wouldn't I be?" he asked and he slowly rose, leaning on your body for support while everyone told him to take it easy.

You looked up at the huge crowd that was formed around Midoriya. Of course that asshole doesn't care. You continued rubbing soothing shapes into Bakugo's rough palm as tears welled up in your eyes.

"Don't do that again, Kugo. You scared me." you muttered to him, surprising him with the nickname. He chuckled, his body causing yours to vibrate.

Suddenly, Midoriya walked up to you, having brushed off the crowd who now watched from a distance.

"Y/n, listen-" he began but was cut short by your annoyed voice. "Stop. Don't say anything, Deku." you seethed, as the people around you began to whisper among themselves.

"Look at what you did to him! Look at what you did... to me." you looked up at him with clumps of tears in your eyes, rolling down your face and smearing your mascara, and a pang went through his heart. "You almost killed him." you continued, shaking your head.

"Y/n, I didn-" he tried again but flinched when you screamed, "Shut up!"

Shame burned in his gut, hotter than the engine of his car. He hadn't meant to cause this, hadn't meant to frighten you. He just wanted you to be impressed. You weren't.

With all of this commotion, people around you were silent. You grumbled, asking Kirishima for help with Bakugo, who was promising to take you out when he could function properly. The redhead happily complied, sending a glare to Miforiya as he lifted Bakugo onto his back and walked away. Mina tossed you one of Bakugo's hoodies and pulled your hand away when you hauled the cinnamon smelling article over your head. It landed at your thigh but it was so comfortable, giving you warmth against the coldness of the night.

Midoriya stood there, alone as the people around him continued to pester him even more.

He might have won the race, but Bakugo had won your heart and there was nothing he could do about it.

A few hours later, when he went back to his apartment and settled in bed, hoping to wake up the next day and say that it was all a bad dream, his phone blew up like crazy, messages and tags from every social media app.

He typed in his password groggily and clicked on Instagram, where some of his fans had tagged him under a couple pictures. His eyes widened when he clicked on the first one.

"Like, can I ride with you? @.Katsuki.Bakugo"

It was the picture that you had taken just before the race, your shiny lips forming into a pout as you raised the phone high enough to capture the entire background.

Swiping to the other picture, it was you, sitting next to Bakugo on a hospital bed. The carmine-eyed male sending the camera two middle fingers as you held up a peace sign. His stomach was naseous. How could you like someone like him? I mean out of all people?

"Or, let me ride on you👀 @.Katsuki.Bakugo"

Disdainfully, he swiped on the last picture, and it was one of you and Bakugo's hands intertwined. He read the last caption with anger and jealousy.

"My number one. @.Katsuki.Bakugo"

Taglist!

@effy-2000, @zmbiedoll, @lovra974, @burntlvr, @anjodedesgostoeerrossgosto

[with-my-calamitous-love]

KISS ME IN A WAY THATS GONNA SCREW ME UP FOREVER

rockstar! chuuya nakahara x pop star! reader

after acting in a music video of his right after a breakup, the media has many speculations about you two.

part 1/3

inspired by suburban legends

once the flight had flown, your feet touched down on the new, big city. it was a kaleidoscope of loud heartbeats, hidden underneath the fabric of fashion trends of large coats. the world in this corner smelled like want.

you weaved your way through the crowd before finally reaching the studio. you open the door, unpack your things with a hug and kiss to your manager, before finally seeing him.

chuuya nakahara was perhaps the most famous man in the world right now. a deep, gravelly voice with hands that slid across his guitar like skates on ice. he was the living, breathing definition of the word heartthrob.

right now, he’s tuning his guitar, his messy orange hair tied into a cute messy bun. he’s concentrated, the fabric of his black muscle shirt clinging to his obviously well toned muscles. you know you’re staring, but you can’t help it. and its not even just because he’s famous and talented.

you had been making a name for yourself in the music industry. slowly but surely, the name [Y/N] [L/N], the world’s new pop princess! had been making headlines. the general public considered you a sweetheart, with your fresh-faced beauty and edge paving the way for new found fame. the paparazzi adored your voice and your lyrics. you had only begun your receive the recognition you deserve.

upon winning best new artist at the vma’s, your song feather garnered billions of listeners. but perhaps the most shocking of them all, was gaining the attention of the one and only chuuya nakahara.

and thats how you ended up here. standing face to face with the embodiment of every women’s dream man.

“hey, [y/n].” he greets you, his sultry voice breaking through the mist of your fantastical mind. you snap out of it with an awkward laugh and a firm (but surely sweaty) handshake. he brushes it off, giving you a wink and thanking you for coming all this way.

“i love your studio.” you manage to compliment the rockstar despite your winded state. he hums a thank you, walking you towards the stage. his team works diligently, and you swear you can feel all his gratitude towards them. everyone in first name, high fave and shitty joke basis with each other. it was hard not to feel like an outsider.

“i don’t know if michizou gave you the run down on the video.. which he should have!” chuuya playfully jabs at his producer and good friend, who was currently fixing up the stage lights and blowing fat raspberries back at his boss. “basically, its for my new single. you’ll be playing my girlfriend.”

you wish you could hide the embarrassing scarlet tinge that blooms onto your cheeks at the mention of girlfriend. he seems so nonchalant, so casual about being so intimate.

once he’s distracted, your whisked away by a beautiful girl with a short black bob. her butterfly clip hung loosely just beside her bangs. she was the one person here who didn’t make you feel like a complete stranger on the outside looking in.

“hi, [y/n]! i’m yosano, i’ll just be doing your makeup.” she hums, and you happily take refuge in her cozy dressing room. the two of you hit it off almost immediately, allowing you to get your nerves out. however, something comes up that throws you off your game.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“oh and.. i guess, someone should tell you, honey.” she says, making your eyeliner as sharp as humanly possible. “chuuya’s been… he’s having a hard time. a bad breakup.”

this information churns in your stomach. “how long ago..?”

“3 weeks ago, give or take.” yosano explains, applying the setting powder. on one hand, you were thankful someone had warned you. but on the other, it made you nervous that you would be playing a romantic partner to someone who had just gotten their heart broken.

“why did they break up?” you ask, cautiously looking over at yourself in the mirror to make sure you were hiding your anxiety well enough.

“i don’t know… the rockstar over there never really talked about it.” yosano huffs, sitting on the counter to get a better angle at applying your lip liner. “all i know is… he hates betrayal more than anything now.”

a million thoughts run through your head. who? when? why? but most of all, who in their right mind would cheat on chuuya nakahara?

but you lost all the time for your nervousness. next thing you know, yosano is rushing you onto the set with words of encouragement. there, you meet chuuya, who’s been waiting for you.

the first scene is simple. just two people dancing in the living room set.

he walks over to you, placing his hands on your hips like its second nature. he chuckles at your nervousness, the way you tense up as you instinctively place your hands on his chest.

“what? don’t know how to dance, doll?” he teases, that shit-eating smirk on his face.

“uhm… no.” you admit, sheepishly.

he looks surprised, before a genuine smile reappears on his face again. “thats okay, just follow my lead.”

and with that, you two start swaying. he takes the lead, using his body to direct your movements. and for the first time in your career, maybe ever, you actually feel comfortable. you gain your fluidity back, dancing with chuuya in a way that words couldn’t explain. like two figures in a snow globe, you acted out a miniature expression of love thaf spoke volumes.

the rest of the filming process goes on smoothly, your favourite of the bunch being the kitchen scene. chuuya washes dishes while you snuggle up to him from behind, the overflowing of the sink being unscripted but ultimately charming enough to keep in.

finally, it was the scene you were most nervous about. the infamous kiss scene, and the segment yosano had failed to warn you about.

“i’ll say this again.” chuuya says, his voice in a hush tone. “i am not gonna make you this, doll.”

you’re nervous to kiss him, but the thought of turning him down felt like a complete loss.

so you bite your lip, and give chuuya the greenlight.

“three…two…one… ACTION!”

the camera pans in a circle around the two of you, capturing every small detail. the moment he cups your face, the moment you lock eyes… before finally, you two kiss.

and its the kind of kiss that saves you and that screws you up forever. that day, chuuya nakahara kissed you like the most gorgeous rose you had ever hoped to pick, with a million thorns sticking out from the side.

it was as though just front that simple contact, you knew the kind of guy he was. a gentleman, a man polite too a fault. time seems to stop even as you two pull away. you honestly consider breaking your own heart so you can move on from the love of your life (aka the famous man you met just a few hours ago.)

“thats a wrap!” tachihara announces as the team celebrates. this song, though you hadn’t heard it yet, was sure to be a hit. and chuuya assures that the music video will bring so much of the spotlight you deserve.

after that, the team breaks with some cake and beer. you, however, sneak off to the balcony, getting some much needed fresh air. you’re almost granted the moment of peace you craved when suddenly, someone addresses you.

“hey pop star.” chuuya says, walking up behind you and offering you a beer. when you politely accept, he stares out at the city-scanning sunset. finally, you two were alone, away from the editors and cameras.

you ask whats been on your mind since the beginning.

“…what song was this for again?” you nervously ask.

chuuya lets out a hearty laugh, enamoured by your sincerity. he digresses, opting to take you to the rooftop instead. there, he picks up his guitar and begins playing a few notes. it seemed like such a douchebag move, but if it was, you loved douchebags.

“can i tell you a secret?” he asks, strumming the acoustic strings with calculated talent. you nod, fiddling with your fingers.

“..i don’t really have a title for it yet.” he chuckles. now its your turn to laugh at him, and he takes it.

“why’s that, rockstar?” you ask, sipping your beer.

chuuya ponders for a moment, his eyes never leaving his guitar. he shrugs, continuing to serenade you. a thought crosses your mind.

“why’d you choose me, anyway?”

though he can’t think of a song title, he seems to know the answer to that question.

“cause you’ve got edge, and talent.” he says. “the industries gonna want to ruin you. you can’t let that happen, alright?”

you nod apprehensively. you’ve heard the whispers, how female stars were held up to a higher standard. how one wrong move, one hair out of place, or one breath too loud could cost you your career. hearing it from an established star made your hands shake.

maybe this would screw you up forever.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

[chuuyaheartz]: new MV is out!! starring [y/n] [l/n]

[soukkvo]: pov me replaying the kiss scene:

[lovechna]: idk who i’d wanna be more 😍😍

[asagir1]: wait wtf he like just broke up with higuchi… don’t you think its a little soon??

[chzai09]: they’re my roman empire

new star [Y/N] [L/N] kisses chuuya nakahara and new music video!

who is [Y/N] [L/N]? meet the new pop princess:

[Y/N] [L/N] is chuuya’s new girlfriend? heres whats happening:

#[Y/N] [L/N] trending

[gabessquishytum]

It's awards season!!

Hob and Dream have been hiding their relationship. They've been together for a while in a strong relationship, but they're famous public figures and being in a relationship with each other would engender outsized interest and public "comment". And at least at first they just wanted to keep it for themselves without having a portmanteau couple name (Hob was partial to "Dreamling", Dream was embarrassed to even have to consider a preference.) .

But they're both tired of it now - being coy on red carpets, not being able to hold hands or publicly support each other. And it's particularly galling right now as they are both up for major awards (either competing against each other in the same category or in separate categories during the same category), and their managements advised them not to announce their relationship and steal focus from their campaigns to win. They couldn't even arrive together for the ceremony (or gush to each other how lovely they look; it was probably good that Hob wasn't with Dream given how fantastic he looked,,,,Hob would have made them both late......with his mouth. The glam squads would have been pissed!).

Whichever one of them wins (first, if separate categories, or the competing award), says screw it and before he walks up on to the stage to accept his award, walks over to the other and kisses the crap out of him for all the cameras! There might be a proposal from the stage, before the play off music starts.

Aww, this is so cute. Dream’s shipname of preference is definitely Drob, by the way.

I kind of like the idea of Dream being up for best actor and Hob is up for best supporting actor? For completely different movies, but still, Hob is texting jokes to Dream about exactly how supportive he's gonna be after the ceremony the whole time they're both getting ready. Dream is very much a Big Star while Hob is more at the kookie character actor end of things, so no one really speculates about them being anything other than good friends. Dream hates that people don't value Hob enough, so he's got this plan: he's going to show the world and the industry exactly how much he loves Hob.

Hob's award is announced before Dream’s, and he doesn't say much at the acceptance - just a quick thank you to his "partner". He's always hated long speeches where actors go on and on about how privileged they are. He just wants to get back and watch Dream win his award!

And Dream does win, of course. But instead of going to the stage, he diverts off course to where Hob is sitting, kisses him thoroughly, mouths "Yes, I'm his partner" at the camera, and then hops up to collect his award. The camera stays on Hob who is just sitting there with a confused Ryan Gosling expression.

Dream says something like "my partner, Hob, hates these long speeches. So I will try to keep this short. Will you marry me?" And the crowd goes insane. Hob vaults over 5 rows of seats to get to stage and say yes.

Dreamling goes viral, and no one is talking about the awards... at the after party they mysteriously disappear and come back an hour later with sex hair and rumpled clothes. Dream lost a designer ruby earring somewhere along the way, but he's not even a little bit sorry. If he gets to kiss Hob in public, it's all worth it.

[hiromicota]

(“Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)” comes on)

Most people: Oh, yeah! This is a banger.

Me (smashing through a wall): Imma tell you a tale about fatphobia & misogynoir in the music industry!

The gospel singer Martha Wash sang the main vocals for “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now).” However, she didn’t appear in the music video; instead Zelma Davis, the thinner singer who sang on other tracks on that album, lip-synched to Mrs. Wash’s vocals. Not only did Mrs. Wash not get featured in the video, her vocals were uncredited, and she received no royalties until she sued Sony & the titular C+C of C+C Music Factory: David Cole and Robert Clivillés. The case dragged on for ~3 years.

It’s messed up that Martha Wash didn’t get her due; she deserves more recognition. It’s also messed up that C+C hung Zelma Davis out to dry, leaving her to face bad press and fan outrage on her own. Like, Sony and C+C screwed two Black women. All four musicians made up afterwards (at least enough to work together again.) I’m still gonna be salty about the misogynoir, though.

[thefallennightmare]

The Promise-Andy Biersack

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Andy Biersack x OFC

Warnings: smut, language, angst(lots of it), a smidge of fluff, mentions of abuse, alcoholism.

Summary: High school was supposed to be some of the best years of a teenager's life; except for River. Those four years were hell, the only one that got her through it was her best friend, Andy. She thought he'd be by her side after graduation but after one night of giving each other something so treasured, life took both of them in different directions.

Almost ten years later, River and Andy meet again in a way neither of them expected.

Authors Note: This is my first time writing Andy Biersack but I'm very excited! As of now, it is a one-shot but might consider continuing it if people are interested!

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @mitchhbitch @concreteangel92 @flowery-mess @cookiesupplier @poppy-in-the-woods @viofcrows @sprokat @srorgana1 @bloody-delusion-expert

 “You don’t ever have to be alone, River,” his soothing voice cooed in my ear as he cupped my cheek. 

I looked up at him through the tears and choked on a sob. “Promise you’ll stay with me?”

He smiled that smile I fell in love with years ago. “I promise.” 

The sounds of yelling pulled me out of my thoughts in time to see a group of teenagers running past me on the street, youthful smiles on their faces. 

If they only knew what the future for them held. 

With the setting sun grazing over the streets of Hollywood as people made their way home from school or work, I was headed to work with my camera bag hanging on my shoulder and phone in my hand. I had the Maps app up giving me directions where I needed to go. It was going to be a long night at work for this music video shoot and I was already on my third cup of coffee, the feeling of caffeine still not flowing through my system. 

I spent the morning and afternoon bouncing between different shoots from clients and when I remembered I had booked this job taking pictures of a band's music video tonight, I cut the last photoshoot short by only a few minutes to make it in time. 

The company that booked me for this video shoot, Industrialism Films, didn’t tell me much about who the band was. They just told me to show up at seven p.m. and start working as soon as I was set up. It was going to be an all-night event and I needed to make sure to get shots of everyone in the band. 

Hence the third cup of coffee. 

It also hadn't helped that my mind had been plagued with memories of high school even ten years after graduation. Usually, I was great at pushing away those awful memories but the last few nights, those images of my past life kept clawing at me, dragging me down to the depths. I spent so long trying to crawl out of it and breathe that fresh air I desperately craved those four years of hell. 

The bullying. 

Eating alone in the bathroom stalls. 

The feeling of being so alone, I cried myself to sleep every night. 

The desperation of my home being a haven away from the mocking at school, only to have it worse there. 

Every single day of high school was miserable; except for one person. 

Him. 

My best friend and first everything; Andy. 

Until he left you to deal with the beatings alone so he could succeed with his band. 

Screwing my eyes shut tight to forget the sound of my dad's skin on mine, I turned the corner, and a large church and steps came into view. There were ropes blocked off around the perimeter, keeping outsiders away. As I reached a security guard, I pulled out my I.D. to show him. 

“River Murray. I’m the photographer,” I said. 

The guard glanced down to my I.D. then to the list in his hands and with a gruff of response, he let me walk past the ropes. 

“Have a great night,” I mumbled under my breath. 

Bodies were moving everywhere, and people were screaming over one another, but I was able to find the director of the shoot pretty quickly. He showed me a trailer where I could set up my things and once I was settled, I could start working. They didn’t care what pictures I shot, just as long as I got a lot of the band. 

“Who’s the band?” I asked Vincent, the director while setting my camera bag on the table inside the trailer. 

“Bloody veils? No that’s not right,” he scratched at the beard on his chin, trying to remember. “I don’t know. It's some metal band. I’ve only met them once before but they’re nice guys. It’s for their song Saviour II.” 

I nodded. “So I have free reign around here? As long as I don’t get in the shot right?” 

Vincent smiled. “You’ve worked on music video shoots before?” 

“Once or twice,” I shrugged. “I worked with Bad Omens on one and some local bands another time.” 

“Bad Omens?” He whistled low. “They’re one of the hottest bands right now. I’m surprised you aren't working with them.” 

“I dated their current photographer for a few months. He set up the shoot with them to help build up my portfolio,” I shifted on my feet, suddenly feeling uncomfortable divulging too much about my life to this stranger. 

A loud crackle and static came through Vincent’s radio. “Veil Brid-. They’re here.”

My heart stuttered in my chest for the briefest of moments but told myself to take a breath. It couldn’t be him; the radio cut off before finishing who was here, I was just in my head. 

“You’re beautiful, River,” he mused while kissing every inch of my bruised skin. 

Vincent clapped his hands which caused me to jump out of my thoughts and blinked wildly. 

“Alright, I’ve got to meet the boys and show them their trailers to get ready. Head out whenever you’re ready. There’s a radio for you on the table in case we need to communicate with you tonight.” 

“Sure,” I did my best to nod with a smile. 

Once alone, I sat on the couch in the trailer and went about assembling my camera, doing a few test shots. The past kept trying to crawl its way back into the present, doing its best to render me useless, but I wouldn’t allow it. 

Well, I tried to anyway. 

“You’re worthless.” 

“Piece of shit daughter. I should have dropped you off with your mother years ago.” 

“The only thing you’re good for is being a punching bag. But you can’t even do that right.” 

A swift kick to my ribs sent me flying across the room. 

Choking on a sob, I dug my palms into my eyes hoping that would force out those thoughts. 

“I haven’t thought of Dad in years but now he’s overtaking every part of me again,” I sighed to myself. 

Not feeling quite ready to leave the trailer yet, I fixed myself in the reflection of the mirror by tying my long black hair into a tight French braid and cleaned up my makeup a bit. The scar underneath my right eye was faint but visible to this day almost eleven years later. No matter how much makeup I wore to cover it, it was still a reminder of not only the best day of my life but also the worst day. 

“River, we need you on set.” 

“Be right there,” I said into the radio before clicking it to the belt of my jeans, and with my camera around my neck, I bounded down the steps of the trailer. 

By now the sun had set and the moon shone overhead so I stopped in my tracks for a moment to take a few shots of it before walking into the church where there was a large gathering of people. On the altar of the church were a set up of drums, guitars, an orchestra, and a microphone stand. 

After snapping a picture of it, I turned on my heels when I heard Vincent call my name. 

“River, I’d like you to meet the band. I figured you’d want to get some pictures of them before we start shooting.” 

I looked over the picture I had just taken of the drum set, something vaguely familiar about the logo, but then glanced up at the five men standing in front of me; the one in the middle with the bright gray eyes immediately catching my gaze. 

My breath caught in my throat as I nearly tripped over my feet when his jaw went slack, the familiarity slapping both of us in the face. 

“River?” 

The richness of his voice brought back all of those other memories I did my best to push away. I stood frozen, unable to move or say anything, while my brain tried to catch up on the man that stood in front of me; the one I hadn’t seen in ten years. 

The one that broke his promise. 

“Andy.”

Highschool. Senior year. One week before graduation. 

I pounded on the bedroom window as the rain assaulted me with no end in sight, drenching me from head to toe. The rain mixed with the salty tears that rolled down my cheeks as I continued to beat my palm against the glass while standing on the makeshift ladder we made of three cinder blocks. I needed a way to reach his window in times like this. There was no way I could walk through his front door looking like this where his parents could see and ask questions. 

“Damn it, Andy! Wake up!” I cried, still pounding on the window. 

The storm was a constant onslaught of rain, lightning, and thunder, so I knew it was hard for him to hear me. But that didn’t stop me. 

Finally, after a few minutes of crying and pounding on the window, Andy’s sleep-filled eyes stared at me through the curtain covering his window. I saw all the emotions run through his intense gaze. 

Confusion. 

Realization. 

And when he gave my face one long once over, the emotion that crossed the soft features of his face, I knew there was no way I’d be able to excuse my dad’s actions this time. 

Anger. 

“River,” his voice instantly soothing me when he opened the window, helping me inside. “What the fuck happened?” 

My body convulsed in shivers and I wrapped my arms around me to help keep some of my body heat. 

“I–I-I’m fi-fine,” my teeth chattered loudly in the quiet room. 

“Bullshit,” Andy spat while running a hand through his long black hair. “You’ve got a nasty cut under your eye and your lip is busted.” 

Now with the rain not washing away the blood, I could taste the bitter crimson on my lips and felt it pooling in my eye. I didn’t have to look at myself to know that the cut was deep and needed stitches. 

Typically, my dad made sure to hit me in places that I could easily hide. But tonight was different. I told him that once I graduated, I had plans to leave Ohio and move to North Carolina to start over; fresh. 

“Not with my money,” he spat.

Literally. 

When I told him I didn’t need his money and that I had other plans, he snorted while stubbing out his cigarette. 

“With that little boyfriend of yours? Sweety, he’ll drop you the second you follow him to that big fancy city.” 

“Fuck you!” I screamed. “You know nothing about Andy!” 

My cursing set him off and that's when the first slap happened, causing my busted lip. This time, I fought back, but in the end, it didn’t matter. My dad’s strength overpowered me as he threw me across the floor, face skidding along some of the broken glass from the cup I had thrown at him before. 

Hence the nasty cut underneath my eye. 

Andy’s sighing brought me back and I then noticed he was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. I’d seen him like this many times before since we were best friends but something about seeing him like this tonight, made my insides burn low. 

I’d had a crush on him since freshman year when he stepped between me and Alexa Dread from taking my camera and breaking it; again. Ever since that day, Andy and I were inseparable. We knew everything about each other and we always confided in each other about our feelings. 

Just not for each other. 

My feelings for him began to grow with each passing day but I had to watch him date girls that weren’t me with a fake smile because I needed to be happy for my best friend. 

He’d never feel the same way and that was something I came to terms with a while ago. 

My eyes grazed over the scattered ink on his arms, the random designs always taking my breath away. He was eighteen so was able to get the tattoos without the permission of his parents. 

I, however, was one month shy of turning eighteen and I’d been counting down the days. Ready to run from all of this the minute the clock struck midnight.

“Fuck, River. You’re shaking,” Andy’s hand reached for me, leading me to the adjacent bathroom off of his bedroom. 

“I d-didn’t know wh-where el-se to go-go,” I did my best to speak over my body shaking. 

He hushed me with a gentle squeeze of my hand. “You know you can always come here. You always have a place here, Riv.” 

I swallowed thickly at his nickname for me.

“You need to shower but I want to clean that cut first,” he motioned towards the soaked clothes that were clinging to me like a second skin. “Take them off.” 

I stilled at his words. While Andy had no problem walking around in his underwear around me, I, on the other hand, could not muster up that kind of courage. 

“I can’t,” I shook my head. 

His bright eyes narrowed through the thickness of his black hair. “Either you take those clothes off or I will. The last thing you need right now is to catch pneumonia.” 

Gnawing on the inside of my cheek, I still didn’t make a move, which caused Andy to sigh. 

“I’ll turn around so you can undress, and keep your bra and underwear on. I’ll keep my face on yours when I clean your cut,” he reassured me with a gentle smile. 

“Okay,” I said finally. 

Before he turned around, Andy turned on the shower so the steam could fill the bathroom and keep me warm while he cleaned the cut. Staying true to his word, he turned his back to me, and as quick as I could, I ripped off the wet clothes. The sound it made falling to the tiled floor made me cringe and I covered myself with my arms. 

My bra and underwear were not cute, nothing he’d seen his past girlfriends wear, so to say I was embarrassed was an understatement. A simple pair of black cotton panties and a red bra. 

“You can turn around,” I said softly.

Andy slowly turned around and kept his eyes straight ahead on my face as he motioned to the closed toilet seat. While I sat, I watched his back muscles contort as he rummaged around underneath the sink for the first aid kit. 

“Won't your parents wonder why you’re taking a shower at two in the morning?” I asked. 

He snorted his laughter, still rummaging underneath the sink. “They would never question why their teenage son would be taking a shower in the middle of the night.” 

“Huh?” I said, utterly confused. 

Andy glanced up at me from his kneeling position with his brows raised and a playful smirk. Suddenly, it clicked on what he meant. 

“Oh, right,” I muttered low; the image of his hand around his cock pumping it slowly then fast replaying in my mind like a movie. 

I’d never seen him do that but I’d thought about it a handful of times. 

“This might sting a bit,” Andy said, kneeling in front of me now; his eyes remaining on my face. 

“I’ve had worse,” I tried to joke but the stern look from him made my shoulders fall and I muttered an apology. 

“You need to leave home, River,” he said while soaking a cotton pad in peroxide. 

I shook my head. “And go where? I have no money and no other relatives that will take me in.” 

“You know my parents will let you stay in the guest room for as long as you need.” 

I snorted. “Right. I don’t think your girlfriend would like the idea of me staying down the hall from you.” 

Andy’s eyes snapped away from the cotton ball to my face. “We broke up.” 

I did my best to keep a straight face when my heart nearly soared out of my chest. 

“When?” 

“The other day. She wanted to have sex and I said no so she broke up with me,” his voice told me that he wasn't upset about it. 

My brows furrowed together. “You said no to sex with Ashley Jenks? You’re not sick are you?” 

I made a play of touching his forehead with the back of my hand, our laughter echoing in the small bathroom. 

“No,” he grabbed my hand, not letting it go right away. “I’m not going to give my virginity to the first girl that throws themself at me. Or in this case, the fourth.” 

I blinked. “You’re still a virgin?” 

Andy finally let go of my hand and I frowned at the loss of warmth. 

“I know it’s shocking but call me old school. I’m waiting until I find the right person.” 

Our eyes met in an intense battle of who would look away first but neither of us was faltering. 

“I am too,” I said quietly. 

For the briefest of moments, I saw his eyes widen before he played it off by holding up the soaked cotton ball. 

“I’m sorry for the sting.” 

I urged him on with a nod and didn’t even flinch when the cool liquid met my skin finally as Andy cleaned the cut on my cheek. Silence fell between us as he then cleaned the dried blood on my face and when his warm breath fanned over the cut to dry it, I nearly melted into him; skin rising with goosebumps. 

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” he murmured while looking closely at the cut. 

I sucked in a breath when I realized his lips were mere meters from mine and dared a glance down to his full lips. They were practically begging to be kissed and I wanted to be the one to do it. 

“I’ll put a bandaid on it after my shower,” I said. 

With me still sitting on the toilet and Andy kneeling in front of me, I spread my legs wide so he was able to get as close as he could to cleaning the cut. Now that he was finished, it was as if he had no idea where to place his hands so they rested on the wall behind me, his long body leaning over me. 

“You’re not going back tonight, River,” his voice was deep as he stared down at me. 

With shaking fingers, I brushed away the strands of hair from his face so I could see those gray eyes. 

“I know.” 

I tracked the movement of his Adam's apple as it bobbed low when he swallowed, his eyes finally grazing lower than my face. Down to the swell of my breasts and the slight pudge of skin around my stomach. 

I wasn't the skinniest of girls, another reason why I was bullied, but Andy never commented on it. 

“You should get in the shower,” his voice broke the trance between us. “Your lips are blue.” 

When his finger ghosted over my mouth, I let out a soft moan desperately wanting to feel the pressure of his touch everywhere. 

Suddenly like a ghost, Andy had vanished from the bathroom back into his bedroom, leaving me all alone. Since the door was now shut, I rose from the toilet and stripped out of my remaining clothes. 

The hot water stung like a blade against my sore skin and I groaned out in pleasure. I didn’t want to take a long shower only because the water had already been running for a while before stepping beneath it. I washed away the memories of today with Andy’s soap and wrapped a towel around me after I stepped out of the shower. 

“Shit, what am I supposed to wear?” I grumbled to myself.

Slowly opening the bathroom door, the light burst into Andy’s bedroom and lit up his form lounging on his bed reading a Batman comic. 

“Andy,” I said while shuffling my feet and clutching the towel close to my chest. “I don’t have any clothes.” 

Setting the comic down, he hopped off the bed and went across the room, opening the drawers of his dresser to pull out a pair of boxers and a shirt. 

“We’ll swing by your house at some point tomorrow to grab you some clothes. You’ll stay here for the weekend,” he said while standing in front of me.

I took the clothes with one hand. “Thank you.” 

Before in the bathroom, Andy made sure not to look at the bruises covering my skin but now, he made sure to take in every single one that he could see. 

The fingers imprinted around my neck. 

The bruise on my shoulder, left arm, and legs. 

These were the ones that he could see. The ones underneath the towel around me were worse. 

His jaw ticked with the anger he so desperately tried to keep within, knowing that one outburst from him would cause me to fall into myself. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I whispered. 

Andy’s eyes were dark but his voice was gentle. “Let me see all of it.” 

I vigorously shook my head. “I’m fine, Andy. I just want to get dressed and go to sleep.” 

All at once, I felt my body being pressed up against the wall and the towel falling to the floor at my feet. Andy’s gaze ignited as he pressed his hips against mine causing a shockwave throughout my body. His clothed cock brushed along my bare clit and I let out a moan while my eyes fluttered shut. 

“Riv.”

My eyes snapped open when I felt his hand cup my cheek. Tears burned at the corners and he gently wiped them away with the pad of his thumb. 

“Please,” I begged. “Don’t look. They’re ugly. I’m ugly.” 

The burning anger in his iris softened at my cries but still kept me locked in place against the wall with his hips. 

“You’re beautiful, angel,” he admitted with a steady voice. 

Angel. 

It was Andy’s nickname for me ever since sophomore year when I dressed up as a fallen angel for Halloween. We were too old to go trick or treating but not cool enough for parties so we both decided to get dressed up and spend the night in his basement getting drunk. 

It was also the night I had my first kiss. We were sitting on the couch in his basement, a few drinks in, and I had my head resting on Andy’s shoulder trying so hard to stay awake for the horror movie he put on. When I looked up at him, I was shocked to see that he was already staring at me and the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine. It was a short kiss, over before I could enjoy it. 

“Shit, sorry,” he apologized. “I drank too much.”

We never talked about that kiss after that night, both of us burying it away; much to my dismay. 

“I’m not,” I cast my eyes away from him. 

His warm breath fanned across the crook of my neck as he peppered kisses on the bruises there. 

“Let me show you.” 

Yet again our eyes locked with intensity, so fierce it set the space around us on fire. Andy’s hand moved down my cheek, over my neck, and the space between my breasts. I bit back a moan when his finger and thumb rolled one of my perked nipples between them. 

“Will you let me show you?” He asked, nuzzling his face in my neck. 

I licked my lips. “What about waiting for the right person?” 

“She’s already in front of me,” Andy admitted before crashing his lips to mine. 

My body had come alive with his touch and everything I wanted since freshman year was coming to fruition. Andy wanted me just as much as I wanted him. Our lips synced together perfectly, never missing a beat, as he lifted me and carried me to his bed. 

That night, we both gave each other something we held so dear to ourselves. Afterward, as we lay together with our naked bodies tangled underneath his sheets, Andy pressed a kiss to my forehead when I cried in his chest, scared to go back home once Monday morning came. 

“I hate being alone there. I’m afraid he’ll go too far and kill me.” 

“You don’t ever have to be alone, River,” his soothing voice cooed in my ear as he cupped my cheek. 

I looked up at him through the tears and choked on a sob. “Promise you’ll stay with me?”

He smiled that smile I fell in love with years ago. “I promise.” 

Andy lied. 

Four days later, he packed up his entire life and moved to Hollywood without a simple goodbye. 

PRESENT DAY. 

“River?” 

I blinked while shaking my head, trying to gather my bearings again. The past had sucked me in whole, forcing me to relive that night over again. I couldn't believe Any was standing in front of me again after all these years, the moonlight breaking through the stained glass windows of the church bathed him in a glow made for kings. Even though he looked different than the last time I’d seen him, with more tattoos and shorter hair; tonight he had a small white patch in his hair. I could vaguely make out the old lip-piercing hole and I remembered how the cool metal tasted against my tongue when we kissed. 

He, along with the guys around him, were dressed in their outfits for the video, so I was able to see the tattoos that littered his neck, chest, and stomach. However, those eyes were still the same. 

Those haunting gray eyes stared into the soul I previously just captured again as he waited for me to say something. 

Do I play it off like I don't remember him? 

Right, like you could forget the guy that took your virginity. 

Do I ignore him and go about work like a professional? 

How is ignoring the person you’re supposed to be working with professional? 

I was starting to grow tired of the little voice inside my head. 

Vincent glanced between Andy and me, pointing a finger. “Do you two know each other?” 

“We went to high school together,” Andy answered before I could. 

“No shit,” Vincent chuckled. “What a small world.” 

“Right,” I snorted venomously. 

Andy’s eyes sliced into me but I ignored him by giving him my back and looking over at Vincent. 

“I’ll get shots of them later. Radio me when you’re ready.” 

When he nodded, I took that as my cue to leave although I made it only a few steps before my name was called from behind. 

“You’re not even going to say hello, Riv.” 

I spun so fast on my heels, the end of my braid snapped to the other side of my face and I pointed a finger at Andy. 

“I’m not doing this with you. Not here and especially not right now. Both of us have a job to do. Let’s keep it that way.” 

One of the guys next to Andy watched us carefully and I could practically see the light click on above his head. 

“Wait, River as in River from high school,” the guy said. 

“Yeah, Jinxx,” Andy answered before taking a step towards me. 

I took a large step away from him. “I already said I’m here to do my job, that’s it.” 

Before he could try and sweet talk his way into my life, just like that night, I turned back around and marched out of the church, calling back that I was going to take some shots of it. 

Once outside, I let the cold night air brush the hot tears away from my face as my heart nearly burst out from my chest, sobs echoing throughout the vastness of the sky. 

No. This cannot be happening. 

For the last nine years, I spent my life crying over that man, wondering what I did wrong that night to make him leave me behind. He promised to stay with me but still left. 

Was I not good enough? Worthy of being by his side? 

Nine years I spent stuck in Ohio wondering why with the bitter taste of Hennessy, drinking away my sorrows and regrets. It wasn’t until a year ago when I finally questioned myself in the reflection of the bottle that I took whatever money I had left from selling my father's house after he died to move across the county to California. 

The last year I spent building myself up to the women I was now and creating my career empire with my photography. I refused to let the past crumble everything I worked so hard for; no matter how good he looked now or how bad I wanted to taste his lips again. 

“Get a hold of yourself,” I seethed. “He left you.” 

The sound of music from inside blasted through the walls of the church letting me know that they started shooting and choosing not to dwell on Andy showing back up into my life, I took a few shots of the church outside. Then I reluctantly walked back inside knowing I couldn’t avoid him forever and decided to get some pictures of the guys. 

Andy’s eyes quickly found me but I did my best to ignore him by hiding behind my camera. His voice erupted through the speakers and it brought back every single time during music class in high school when he would sing in front of the class or solo for me in his bedroom. 

My bottom lip trembled as I blew out a shaky breath while walking over to where Vincent sat, just as he yelled cut. 

“Did you get your shots?” He wondered. 

Clicking back through all of the pictures, I pursed my lips at the realization that while I got great shots of the other band members, I hadn’t gotten any shots of Andy mostly because I avoided him at all costs. 

“I need some of Andy,” I said with a long breath. 

“No problem. I think we got everything we need with this scene. Next up is the scene of him sitting in the pew alone so you can get them now,” Vincent patted my shoulder as he stood from the chair. 

“Lovely,” I grumbled while walking back towards the altar of the church directly in Andy’s path. 

He was talking with one of his band members but when he caught sight of me, he met me halfway. 

“Riv,” he began. 

“Don’t,” I seethed, walking past him. “You lost the right to call me that when you left me.” 

“Can I explain please?” Andy asked while reaching for my elbow. 

I yanked it out of his grasp, ready to move to the opposite side of the church when his voice halted me. 

“Angel.” 

Whirling around so fast, I nearly dropped my camera to the ground when I pushed him in his chest. 

“Don’t you fucking ever call me that again!” I nearly screamed. “You don’t have the right to call me that.” 

Anytime I heard that name, all I would think about was our first kiss and the night we slept together. 

His eyes softened, almost begging me to listen. “Please, angel. I have to explain-.” 

“NO!” My voice echoed inside the church. “There’s nothing to explain, Andy. Anything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.” 

“Do you guys need a moment?” Vincent’s voice carried over to us. 

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

Andy and I both said at the same time. 

“You know what, I think a break is a good idea. Let’s take thirty and come back,” Vincent directed to everyone with a wave of a finger. 

Having every intention of spending that thirty minutes alone in my trailer, I brushed past Andy and nearly tripped over my feet as I ran down the concrete steps, the vision of my solace getting closer and closer. Just before I could slam the door shut behind me, it closed on a body with an audible ouch. 

“Leave me alone, Andy!” I yelled. 

He stood tall in the small confines of the trailer, his broad chest heaving with each deep breath from chasing after me. His bare chest underneath his opened jacket and for a second, I allowed myself to study those visible tattoos. The eagle on his sternum, the sword in the crease of his stomach, the tiger neck to it. I couldn’t make out the tattoo across his neck or chest but I could make out the 26 in a hear on his neck.  

“Not until you let me explain,” he said. 

I grabbed the end of my braid, ripping it out so my dark hair could fall around my shoulders. 

“I swear to fucking God himself, if you say explain one more time I’m going to-.” 

“Do what, angel?” He raised a brow while resting his hands on his hips. 

I pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Andy didn’t move. 

“You're unbelievable,” I growled while making a beeline for the door instead, only to have him block my path. 

“I had to leave.” 

I blinked up at him, mouth agape. “What?” 

We were so close now, his familiar scent encasing me with its vise grip, and my mind kept screaming at me to create space. 

He ran a hand over his short hair and took a deep breath. “I had to leave. That Monday morning after you left, I got a call from an agent in Los Angeles offering me a small gig in a commercial. It's what I needed to get my foot in the door, to get Black Veil Brides started, so I took it. But I had to be out there the day after they called me.” 

“So you left me behind, without a single fucking goodbye,” I sneered, pushing past him to the other side of the trailer. 

“I didn’t have a choice!” Andy’s voice was raised now, it echoing off the walls. 

“You could have told me! You know I would have followed you!” I shot back. 

He began pacing the narrow space while having his hands on his hips. “I couldn’t, River. Not without knowing that everything would have paid off in the end. I couldn’t have you with me while I suffered.” 

I chuckled dryly. “Oh but suffering back home alone was fine with you?” 

“I wanted to reach out and check on how you were doing,” his shoulders slumped. 

“My number has been the same,” I held out my hands. “I lived in the same fucking house for nine years after you left. You could have come to see me.”

When he said nothing, his lips unmoving, I grew angrier and pushed his chest, ten years of holding everything in finally exploding. 

“You lied!” 

Push. 

“You left me with him to beat on me for another three fucking years until he died!”

Push. 

“You made me a promise and broke it!” 

I cried with one final push, causing Andy to fall back onto the couch, stormy eyes staring up at me. Tears were streaming down my face and my eyes burned with anger for the man in front of me. 

“You told me you would never leave me,” I snarled through gritted teeth. “You said you wouldn’t and you fucking did.” 

When he reached for my hand, I smacked it away. 

“Please, angel,” he begged. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. But I wasn’t in the best place. I couldn’t have you be with me, seeing all that shit. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“Just tell me all you wanted from me was sex so I can finally put the nail in the coffin, Andy,” I said with a shaky breath. 

His face fell. “That’s not even remotely true, River.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. After tonight, you’ll go back to your band and life as a rockstar.” 

With my back turned, I gathered my camera and was ready to get back to work when an arm wrapped around me from behind. 

“Come with me, angel,” Andy’s soft voice brushed along the shell of my ear. 

When I felt myself falling into his embrace, almost ready to give in, I pushed away from him. He made me so mad I could throw something at him. My camera or the chair. 

Myself. 

“You’re insane,” I shook my head.  

He linked our hands together so I could face him, the pleading bright in his eyes. “Give me a chance to make up for the last ten years.” 

I stared blankly at him, trying to determine if this was a cruel trick. 

“You don’t deserve my time, Andy. What we used to have is gone, you can’t fix it or try to bring it back.” 

“You’re not even going to let me try?” He asked. 

“Why should I? So that you can break my heart again? You don’t realize how much of myself I gave to you; parts I can never take back. You were my first kiss!” I raised my voice. 

He blinked. “I didn’t know that.” 

I scoffed while shaking my head again. “Of course you didn’t, Andy. Because you never brought it up again. You blamed it on the alcohol that night. What’s your excuse for the night we lost our virginity to each other?” 

Before Andy could speak, I waved him off and headed towards the door of the trailer. 

“It’s not even worth it anymore,” I muttered with my hand on the handle. 

Suddenly in a whirlwind, I felt myself being hoisted up and pressed against the bathroom door. Those dark gray eyes were reading my face, assessing every movement of my gaze as it burned into him. Andy held my hands pinned to my sides and kept me locked into place with his hips. The imprint of his cock was felt against the material of my leggings and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the moan quiet. 

It’d been so long since I felt his touch and I was ready to throw out everything, all of my morals, just to have him again. 

“River,” his hand cupped my cheek, the coolness of his rings almost a shock to my warm skin. 

I said nothing, simply glaring up at him with a clenched jaw. 

“Riv. Come with me.” 

AnDy breathed over my lips and I nearly lost it. But I still kept strong, not wanting to be the first one to falter. I worked so hard to build myself back up after he left and there was no way I could allow myself to fall. 

Not again. 

His thumb lifted my chin, keeping it locked in his grip, and his eyes dropped to my lips; a silent question. 

“Fuck you,” I spat. 

Something dark flashed in Andy’s eyes as a sinister smirk played on his lips. One that I recognized all too well even though it was never directed at me.

“I don’t ever remember you being such a brat,” he tsked. 

I swallowed thickly, unsure how the tension between us went from anger to sexual, but at that moment with him eyeing me hungrily, I didn’t want to question it. 

“How could you remember? You’ve been gone for ten years,” I shot back. 

Andy pressed his hips harder against me and this time I wasn’t able to hold back the moan. It slipped through my lips with sheer pleasure and I let my head fall against the door behind me. 

“I wasn’t drunk the night we slept together, River,” Andy’s hand wrapped around my neck, thumb now on my pulse point. “Or that entire weekend.” 

My cheeks flushed when I remembered we had sex multiple times that weekend. We never left his bedroom and thankfully, his parents left the next morning for a friend's wedding so they had no idea I was there. 

“All I ever wanted was you,” his voice was low. 

I raised my chin at him. “You have a funny way of showing it.” 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, an action I watched intently, and then his voice dropped even lower. Those usually bright eyes were dark and it made the air thick, heated, and full of spice. It made it harder to breathe as his grip tightened around my throat slightly.  

“Let me show you.” 

Those four words sent both of us back to his bedroom during high school and just like that night, I succumbed to the darkness that was Andy Biersack; consequences be damned. 

“Are you still waiting for the right person?” My question was a breath over his lips. 

A low noise rumbled in Andy’s chest as his hand gripped behind my neck, yanking my mouth to his. 

“She’s right in front of me.” 

Every single doubt and fight I had within me vanished the second our lips touched, those familiar fireworks exploding. My hands were all over Andy; his neck, chest, ribs, and back as they sneaked underneath his jacket. While one of his hands continued to grip the back of my neck, the other held tight on my hip so I couldn’t leave. 

As if I wanted to. 

Our tongues molded together and he swallowed my moan when his teeth bit down on my bottom lip. For a moment, reality struck with clarity and I pushed Andy off of me, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. 

“You need to leave,” I warned, breathless. 

His lips were kiss swollen and his jacket was falling off of his shoulders as those stormy eyes never left my lips. 

“Do you want that? Because if you do, I’ll leave right now.” 

When I remained silent, Andy smirked while grasping the back of my head to crash his lips on mine again, this time with more hunger. It was as if he was a man starved, desperate for his last meal. 

“You need to go,” I groaned when his lips began trailing down my chin and neck. 

“Go where?” He asked. “Here?” 

A gentle bite to the shell of my ear. 

“Or here?” 

A kiss on the sensitive part of my skin between my neck and shoulder which caused me to shiver in his embrace. 

“What about here, angel? Do you want me here?” 

The head of his cock brushed along my clit from underneath our clothes and I nearly fell at his feet until Andy’s strong arms lifted me to carry me over to the small twin-size bed on the other end of the trailer. 

“It’s like we're back in my childhood bedroom with this small ass bed,” he grumbled.

I fell onto the cheap mattress with a slight giggle but it was hushed with Andy consuming me once more. My entire soul went up in a fiery blaze when he began rutting his hips into me and it was as if we were a couple of teenagers again making out and thinking that was the best part of it. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other as I helped him out of his jacket and he all but ripped my sweater off, leaving me in an olive green bralette. 

His eyes darkened before he left teeth marks between the swell of my breasts, lapping up his saliva and dried sweat from the day and I raked my nails through the buzzed hair. 

“I miss your long hair,” I gasped, feeling his tongue slip between the material of my bra and catching my nipple. 

“I’ve missed the way you tasted, River,” Andy mused while kissing his way back up to my lips.

This time the kiss was slow, as if we had the rest of our lives together and there was no need to rush anything. It was like he was trying to imprint me into him, never wanting to forget anything again. 

I reached for the button on his pants, pulling down the zipper to slip my hand inside, palming his hard cock. 

Holy. Shit. 

It was a lot thicker than ten years ago. 

“Shit, Riv,” he cursed when I squeezed him. “Just like that.” 

I did it a few more times while his forehead fell to my chest, panting his warm breath over my skin. I lifted his face with my other hand to kiss him again, the savageness poured out of him. 

The room smelled of our desperation as I shimmied out of my leggings while he stepped out of his pants, after unhooking my bra and tossing it over his shoulder. As Andy stood at the end of the bed, I let my eyes rake over every defined muscle of his body; tongue begging for a simple taste of the ink on his skin and the head of his cock that was almost slipping through his briefs; the black briefs doing absolutely nothing to hide his arousal. 

Rising to my knees on the bed, I ran my palm over his cock again, his entire body shivering underneath my touch.

"Fuck, angel,” Andy groaned before his teeth grasped at my bottom lip, yanking it away from me. 

I hissed in pleasure, the taste of copper lingering on my tongue.

"Did you-." I licked my bottom lip and then tilted my head to the side. "Did you just bite me?"

Andy pushed me back down on the bed so he could take in the sight of me bare for him; those stormy eyes were now clear with only one thing. 

Heat. 

“I can’t believe I went ten years without this,” he muttered to himself while stepping out of his briefs, his cock finally springing free. 

I licked my lips at the sight of it, salivating for a taste of the precum that he smeared over the head. But instead, I felt like being a brat with Andy, not allowing him to think I wasn’t still upset with him. 

“It’s your own fucking fault,” I shot back with a sly smirk, resting on my elbows. 

My squeals echoed in the trailer when Andy flipped my tiny frame over on the mattress so my ass was exposed to his palm, a hard strike falling onto it. I writhed against the bed when another harsh strike came down on my ass, my mewls of pleasure being drowned out by the pillow. 

“You’re such an ass,” I seethed when the spankings stopped. 

Andy palmed my reddened cheek while looming over my back, his breath warm on my neck. 

“Do you still like it rough, River?” His question was heavy on his tongue. 

That weekend we spent together, I divulged what kind of kinks I might have been into due to my own research. Andy let me try things with him while I did the same and needless to say, all these years later he still knew exactly what my body needed to come alive for him. 

Instead of answering, I raised my hips from the bed with his name falling from my lips in a whine full of desperation. Andy had barely touched me but the wetness between my legs was warm and sticky.

I needed this release more than oxygen. 

"What do you want from me?" His fingers dragged up my slick folds from his position behind me before slipping one inside, the feeling of his rings making me stiffen. 

My head was turned to the side so I could gaze up at him over my shoulder. However, he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were trained hard on his finger pumping in and out of my pussy, the sounds of my arousal overpowering the sounds of my panting. Seeing the desperation on his face as he tried to hold himself back made me push my ass closer to Andy. 

“Use your words, Riv,” he ordered while flicking his eyes to me for a moment. 

I shook my head, words foreign when he slipped another finger inside of me, spreading them wide like a V. 

“Did you forget how to speak?” 

Andy clicked his tongue against his teeth, ready to pull his fingers out when my begging halted him. 

"You. I just want you."

The bed shifted behind me when I noticed Andy disappear only to feel the wetness of his tongue press against my pussy to lick my arousal. The sharpness of his teeth scraped along my clit as he buried his face deeper into the sweet spot between my legs. 

“You still taste so good, River,” he mused, pressing gentle kisses on the inside of my thigh. 

“Don’t stop,” I all but whined, wanting to feel his tongue again. 

Andy ate me out from behind with both hands on my hips, continuing to keep me in place as my body writhed on the bed from the onslaught of his mouth. When his lips wrapped around my clit to suck hard on the sensitive bud, I screamed out his name. 

“Andy,” I drowned it out with a moan. “It’s so good. I’m so close.” 

With the indication my orgasm was on the brink of collapse, he slipped a finger inside of me again. While his mouth was a rough attack on my clit, his finger was a gentle caress of my inner walls with slow strokes. Sheer ecstasy was slowly building at the base of my spine, warming up all of my senses until I felt like I could combust at any moment. Andy flicked his tongue over my clit and I buried my face into the pillow, the musky scent of my wellness tickling my nose as my body shook out my orgasm. My cries of release sounded like music to Andy’s ears as he hummed in praise, drinking up my arousal as it gushed over his tongue and fingers. 

It had been so long since I had an orgasm that wasn’t brought on by my hand or a toy. I lay limp on the bed, breathless, as the after-shocks slowly began to fade along with the hazy bright lights, my soul returning from wherever it retreated to. I barely felt the kisses upon my thigh and then lower back as Andy dragged a finger down my spine. 

“Still on birth control?” He asked, lust gone from his voice for a second. 

I nodded while glancing over my shoulder and seeing my arousal coating his lips. The sight was so intoxicating that I almost uttered those three words that plagued my existence since I first met him. 

“River,” he tapped my back, bringing me out of my thoughts. 

“Implant,” I replied. 

My head leaned back in pure bliss when Andy dug his nails into my hips as he pressed himself past my wetness, the thickness of his cock filling me. It twitched inside of me, earning a disgustingly desperate groan from me. 

It felt nothing like it did ten years ago. It felt better. 

Andy left no space between us as he held us in place on the small mattress and I tried to move my hips in his grip. It was so rough, I knew I would have bruises later but frankly, I didn’t care. All I cared about was how good it felt to have him inside of me again. 

“So tight, angel. I can’t-.” 

His eyes fluttered shut as his lips parted to an 'O' shape when I rocked my hips against him with my swollen clit rubbing against the cool blanket and I shivered at the sensation. Everything from our fight to our kiss sent me in a spiral of pure ecstasy and I felt the coil in my stomach pulling tight again. My previous orgasm was still lingering and it didn’t take long before I felt that familiar tingly feeling in my spine. 

“Andy, I’m going to-.” 

Still inside of me, he managed to flip me over so now I was staring up at those dark eyes; pupils blown wide with lust. Now, Andy didn’t hold back as he hooked my leg up and around his shoulder so he could thrust in a deeper angle. 

“Oh god,” I closed my eyes, the new sensation causing the coil to hurt. 

“Eyes on me, River!” He snapped with a low growl and I immediately obeyed. "You're so fucking beautiful, angel. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry it’s been ten years.” 

I didn’t want to hear his apology. I only wanted to have that coil spring free with my second orgasm. I attacked his lips with such force Andy had to hold himself up with one hand on the headboard, the other slipping between the place where our bodies met to play with my clit; exactly how I liked. Our tongues explored each other's mouths in a kiss so vicious it made my head spin.  Andy’s pace was erratic and merciless but it didn’t stop me from begging. 

"More," I mumbled into his lips.

That's all he needed before he maneuvered us so he sat in the middle of the bed with me in his lap and he held me closer to his chest as his hips snapped up into me in violent strokes, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot. I yelled out my pleasure, exposing my neck to Andy who immediately attacked it with his teeth leaving bite marks all along the skin sticky with sweat.

My body hummed in a prayer-like awaking, the flames and heat burning high in my belly as my organs crested higher; so fucking high I was afraid I would combust into nothing but matter in the air. His name fell from my lips in devotion, a woman praying to her God, and my toes curled as the orgasm ripped through me with so much force I screamed out in pure nirvana.

“I love you, River,” Andy professed with a strangled breath as he spilled himself inside of me, cock throbbing with his release. 

“What did you say?” I questioned, almost unsure if I had heard him correctly. 

He cupped my cheek, eyes softening. “I love you.” 

My bottom lip trembled at those three words; the words I wanted to hear for years. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it,” Andy brushed away my hair from my face. “But it’s true. I’m at a better place where now admitting it out loud doesn't scare me.”

We stayed like that, bodies tangled together in the silence for a few long moments until he laid us on the bed. I very quickly detached myself from him so I could put some space between us. 

Although he admitted how he felt, I wasn't ready to yet. I knew that I loved him ever since high school, but it was my turn to be afraid of what would happen if I admitted it out loud.

Instead, I remained silent while lying on my stomach on the bed, resting my chin on my hand to gaze down at his tattoos again. One of them immediately caught my attention and I smiled at it, a fond memory cresting to the surface. 

“I remember being with you when you got this,” I whispered while trailing a finger over the black and yellow Batman logo on his arm. 

“I still have the comics you got me for my birthday,” he said while propping his arm behind his head. 

My heart skipped at that because it meant that he was thinking of me during our time away.

“But you couldn’t come to see me,” I muttered under my breath as I turned from him. 

Andy reached for me to pull my back to his chest and lock me into place with a leg over my hips. His left hand grazed up and down my arm, sending shivers all over my skin, and I let out a soft breath. 

“Will you stay with me, River?”

I sat on his question for a few long beats, letting it sink in if it was something I truly wanted. My life in Hollywood wasn’t set in place, I’d always been on the move. But the thought of uprooting everything to be with Andy scared the shit out of me. How could I trust that he won’t leave me again? 

Then why did you sleep with him? You plan on leaving after this, so you’re no better than him.

“Why now?” I sat up to gaze down at him, his arm falling away from me. “How come now you want to make things work between us?” 

He hesitated with inner turmoil eating away inside as he slowly sat up and ran a hand over his short hair. 

“I was married for six years. The divorce was finalized last year.” 

My heart sank into the depths of my stomach; no farther. It fell straight to Tartarus. 

“We were together for a total of eight years but the longer our relationship went on I began to realize it wasn’t what I wanted. Who I wanted,” Andy explained. 

There was absolutely no reason for me to be upset with him because while he was married, I had been casually dating. None of them were ever serious enough to last more than a few months. But it still caused an ache in my heart. 

“Then why did you stay with her for as long as you did?” I asked. 

Andy has a soft smile. “I loved her, in a different way than I love you. But sometimes that kind of love isn’t enough. Not when someone else held my heart first.” 

Tears burned in my eyes and I blew out a shaky breath. “If that were true, Andy, then you would have come to me first. You wouldn’t have gotten married.”

Removing myself from his grasp, I began slipping on my discarded pieces of clothing while he continued to sit in bed, naked. 

“I’m not saying I’m perfect, River. But I’ve grown a lot in the last few years. The Andy you used to know wouldn’t have been good for you.” 

“And now?” I asked with my hands on my hips. 

The smile that played on his lips grew wider. “Now, I would love to have you come on the road with me. We leave in a few days for our North America leg then jump overseas for a few weeks. Plenty of time to make up for old times and prove I’ve changed.” 

I laughed. “You want me to stop what I’m doing here to come follow you? Give up potential jobs? Just to be your roadie?” 

Andy’s jaw twitched but with a deep breath, he gathered himself from the bed and stepped back into his briefs and pants. 

“You can be our photographer. I’ll talk it over with our management team, that way you can be getting paid.” 

I pursed my lips in consideration because his offer was a pretty good one. But was it worth spending all that time together?

You love and miss him. 

I sighed at the voice in my head, knowing it was true. Seeing him again brought up all the old feelings I spent years burying, trying to forget, and it was clear that Andy still felt the same.  

“You remember all the plans we made? When we were hoping for better days? You wanted to become a photographer and I wanted to sing in a band. We have that now. What’s stopping you from saying yes?” He took a small step towards me. 

“The promise you betrayed,” I said flatly.  

Andy’s shoulders fell. “You don’t have to forgive me for leaving you, Riv. But I swear to you that if you come with me, I will spend every day from here on out proving to you that you’re all I want.” 

When I didn’t say anything, he wrapped his arms around me and oh so gently, laid a kiss on my lips. 

“I love you, River Murray,” he professed. “We can start over; fresh. But only if this is something you want. If not, then we can both leave with some closure and go our separate ways.” 

I couldn’t explain the way my heart physically ached with the thought of leaving tonight and forgetting about Andy. Even with all the anger and hurt, I couldn't imagine acting like tonight didn’t happen. Maybe there was a small possibility that we could work through our issues, gain that trust back, and finally find what we were desperate to have. 

But the betrayal weighed heavy in my soul along with the fear of Andy doing it again, only this time while I was with him and leaving me stranded. 

“River, if you’re with Andy, can you have him come to set? We’re ready to start again.” 

I jumped at the sudden loud crackle of the radio, Vincent’s voice breaking through the clouds of confusion. 

With a sigh, Andy slipped back into his shoes and jacket. 

“Let’s get back to work, yeah? We can talk more about this on the next break,” he said. 

I swallowed the waver in my voice as it broke. “I’m actually going to sit here for a bit since I’m not needed right now.”

Andy’s thumb brushed along the soft skin of my cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, angel.” 

He left me with a kiss on the cheek and for the first time since reuniting with Andy, I fell to the ground with sobs wracking my body. Everything I worked hard to overcome was shattered by those three words and his offer. It terrified me to completely allow him in again but I also didn’t want to let him go. 

The decision was made in an instant as I rose from the floor, hastily wiping away the tears, and gathered my things together. I knew what I chose would have repercussions, some I may never recover from, but as the door of the trailer slammed behind me, it would be alright. Because my heart said it would be. 

[ladyamanda123]

Hmmm what if…..

Listening to The Tortured Poets Department and thinking….what if this is from Karlie’s perspective?

Like girl, stop being so dramatic and tragic and let’s just BE TOGETHER!

Why are you sacrificing us to this idea of being the great poet? They don’t hold you, they don’t know you, they don’t decode you or troll you like me.

I’m the one who actually knows you….stop picking the fans/industry and choose us instead!

You left your typewriter at my apartment

Straight from the tortured poets department

I think some things I never say

Like, who uses typewriters anyway?

But you're in self-sabotage mode

Throwin' spikes down on the road

But I've seen this episode and still loved the show

Who else decodes you?

And who's gonna hold you like me?

And who's gonna know you if not me?

I laughed in your face and said

You're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti Smith

This ain't the Chelsea Hotel, we're modern idiots

And who's gonna hold you like me?

Nobody, no-fucking-body, nobody

You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate

We declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist

I scratch your head, you fall asleep

Like a tattooed Golden Retriever

But you awaken with dread, pounding nails in your head

But I've read this one where you come undone

I chose this cyclone with you

And who's gonna hold you like me? (Who's gonna hold you, who's gonna hold you?)

And who's gonna know you like me? (Who's gonna know you?)

I laughed in your face and said

You're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti Smith

This ain't the Chelsea Hotel, we're modern idiots

And who's gonna hold you like me?

No-fucking-body, nobody (who's gonna hold you, who's gonna hold you?)

(Who's gonna hold you, gonna know you, won't control you?) Nobody

Sometimes I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me

But you told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave

And I had said that to Jack about you so I felt seen

Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be

'Cause we're crazy

So tell me, who else is gonna know me?

At dinner, you take my ring off my middle finger

And put it on the one people put wedding rings on

And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding

Who's gonna hold you? (Who?) Me

Who's gonna know you? (Who?) Me

And you're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti Smith

This ain't the Chelsea Hotel, we're two idiots

Who's gonna hold you?

You left your typewriter at my apartment

Straight from the tortured poets department

Who else decodes you? (Who? Who?)

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Jack Antonoff / Taylor Swift

The Tortured Poets Department lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

See all

[offbrandkyoya]

03 todays the day

previous | masterlist | next

cw: mention of drugs (weed)

Scaramouche regretted this.

‘What am I doing?’ He thought as he stood in front of the entrance. He wanted to go home right now. Still, the sickening feeling of just laying in bed to sleep or cry was tiring. It's an endless cycle that he's finally breaking, even though he hates singing with a passion, it's tied with memories that are blocked from his mind.

Scaramouche sighs and finally walks inside the building. He noticed the front desk and walks toward it. “Uh, excuse me,” He starts, with the lady looking up from her computer. “I'm here to see 5WIRL.” She lets out a small gasp and quickly searches for something on her desk. Scaramouche stares at her weirdly. Then, she hands him a clipboard. “Please sign here to enter.” ‘Seriously?’ Scaramouche took the object, and pen that was handed to him, and did what he was told.

He hands the clipboard back and the lady smiled, “Welcome, Scaramouche.” He just nodded. The lady gives him directions to where to go and off he goes to his new life. As he walks deeper into the halls, he hears songs blaring louder and louder. He couldn't help but cringe as he stood in front of the room he was told to go to. His ears perked up when he hears a woman shouting, “You're doing it wrong again! Are you even listening to my advice?!” Scaramouche listened for a response but he assumed it was quiet because the lady shouted once more after the pause.

“This isn't difficult!” Scaramouche wondered if he should enter or not. ‘Screw it.’ He opened the door without care and suddenly all eyes were on him. “Oh!” The woman changed her whole demeanor and rushed to him, holding his hands. “You must be Scaramouche! Please, come in!” She leads him more inside the room and places him at the center. The woman motions to one of them to pause the music before she can speak. “Boys, this is your new member, Scaramouche. Treat him right and no funny business.” She shot a glare at the boy with two braids. “Make him feel welcomed.” Then, she shoots Scaramouche an innocent smile. “If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask me.”

Another glare but towards all of the boys. Scaramouche felt sick at that. It reminded him of someone. The woman begins to walk off before saying, “Show him the basics. Don't screw it up, Venti.” Finally, she was gone. There was a long silence before the man with braids spoke, “Welcome Scaramouche! If you don't know, I'm Venti, the leader.” He then points at the rest one by one. “That’s Xiao, Aether, Kazuha, and Heizou.” They all said hi and Scaramouche responded with a hi back. “What's with the threatening get-up?” Scaramouche asked about the woman. Venti stared at him crazy then laughed. “She’s a bitch, isn't she? You'll have to get used to it.” “Why?” “Because she'll beat your ass if you don't listen.” Heizou joined in. Scaramouche hummed then crossed his arms. “So, what am I supposed to do?”

Venti clapped his hands, “Well, I was told to show you how we practice. It might not be interesting though.” “Show me.” Aether goes to play the music once more and the boys huddle for a moment, talking amongst themselves. Scaramouche raises a brow ultimately doubting their abilities. They part away, get into their positions, and start to dance while singing their parts. Scaramouche listened and watched intensely. Thanks to a certain someone, he knows what's good and what's not in the music industry. Looking at 5WIRL now, he can tell that they're basic. ‘They are losing their spark.’ Scaramouche closed his eyes for a moment as it was hard for him to watch. “Kay, I've seen enough,” Scaramouche spoke and stops the music. The boys immediately stop and try to control their breathing. Aether and Heizou plop down on the floor with Heizou leaning his head back. “Someone kill me.” “Gladly,” Xiao replied with a hoarse voice. “Xiao, please,” Aether says with a sigh from both exhaustion and disappointment.

Scaramouche shook his head, “If I'm being honest, you guys suck. Compared to DCKZ, you're all a lost cause.” “Wow, thanks, newbie,” Heizou rolled his eyes as he lay down on his back. “We already know all that, unfortunately,” Kazuha states as he fixes his ponytail. Scaramouche uncrossed his arms, “If you know then why don't you guys improve?” He got quiet and shivered since he sounded like the person who ruined his life. Venti raised a brow but answered, “Our manager sucks that's why.” “I can tell,” Scaramouche mumbled. “Srew DCKZ, honestly,” Heizou stated loudly as he tugged on a strand of Aethers hair. “For real.” The blonde agreed, pulling his braid away from his friend.

“Hi boys!” Scaramouche turned around to see some random he knew for sure wasn't from 5WIRL. Suddenly, the boys had a surge of energy as they yelled out, “Y/N!!” You grinned with a chuckle, “That's me!” Before you could talk to them, you noticed an unfamiliar face. You gasped then smiled, “You must be the new guy! I'm y/n, nice to meet you.” Scaramouche looked at you in confusion. “Are you their manager or something?” You laughed, “No sadly. I'm just a close friend.” He didn't respond and started at you completely uninterested. “I hope they don't bother you. They can be overbearing sometimes.” “Hey!” Venti pouted.

“Okay.” You continued to smile and reached your hand out, “I visit them sometimes so you might see my face a lot. It's a pleasure to meet you!” Scaramouche looked down at your hand and then at you with a weirded-out expression. “Why the hell would I shake hands with you? I don't know who you are.” Your friend's mouths dropped as they glanced at Scaramouche and then at you. Your hand twitched and you suddenly felt hot. Putting your hand down, you let out a huff. “No need to be so rude about it. You could've been polite to decline.” Scaramouche rolled his eyes, “Oh please, you got it easy. Like I'd bother to put in that effort for you, princess.” You gasped, “Princess?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” “Exactly what it means, dumbass.”

You balled up your first and angrily took something out of your coat pocket. “And here I was nice enough to get you some food too.” Venti rushed to you at the mention of the word food. “Omg y/n, you're the best!” You smirked, “I know.” The rest of the boys surrounded you, except for Scaramouche, watching you open the container of goodies. Kazuha looked at you worriedly, “Didn't they inspect you?” You shook your head. “No, I managed to convince them!” “How?” Xiao asked as he drooled over the food. “Simple, I lied and said that I'm just here to watch you practice.” Heizou’s eyes widened. “That worked?!” “Why are you doubting me?!”

Scaramouche watched you all from a distance with a frown. ‘They were just tired what the hell is this?’ You look in Scaramouches direction and made eye contact. Letting out a sigh, you walked away from your friends and handed Scaramouche a sandwich and juice. “I'm not that mean. This lady sucks so you should have this.” He had his guard up and looked at the items suspiciously. “How did you fit that container in your pocket anyway?” “Magic.” He rolled his eyes.

Still, “You just met me and made all that?” You tilted your head in confusion. “Well, yeah, is that wrong?” His heart tightened. “The food here is garbage so I'm doing you a favor.” You start to pull your arm back. “If you don't want it then that's okay-” “No.” Scaramouche lets out a sigh and took the food from you. “I'll eat it.” You smiled wide, “Yay!!!” “Watch out Scaramouche before they get to you too,” Heizou warned with his mouth full. You hissed at him. “Hey! I'm just being nice!” Scaramouche raised a brow before taking a bite. “What does that mean?” Venti leaned towards him. “It means that y/n is going to dream about you being their boyfriend.” He choked and you gasped dramatically, face turning bright red.

“That's not true at all!” Kazuha shakes his head disappointed. “Y/n, you've dreamed about being with all of us. You even told me once, ‘I don't smoke but for you baby, I will.’” You screeched and began hitting Kazuha on the head. “IDIOT! DON’T SAY THAT OUT LOUD!” Scaramouche didn't feel like eating anymore. “Yeah Kazuha, you could get caught,” Xiao comments as Aether wiped the food off his lips. Venti gasped with dramatic tears. “NO! MY WORST NIGHTMARE!!” He tugged on his pigtails. “I MUST BE FREED!” The six of you began goofing off, yelling and laughing. Scaramouche wondered how you all could be chill like that. The manager treats them all like shit and they continue to enjoy themselves.

Despite all the mistreatment, you had each other to confide in. Scaramouche felt his throat go sore. “Sorry, Scaramouche,” Venti called in between giggles. “Promise not to tell the boss lady?” Scaramouche just nodded. Your phone rang and you let out a groan once you read the caller ID. “I wish I could stay but I have to go.” The boys frowned, “Alright be careful.” Aether tells you, still upset. You smiled sadly at the boys, “Thanks.” Then you turned to Scaramouche. “It was nice meeting you again.” He glanced to the side. “Thanks for the food.” He said quietly and you couldn't help but blush. “Oh, it was nothing!” You waved your hand still flustered. “Stay safe y/n! Don't die!” Heizou pokes your cheek and you laugh. “I promise.” You bid your goodbyes and Scaramouche felt like he was watching a family wave their son off to war.

Once you were gone, Venti turned to him, hands on his hips. “Alright, Scaramouche. Finish your meal because you've got a lot of studying to do.” He gave him a monotone look. ‘Studying?’

What a long day this will all be.

- i 🫶 snow days

- no school no work just sleep

- i had a presentation to do but it’s moved to Monday god bless 💯💯

🏷️ @sakiimeo @coquettemaiden @rmiyuki @kur44pika @theblueblub @jxxji0309 @dreamsofminnie @ohmyfinggod @redactedhimbo @kunisbeloved @akagism2 @sketcheeee @aeongiies @thefandomcrow @beriiov @thenightsflower @yukiipc @scaraapologist

[roo-bastmoon]

The Long Game

First, let's acknowledge some major mismanagement by BigHit. Then, let's talk about what I think *might possibly* be their long game.

These are just guesses I have right now--I'm not stating facts and my opinions are subject to change as new info becomes available. But come with me for a few minutes...

In early 2022, Jimin's mail was "omitted" four times by BigHit employees, which lead to late insurance premium payments, which led to an on-paper "seizure" of his apartment. The press sat on that news for three months until the day his With You OST dropped and the scandal overshadowed his release. Jimin went to ground, avoided all social media for months. At this time, Jimin's personal information was leaked on the internet, and that was the last time we saw Jikook hang out alone that we know of.

Now in 2023, since Jimin's album FACE dropped, we already know about the sabotaged sales and streams by Hanteo, Billboard, YouTube, and Spotify. There was the issue with his in-ears not working properly during an encore. On top of all that drama, BigHit didn't get all the physicals shipped in time, they didn't playlist his songs for several days, they never sent his songs to radio (that we can see), they made one tweet to acknowledge Jimin's #1 on Hot100 but nothing else--not even a cake like the other solo albums got, they didn't let him film more than two music videos when they did that for their new groups, the press releases about their stocks going up after Hot100 also credited their new groups, and Jimin only had 9 days of uninterrupted promo between other members' works.

Now I am not a conspiracy theorist. I well understand that the military enlistment compressed schedules, and that each member had say in their creative works and promotions. I'm not a manti. But none of the above is a good look. Add up all those fumbles together, and you could make a solid case for mismanagement.

And now today, we see PD Bang on the cover of Billboard (which, OF COURSE, mentioned Blackpink in the same breath).

JUST LOOK AT THE WAY THE STORY IS BEING SHAPED FOR AMERICAN READERS. You see what's happening here? You think SM is gonna get a cover story for their side of the corporate shakedown?

And then there's this little gem:

"If your question is about the possibility of creating an artist like BTS again, the answer is no. However, if you were to ask whether there would be a K-pop artist from HYBE that tops the Billboard Hot 100 chart, my answer would be yes. [Jimin became the first BTS member to achieve this as a solo act on April 3 when his single “Like Crazy” debuted at No. 1.] The experience of managing BTS and operating different labels gave us access to powerful networks, infrastructures and experiences. With these, HYBE can repeat its remarkable results with the help of talented artists.

Okay so before everyone starts rioting online, take a moment, pause, reflect, think about what all might be going on here, behind the scenes, in this very political world of the music business.

Do I think Bang PD screwed Jimin over to score points with Billboard? No, I do not. But neither do I think Jimin's solo effort is anyone's priority but Jimin's.

"HYBE is primarily focusing on leveraging its accumulated expertise in managing and producing acts that consist of multiple members, rather than solo artists or mixed-gender groups in K-pop."

I think no one ever expected Jimin to make it to #1 on Hot100 and industry insiders felt pretty sure the West wouldn't let him stay in the top 10 the next week. Why? Well, partially racism. But mostly it's bad for their bottom line.

If your entire business model is that people pay for radio play and that gets them on your private chart and the private chart leads to more advertisers and awards... and then someone comes along and DOESN'T pay to play and gets to the top of your chart? Nobody needs you. So you HAVE to sabotage them. You absolutely have to change your rules. (I'm just sitting here waiting for Jimin to release his other songs so that Billboard can change their rules to say you can't be on Hot100 if your name starts with J- and ends with -imin.)

Now, it might have been satisfying for us as fans to see BigHit come out swinging and put Billboard on blast for his sake and ours. But they have ZERO. LEGAL. RECOURSE.

Billboard is privately owned and they can make whatever rules they want. They are part of a larger media company that has connections to every media outlet; no one is gonna publish an exposé any time soon, I promise you. We got exactly ONE English-speaking website to write about it and that was it. Everyone in the industry knows what is going on, and no one has the power to do anything much about it.

So what does that mean for the future?

Well... Bang PD just recently paid a HUGE mark up of $26 million to buy Trevor Noah's home out in LA.

And now he's on the cover of Billboard. WHY? Neither of these things will result in any immediate payout for him.

It's a long game.

And frankly, a very old and honored way of doing business. It's how they went up against the big three and it's how they are gonna go up against the West, I feel it in my gut.

Bang PD is getting a home on US soil. He will be paying US taxes. He's making in-roads by being nice with Billboard folks. He's making contacts; he's already had phone calls with Pharrell and Bieber and Grande and Laroi. Some of those are already shaping into collabs. We already know Hybe has set up shop in the US with Scooter at the helm.

Meanwhile, BigHit is adjusting in real time to the new rules around the charts (culling is happening to Yoongi too, so they changed up the check-out process of the BTS US Store). Suddenly there's plenty of focus on promoting via TikTok and other viral social media. They are dipping their toe into AI. They are discussing their own in-house ticketing option. This company is looking toward the future and hedging its bets.

Do I know with any certainty what's up their sleeve?

Absolutely not.

Do I trust any corporation very much?

Nope.

Do I have faith in BTS?

Probably more than anything else in my life, at this point.

So while I have no insider info, I just feel like the company is making very intentional and methodic footholds into the West. They are not complaining or screaming or suing or threatening anyone. They are not badmouthing competitors or whining about unfair deals. They are laying ground on complicated, political in-roads, one step at a time.

The Expo is in 2030. I'd wager by that time, BTS will have conquered the West and have some radio play.

And I think the company believes that in order to do that, they have to make their new groups profitable while BTS serves. They have to survive for the next two years.

When BTS is back, and their dues have been paid, I think they will be unstoppable. I hope they get to work on solo projects AND group projects. I think they will take over every corner of the world, if managed properly.

They just need to do it in a way that also assuages the Western music industry. The American Powers That Be have a chokehold on music and they will demand their pound of flesh somehow.

I strongly suspect BTS will never pay to play. But they will build relationships and find a way to become so interwoven in the cultural fabric that to deny them a place in Western spaces is to be left behind. And they will do it politely, and gently, and come out smelling like a rose.

So before you go off on social media and scream the walls down about neglect (and there WAS some, in my opinion) and abuse (we don't really know that), just take a moment to consider--if they had no legal recourse against Billboard, how can they beat them at their own game?

The best way to defeat an enemy is to make them a friend.

I'm just guessing here, but I think if fans stay loyal, BTS just might have the last laugh, here. I think they got radio scared as hell.

It sucks that Jimin didn't get fair treatment at this time. He is my bias and I feel it like a knife to my own heart. But he DID make history with his #1 and they can never take it away.

So I say give it time. All the people sniggering at him and BTS right now are going to sing a different tune in the future.

My best guess is that this is a long game, and it will require sacrifices that are totally unfair, but in the end... well, as long as BTS has ARMY, they cannot be denied.

Apobangpo.

[9w1ft]

The gaylors who refuse to entertain an option where these presumed breakup songs are not breakup songs always discount the triple whammy of 1. losing the election and having to initiate the blackout, losing her dream of being able to openly hang out with her lover without the pressure of hiding, and then 2. her planning her come out for literal years and then having her father figure (Scott B) and the man she has called her worst enemy pull this giant evil trick on her in order to profit off of her coming out, after they may have spent years encouraging the closet before this, only to profit off of her gayness now. And 3. making the decision to cancel those plans and extend her love blackout and hurt her lover in the process? It would have been devastating. Even more devastating than a break up. And they also forget that if you assume they were actually still together at this time, this trick that was pulled by scooter was just as devastating for Karlie. So they discount any song that the swiftie fandom rightly believes are about the masters. And in reality, it was even worse than swifties think it was. There was so much more evil here. And some gaylors see this, but they put that evil onto karlie.

And another thing that these people refuse to consider is that Taylor wants to sell her art. She can’t write 23 songs about being betrayed by your boss and screwed over by the music industry. People (the GP) would roll their eyes at her whining and not relate. And she’s still closeted so she can’t openly sing about the failed coming out. Gaylors understand her using metaphor for the gay in order to sell more music, but they can’t take that next step to imagine her doing it about this betrayal as well. But if you frame it as folklore, create a divorce allegory around it all, it becomes relatable and heartbreaking to everyone who can’t relate to what she’s gone through. And she ends up with the best received and some of the top-selling albums of her career. Because she created a great story around it rather than being literal.

They also ignore that she basically said she would go to the ends of the earth to prove a point, and to prevent Scooter from making one unnecessary dime off of her. And if you believe she and Karlie are still together, you also should believe that Karlie would do the same.

And lastly, have they ever considered why she chose The National to help with this project? A band that is particularly known for having a songwriting married couple who write incredible songs about breaking up, but who never actually break up, and whose album and short film I Am Easy to Find greatly inspired folkevermore?

points were made

[lnfours]

hiii do u still take reqs? if so can u write one about intern!reader in stark industries and they bump to each other in the lab being like omg what r u doing here arent u in most of my classes in uni stuff like that and hes surprised that she got to fixed spiderman’s web shooters when he couldnt figure it out himself 😭 just sum cute getting closer and closer stuff :((((( tysmmm 🩷🩷

ANON THIS IS SO CUTE MY HEART IS BURSTING

inbox 💌

you wandered into the lab early that morning, wanting nothing more than just to get ahead on some new projects. what you didn’t expect was someone else sitting in the lab when you walked in. he almost spooked you, almost made you drop your cup of coffee.

“oh, sorry,” he chuckled, “didn’t mean to scare you. i didn’t know anyone else was coming in today.”

you shook your head, eyes moving towards what he was working on on the metal table in front of him, “it’s okay, i don’t mind sharing.”

he smiled softly, but your eyes scanned his familiar features. you pulled your eyebrows together, trying to rack your brain on where you’ve seen the boy before.

“you look familiar,” you said, “do i know you?”

he smiled, “i got to empire state, we have a few classes together.”

you pressed your palm against your forehead, feeling like an idiot, “that’s right! you’re peter, right?”

he nodded, “yeah. you’re y/n y/l/n, right?”

you smiled and nodded. the two of you started to work on your projects, low music playing in the background. the small talk continued about class.

however, you couldn’t help but notice what he was working on. it looked like he was struggling a little bit, cursing under his breath as he dropped the screw driver.

“i don’t have enough caffeine in me for this right now.” he joked and you sent him a small smile.

“need some help?” you wondered and he looked over at you with a soft smile.

“i mean, you’re busy-“

“no, it’s okay, i’m almost done,” you smiled, rolling your chair over to his table, “woah, what’s all this?”

“a new design i’ve been working on for web-shooters,” he said, “this design is supposed to have upgraded cartridges that can hold more web fluid, that way they’re not running out all of the time.”

you nodded, “i’ve seen tony work on something like this before. he said it was for spider-man, i think.”

he let out a shaky breath. should he tell you? no, you’re just a stranger to him.

“yeah, i help spider-man, uhm, design things.”

you nodded, impressed, “that’s cool.”

he nodded back, “yeah, very cool.”

you examined the web shooter, pointing out some of the things he should change to make it work. the two of you began working, he handed you some of the parts as you screwed them in.

after an hour of tinkering, you handed him the upgraded device with a smile, “give that a shot.”

he inserted the newly improved web cartridge. you watched as his fingers moved to press the button in the middle of his palm, the web shooting out and sticking to the wall nearby. you bit down on your bottom lip, shaking your head at the thoughts.

“wow,” he smiled, “that worked! it totally worked! you’re a genius.”

you smiled, “just here to help.”

he offered to help with your designs, some new arrows for clint and kate. the two of you made some more small talk.

“so, when did you start interning?” he asked.

“a couple weeks ago,” you said, twisting the arrowhead onto the shaft, “what about you? how’d you land that spider-man gig?”

he shrugged, “friend of a friend.”

you nodded, “that’s still pretty cool.”

he nodded, watching as you worked. he was in awe of you. he had been ever since you answered one of the hardest questions in class.

“how would you,” he started softly, his nerves getting the best of him as he cleared his throat, “would you like to, uhm, get coffee or something sometime?”

you smiled, “yeah, i’d really like that.”

the two of you looked up as the door to the lab closed, tony smiling as he walked inside.

“spider-boy, i see you’ve met the newest brainiac, y/n.”

your eyes widened a little as peter stiffened, you looked over at him.

“wait, you’re spider-man?”

great. thanks tony.

[around1302]

YOU WROTE ME

SPARE PARTS: blurb 1/1

THE TROUBADOUR, LONDON

(W) strong language, alcohol use, brief smut: if u can call it that

THIRD PERSON’S POV

9 MONTHS POST-SPLIT

“Why can’t you just trust that it’ll be fun?”

“Because you don’t even know who’s playing! What if it’s some screamo guy and I get traumatised.”

“Please, Charlie, you’ve met my friend. You think he’s going to guitar for a screamo guy?”

Charlie pauses, remembering everything she can from the brief meeting between her and Becca’s friend at her house party last week.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Becca rolls her eyes, nodding in gratitude at the bouncers who let them into the Troubadour, past the lines and lines of people. Charlie has to admit that’s promising, at least. Surely a hundred teenage girls wouldn’t be queueing for something unworthwhile.

“I thought as a musician you’d be buzzing for a free invite to the Troub!”

Charlie’s turn to roll her eyes, now.

“The Troub?”

“Let me pretend I’m in on the lingo, too.”

“God, you’re just making it worse.”

Becca is Charlie’s only remaining friend from her pre-band days. In contact far too little, but enough to see each other in between schedules. Becca manages a restaurant in London, and throws killer house parties every Saturday. It’s ritual.

Of course, with band life, Charlie barely ever attended. But since the split and a (much too long) nine month hiatus from the industry, she’s had a little more time for living her 20s like she never entered that competition in the first place.

“You want a drink?” Becca shouts over the already loud crowd. Just as Charlie opens her mouth to answer, her forearm’s gripped so tightly she’s sure the blood supply’s been cut off.

“Oh my God! Charlie Greene?” A girl practically screams in her face, holding the hand that isn’t keeping Charlie there in a death grip over her mouth.

Despite her usually extreme routine when it comes to being avoided in public, Charlie assumed tonight could be a one off. Who would recognise her in this crowd, in this venue? Panic strickens her before Becca has to step in, shoving the girls palm off.

“Dude, don’t touch strangers like that.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just such a huge fan. I can’t believe you’re here! We all thought they were just rumours.”

“What?” Charlie’s dumbfound, forgetting all that media-trained ‘smile at the fans, don’t let them know you want to punch them’ bullshit.

“You know, you and–”

“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice kid, but we’re just trying to enjoy our night. You want me to buy you some alcohol to get you to go away?”

“Becca–”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, of course. E-enjoy your night.”

The poor girl scurries away, screaming something to her group but Charlie’s too riddled with guilt to hear what.

“For fuck’s sake, Becs, she’s like sixteen!”

“Gripped you like a forty year old WWE champ though, look at your arm!”

Charlie glances down, noticing the white and red splotches beneath the hazy blue lights. Becca has a point, even if she was a little harsh about it.

“Screw the drinks, let’s just get backstage before anyone else tries to cut off your circulation.”

Nodding, Charlie follows Becca through the crowd, making sure to keep her head down this time. Of course they’re asked for IDs and stage passes before getting through, Becca proudly letting security know they’re friends of the guitarist.

“I’m so proud of Mitch, man. He’s come so far. Can you believe he used to work in a pizza shop?”

“I know, it’s impressive shit,” Charlie nods, hugging her hoodie tight to her chest. Something bad swirls in her gut as she watches the audience from the safety of a thick curtain, seeing whispers and screams shared.

“You don’t think that’s about me, do you?” She points for Becca. Becca scoffs.

“Nah, don’t get too up your own ass, Char. The act’s probably about to come on.”

The band will be entering from stage left, opposite to them both. Charlie has to admit she’s curious. It’s been forever since she’s attended any kind of underground gig, it’s exciting – what music’s really about.

“Gemma Styles.”

Until that moment.

Ears ringing, throat drying, sweat forming. Charlie grips her hoodie so tight her knuckles blanch – she’s wrong, she has to be. It’s just her mind and anxiety playing tricks on her. It’d be impossible for–

“No way, Charlie?”

“Fuck.”

“… Charlie?”

“I mean hi! Sorry, hi!”

Pretending her ears aren’t still painfully ringing, Charlie accepts the open arms of the woman in front of her. Specifically, the sister in front of her. Her ears stop buzzing enough for her to hear Becca’s gasp beside her, and enough to hear her heart coming up through her throat.

“I can’t believe you’re here, it’s so good to see you!”

The one thing Charlie never understood was how Harry could be so intolerable and Gemma could be so… Gemma. Despite the ugliest truth she’s discovered in a while coming undone, she feels somewhat comforted by her hug and her words and her smile.

Perhaps they’re all a little too alike Harry, or perhaps the opposite. She can’t tell. There’s a lot happening.

“Yeah, um…” at a complete loss for words, Becca quickly steps in.

“Hi, I’m Rebecca. Friends with the guitarist.”

“Oh, Mitch! Isn’t he amazing? I’m Gemma, Harry’s sister.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.”

Charlie shoots Becca a pointed glare. She apologises again, a little more sincerely this time.

“So does Harry know you’re here? Bet he’s thrilled, are the others here?”

“Um, no. And no. Not that I know of. I’m actually here for Mitch, too.”

“Oh, I–” Gemma frowns, understandably confused, but is cut off by the house lights dimming and some opening music starting.

Charlie pinches at her arm beneath the once soft material, it only now feels scratchy and too thick. Should she run? It seems like her only viable option. Except her feet are failing her and it’s too fucking late because–

“Hi everyone! I’m Harry, it’s a pleasure. This is my wonderful band, and we’re going to play a few songs for you. Starting with a new one, this is Complicated Freak.”

Frozen to her place, Charlie listened harbouring feelings she couldn’t quite place. Part of her wishes she had just done those few shots before she left like Becca had quite smartly suggested, but a larger part of her wishes she never came.

Because fuck, has she missed him.

She’s missed his voice, and his hands, and his eyes, and his dimples, and she could say she’s missed his hair but that’s gone with the last nine months. She missed watching him concentrate entirely too hard on playing the guitar and she missed watching that crease form between his brows as he closes his eyes and just feels the music. His music.

The music that sounds eerily familiar. Then suddenly flashes of a tour bus come to mind; long hair and slender fingers strumming a guitar. Lyrics that rendered a little to close to home but were promptly ignored at the time now echo the venue, echo her chest.

“Thank you so, so much everyone. I’ll see you soon!”

Harry lifts his palm to the roaring crowd, intimate and small yet still as deafeningly loud as she remembers them always being for him. Begging for an encore, or at the very least one more wave.

But it’s only then that she realises, still stuck to the floor, that he’s taking his guitar off. He’s offering the audience one final bow and kiss, and he’s turning, and he’s walking, and he’s grinning ear to ear and accepting his friends and family’s congratulations, and then he’s stopping, and he’s staring, and his lungs have stopped and his heart has faltered and–

“You wrote me.”

His lips quiver, paused in an effort to say the right thing. Say anything.

“Yeah, I…”

It’s as if the venue and people around them grew wings and flew away as time itself stopped just for them. The first time they had seen eye to eye in the time you could grow a whole fucking baby for God’s sake – and yet they could barely speak. So much unsaid, it’s almost too much. What do you start to say to the love of your life – who you lost?

Luckily, the people around them didn’t actually grow wings.

“We’ll see you later, H,” his older sister squeezes his dead arm, nodding towards Charlie (as if she saw) and then the other confused onlookers who had developed behind them during the show but fuck if Charlie noticed.

Gemma leads the group out, leaving the pair of them in a silent standoff, the muted sound of a dying crowd and crew starting to clean punctuating the quiet.

“Drink?”

“I wanted to call you so many times.” Charlie finally admits, three double vodkas deep.

“Why didn’t you?” Harry almost whispers four whiskeys in.

Malibu’s, their old, usual haunt, has been avoided for the last nine months. Not a single band member dared to go, whether it be that Zayn no longer bartends there or that they were afraid of memories. But it felt like the only place for them to be right now. Elbows leant on the same sticky counter, knees pressed together in their tipsy mis-care, no time passed yet the whole world between them.

“I was scared.” Charlie begins. “I needed time, and after I realised that you leaving us didn’t really matter in the end, I was too late.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Harry. I saw the tabloids. A month after we split you were seen with this person, that person. You had moved on from us, from me.”

Her confession is startlingly sobering, and Harry can’t help but gulp down a painful lump at the way her eyes water. Harry hadn’t moved on in any sense of the word, Harry was simply trying to find Charlie in anyone he could. The way in which he had coped with his web of feelings for the woman for the past six and a half years.

“I could never move on from you, Char. I was just… lost.”

Charlie snorts, turning to down the rest of her drink.

“Baby I–”

They both freeze. Harry didn’t mean to call her that, but God, doesn’t it feel natural? Isn’t that why it slipped out in the first place? Yet, a slap in the face would have felt better for Charlie. The vodka gets caught in her throat, the once warm liquor running ice cold down her chest.

She turns, her heart melting at the sight of his face. It’s that same heartbreaking, broken concoction of regret and worry knitting his brows and dripping from his eyes. And it has her lips hungrily on his.

He catches her, grabbing her hips as he opens his legs for her and draws her to his chest, breathing in every inch of her. Because that’s what kissing Charlie is like. Oxygen for the first time, water for the first time, life for the first time. His rough hands snake up her back, grip her sides, pinch her skin. Her nails rake at the nape of his neck, muscle memory expecting locks to hold onto but finding short curls as their home instead.

Their tongues and lips work in an unspoken agreement, all the way to her new apartment by the bar, all the way to her bed.

They didn’t speak. They were both far too terrified to lose this moment. They just needed each other, the touch they’d both been desperately chasing for months. Charlie closes her eyes as Harry’s mouth starts its attack on her neck and is transported to Louis’ apartment, where she first felt that same desperation.

“Please.” She breathes, wrapping her legs around his hips, eliciting from him a muffled groan as she grinds up towards him. He nods into her neck, his lips still working down her soft skin. She still tastes the same, that strawberry vanilla he could drink by the gallon.

Charlie claws at his back, making an attempt to remove his black button-up as he moves down her body. She just about manages it as he settles between her legs, pushing up her denim dress without grace or care before biting the edge of her knickers.

The heels of her feet press into his toned back, her palms already fisting the sheets as he harshly grips her hips to push her back into the mattress.

A million thoughts run through Harry’s head, but fear holds him back from saying a single one of them. Months ago, he would’ve told Charlie everything. How good her thighs feel, how fucking pretty she looks laying there, needy for him. How much her soft little pants sound like she should be begging for him, how hard he is for her like this.

But he can’t. For all he knows, he’s simply a mouth right now. He’s not Harry, he’s just something she needs, and fuck if he’ll be whatever she needs.

So he bites into her inner thigh, sucking away the sharpness as she grips and tugs at his hair. He moans into her skin, eyelashes fluttering against her hips as he kisses the top of her pubic bone. His touch is rough in every place but his lips as he makes a path to her core, pressing teasing kisses over her clit. Her knickers are fucking soaked through, and the sight alone is enough to send him berserk.

“Charlie, I’m gonna have to–”

“Please, just–”

With that sliver of permission, he reaches down, squeezing himself over his trousers. The slightly relieved pressure has him gasping against her lace, which quickly becomes wetter. Charlie sits up on her elbows, watching Harry touch and squeeze while he continues to tease her.

And it’s there. In between the need and the pleasure, Charlie begins to cry. Softly, quietly, but enough to garner Harry’s distracted attention.

“Hey, hey,” Harry moves back up her body, tugging her dress back into place as he squeezes her hip, “I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s fine.” Charlie’s voice cracks as her head hits the pillow, hot tears quickly meeting her hairline before she can wipe them away.

“Sweetheart–”

“I’m not your fucking sweetheart.” Charlie murmurs between gritted teeth, sending Harry aback. He sits up on his heels, his touch slowly leaving her. Charlie presses her palms into her eyes, squeezing the tears out as she muffles sobs against her hands.

“That’s the problem.”

It’s hardly above a whisper, but Harry hears every last syllable. Leaning back over her, he removes her fists, gently brushing her blotchy cheeks.

“I’m just drunk and emotional and weird and–”

“Stop it,” Harry murmurs, pulling her up to sit in front of him. “Tell me what you’re feeling.” When she doesn’t budge, he drops his head and whispers, “please.”

Charlie finds his eye. In so many ways, he’s unchanged. He still looks at her like that, and it crumbles her, just as easily as it did all those months ago.

“Everything got so fucked up, Harry. The band, me, us. I haven’t sang a chord in months. I see the guys, what, once, twice a month? And you…”

“It’s my fault, Char.” Harry sighs, collapsing beside her, rubbing his face. “I left, I split everyone up–”

“You needed to.” She interrupts, stern. “I didn’t realise at the time, it took me a while to accept it, but you needed to. Niall was starting a family, everyone was starting to burn out, even if we didn’t want to admit it.”

“You did the right thing.”

Those fives words are all that Harry’s wanted to hear for nine months. He’s spent countless, sleepless nights wondering if he’d messed everything up for everyone, forever. If in his selfishness he’d forgotten to use logic.

“I’m just not sure I did.”

Harry frowns, turning to look at Charlie.

“What do you mean, Charlie?”

“I worry that I was… hasty. Rash.”

Harry can’t help the small smile that starts to tug at his lips. He lifts his knees and rests his chin on his palm to hide it.

“I did a really messed up thing, you were justified.”

“No.” Charlie sighs, looking at the ceiling. “I was right to be mad, but I wasn’t right to have said all the stuff I did. I was especially not right to leave you.”

Harry’s chest jumps, but he tries to calm his excited heart before Charlie can finish. When it comes to her, there’s no real predictability. She might be about to destroy him all over again.

“Those six years mean more to me than anything I’ve done in my entire life. You were there through everything, every shitty and amazing thing, all I can think about is flashes of you. My sister, my audition, my first heartbreak, my first– I could go on and on, but the point is, you were there.”

“Even if you annoyed the shit out of me for the better part of it, you’re my life, Harry. I was stupid to think I could ever live it in the same way without you.”

It’s impossible to fight his grin, now.

Charlie finally turns to face him, instantly rolling her eyes at the sight of him. His entirely too wide smile, his glinting eyes and how they quickly flit to her lips, the twitch between his brows that lets her know he’s holding back a comment.

And despite his speechlessness, his answer is obvious.

“You sure you don’t want someone easier?” Charlie lilts, swaying into him.

“Why on Earth would I want anyone else?”

“I don’t know. I yell at you a lot.”

“I’d rather have you hate my guts than have anyone else.” Harry takes her waist, easing her beneath him again as he hovers over her. “I’ve spent my entire life waiting to hear you say that, you know.”

“Entire life is a bit dramatic.” Charlie drapes her arms around his neck, her fingers finding his nape. That hair is going to take some getting used to.

“Nope,” Harry pops his P, leaning down to press a kiss to her jaw. “You’re my life too, Char.”

She leans back into the pillow, her thumb circling his neck. “You mean it?”

It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, now.

“You really have to ask? What more could I possibly do to prove to you that you’re it for me, you always have been.”

Charlie smirks. “I could think of something.”

“Always thinking with your dick, Greene.”

Charlie lets out a scoff, and Harry let’s his chest do whatever it wants.

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