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mercurygguk · 4 years

Text

cockblocked. (m) | jjk

➵ summary; in which a pair of best friends are hopelessly in love with one another but they’re both too dumb to realize, even when everyone around them are dropping hints every five minutes. or alternatively; “you’re an idiot for thinking I wouldn’t love you back.”

pairing; jeongguk x f. reader

word count; 15.8k

rating; 18+

content; roommates au + friends (idiots) to lovers, smut/fluff/angst

warnings; mentions of alcohol, swearing, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, cum eating, oral sex (f. receiving), stupid jeongguk and stupid reader

a/n; i’ve been wanting to write a oneshot for so long with the ultimate boyfriend version of gguk, so i started writing with this gguk in mind. i hope you like it! ALSO, this is heavily unedited, so ignore any typos thx – enjoy!

find drabbles related to this fanfic through this tag !!

Music is blaring through the speakers, shaking your body as you stand against the wall, watching people get shitfaced and stick their tongues down each other’s throats. There’s an untouched drink in your hand. It’s lukewarm by now and definitely tasting way worse than when it was made. You hate yourself for always saying yes to joining your friends at this type of scene. Quite simply, you hate every single thing about parties at frat houses. The music is shit, it’s nothing compared to your own favorite chill playlist filled with ballads and old classics. The alcohol smells and tastes like crap, and it doesn’t get you nearly as drunk as it should. To top it all off, your friends had left you alone for two random guys, so in conclusion, this night could’ve been better but it could’ve been much worse as well you suppose. It’s not like you’ve done anything stupid, so really, what’s the problem?

It’s not even that late when you decide to make your way upstairs. There must be a quieter place in this huge house where you can sit in silence until you deem it acceptable to leave again. But as you push your way past couples practically having sex on the staircase, you realize that all rooms are most likely taken. Maybe you should just leave now? You chuckle at your own situation. You haven’t even been here for two hours and you’re already planning on going home again. You shake your head to yourself as you continue your walk upstairs. It won’t hurt to see if you just happen to be lucky enough to find an empty room in this gigantic house.

The first room you come across seems quiet as you press your ear against the door’s surface. You take the chance and grab the handle before pushing yourself inside. You stop in your tracks when one of the two in there turns to look at you, the other one sitting with their head down a bucket. You grimace as you back out of the room, closing the door behind you. The smell of puke haunts you as you move on to the next door.

“Last room better be empty,” you whisper to yourself after checking almost every single room upstairs. You push yourself inside without a single warning to those who may be on the other side of the door. The scene in front of you doesn’t surprise you at all as you stay in the doorway. The pair stops their actions upon your presence.

“I swear that’s the seventh person to barge in here!” The girl, who was being grinded on by the dude on top of her, whines. The guy turns his head to look at you, a glare evident even though it’s mostly dark in the room. “And suddenly I’m not in the mood anymore,” the girl groans as she pushes Mr. Fuckboy off her, “see you around, Jeon.”

You watch with an amused smirk as the girl yanks her shirt off the ground, slipping it on and pushing past you out of the room, her shoulder bumping against yours. You chuckle to yourself, wondering why some girls just had to be like that. The guy you now know as ‘Jeon’ gets up from the bed, turning to face you fully. He’s not wearing a shirt which allows you to see the sleeve of tattoos on his right arm. His pants are unzipped and his belt is unbuckled, and yet he doesn’t seem fazed at all. You cock a brow at him as he finally notices and reaches down to zip his pants and buckle his belt.

“Thanks for cockblocking me by the way,” ‘Jeon’ shoots at you, making you scoff and cross your arms over your chest.

“Well, it’s not entirely my fault,” you defend yourself, gesturing to the door beside you, “you could’ve just locked the door.”

He chuckles at your defensive tone as he grabs his sweatshirt off the floor. He slips it over his head, messing his black, curly hair up even more than it was before. That girl must’ve had a good grip on it for it to look like such a mess in this very moment.

“Why are you even in here?” Jeon asks, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. It tames it a bit, you think to yourself as you watch it fall back onto his forehead and slightly into his eyes. Not bothering to answer his question, you decide on stepping further into the room, making your way to the balcony that happened to be in this exact room. Jeon watches you as you open the doors and head outside into the chilly night air. He follows behind, joining you on the balcony. Why he does so wonders the both of you. He leans on the railing beside you, looking at the side of your face. “Party not fun enough?”

You chuckle. “Just not my typical scene,” you tell him, glancing at him.

The stranger, who goes by ‘Jeon’ so far, is still looking at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What is your typical scene then?”

This dude’s sudden interest in you doesn’t go unnoticed by you, so you decide to finally look at him fully instead of the drunk people on the front lawn below you.

“Somewhere quieter, somewhere you’re actually able to talk to people,” you explain to him, “and if there’s food, even better!”

This makes him laugh lightly, a glint in his eyes that makes your stomach tingle in a funny way. “A foodie then?”

You nod, a wide smile on your face. “Huge foodie.”

“What’s your name?” He asks, seeming genuinely interested in knowing it. “I’m Jeongguk.”

“___,” you tell him, “it’s nice to meet you, Jeongguk.”

He grins, a bunny smile appearing and you can’t help but think about how ridiculously cute he actually is. And yet still a fuckboy, without a doubt.

“Nice to meet you too, ___.”

You both watch the drunk people below in silence. You wonder what he’s thinking about. Does he think the same about these people as you or is he usually one of them? Maybe he’s one of those people who attends every single frat party. But he doesn’t seem to be very drunk at the moment. You’re about to ask him when he turns to look at you, eyes slightly wide with a glint in them as if he just thought of something brilliant.

“Wanna go somewhere else?” He suddenly asks. You squint your eyes at him, wondering what place he possibly could be thinking about. “I know this great place that has really good frozen yoghurt.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh, “you want frozen yoghurt at almost 1 am?”

He nods, a boyish smile on his face. “Yeah, why not? This party sucks aaaand you totally cockblocked me, so I see no reason to stay here anymore.”

Rolling your eyes, you chuckle at his attempt to make you feel guilty once again. “I stand my ground,” you snicker, “you could’ve just locked the door, dumbass.”

Jeongguk shrugs it off, a tiny smirk appearing on his lips. “So, is that a yes?”

You purse your lips, pretending to think about his question when in reality you had made up your mind the second he mentioned frozen yoghurt. Food is never questioned, you always say yes when your friends ask, and now also when Jeongguk asks. You nod, smiling widely.

“Yeah, frozen yoghurt sounds really good, actually.”

Jeongguk grins, grabs your hand before pulling you back inside and out of the room. A mild tingle erupts in your stomach as you look down at how tightly his hand is gripping yours. You shake the thoughts from your head as you follow behind, letting him guide you downstairs to where the party is still ongoing. He pushes his way through the crowd of people, glancing back at you once in a while to make sure you’re still with him. Were you really just about to leave this party, leave your friends behind to get frozen yoghurt with a complete stranger? Guess so. Were you starting to regret saying yes? Surprisingly, no.

As you ride with the bus to the downtown part of the city, you learn a few things about Jeongguk. He tells you that he’s majoring in photography and that his camera is his most prized possession, he tells you about how he’s a huge gym rat and that he’s basically living his life at the gym when he isn’t studying or running around with his camera. You learn that Jeongguk loves food more than anything and that he’s quite a chef himself (but you also learn that he isn’t one to brag, so you basically had to force it out of him). He also tried to assure you that he wasn’t a fuckboy, which you had claimed him to be when you interrupted him in that bedroom. You only laugh it off, patting him on the shoulder as if to tell him it’s okay, that you don’t judge him for whatever sex life he’s living.

You find yourself enjoying his company more than you had expected to, laughing more than you ever would’ve at the frat party. Even at some point throughout the bus ride, your one leg had somehow managed to rest over his thigh, his hand on it as if it’s the most normal position for the two of you. And there’s not a single moment of awkward silence during the entire trip to that frozen yoghurt place which Jeongguk had been gushing about since you got on the bus.

“Why is this place even open so late?” You ask as Jeongguk holds the door open for you. You walk inside the shop, him following right behind. Before Jeongguk can answer your question, you gasp loudly as you take in the size of the place Jeongguk brought you to. He chuckles from beside you, grabbing your hand once again to pull you to the yoghurt machines. Your mouth is agape in amazement as you grab a cup, starting to mix different flavours. “Jeongguk, there’s too many flavours! How am I supposed to make one without having to pay a shit ton of money?”

Jeongguk laughs, eyes scrunching together and pearly white teeth showing. “I guess that means we have to visit again soon?” He says, more like a question than a statement.

You nod excitingly, making him laugh once again.

Jeongguk ends up paying for yours even after you fight him on it, but he didn’t take no for an answer and left you to watch as he paid for both cups of yoghurt, yours ending up more expensive than you had intended.

“Thanks, that was really kind of you,” you softly tell him as he hands you your cup, playfully glaring at him as he does so. “It’s on me next time.”

He shrugs it off, smiling softly. “Don’t worry about it, ___.”

You seat yourselves inside a booth, eating your frozen yoghurt in comfortable silence. Jeongguk finishes it rather quickly causing you to widen your eyes at his empty cup. You’re about to tell him he’ll end up with a brain freeze but the said brain freeze beats you to it. You watch as Jeongguk brings a hand to his forehead, groaning in agony.

“Fuck,” he swears, “wasn’t thinking about this when I shoved that down.”

You laugh, grimacing yourself as he grimaces in pain. After a while, it stops and Jeongguk rubs his forehead with a sigh.

“You good?” You ask as you try to stifle another laugh. He nods, glaring at you and then the empty cup in front of him. Pushing it to the side, you chuckle. “It’s not the yoghurt’s fault, Jeongguk.”

He sighs deeply as he leans back in his seat, watching you as you finish yours. You glance at him occasionally, offering him a small smile once in a while as well. His eyes are captivating in a way, dark brown irises and long lashes. You can’t hold his stare for long without feeling like he’s seeing right through you and reading everything there’s going on inside your head. A tiny crush is starting to develop at the bottom of your stomach, but you try to ignore it, not wanting to go in that direction right now.

“You never told me about yourself,” he then says, catching your attention once again as he leans over the table. You look at him, confused. “It was just me talking about myself on the way here and we never got to talk about you.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, “well, there isn’t much to tell.”

Jeongguk scoffs with a chuckle. “Come on, there has to be something.”

You think for a bit, trying to think about what you can tell him that could possibly be interesting for Jeongguk to hear about. “But what do you wanna know?” You ask him, smiling.

“Mhm,” he hums, “well, first of all, what’s your major?”

“English,” you answer.

He nods at that. “Favorite color?”

“Yellow.”

“Favorite animal?”

Without thinking, you smile and answer: “Bunnies.”

You swear you see Jeongguk’s cheeks redden as the word leaves your mouth. You smile to yourself, resting your chin in your palm as you watch him, his cheeks flushed. He rubs his chin, searching for another question.

“Ah! Celebrity crush?”

“Gong Yoo,” you sigh, dreamy gaze with what you’d call a real-life ‘heart eyes’ emoji expression on your face. Across from you, Jeongguk is pretending to gag. You swat at him, giggling lightly. “Shut up! You’re just jealous.”

“Never,” he retorted quickly, making you smirk slightly. “Okay, last question.”

You wait, anticipating something but not sure what exactly.

“Can I have your number?”

There’s nothing to do to stop the blush that colors your cheeks as you nod, smiling at him for being so damn smooth. He hands you his phone with a small smile, you type his phone number in and hand him his phone back. Jeongguk laughs as he notices how you put your name in his phone; ‘cockblocker <3′

“I’m glad we did this,” he suddenly says, his expression a serious but soft one. You nod in agreement.

“Me too,” you tell him, meaning it. This night turned out way better than you had expected, and it was all because you happened to cockblock Jeon Jeongguk.

You run around your dorm room with a towel wrapped around your body, wet hair all over the place as you try to figure out where you left your phone. Your phone is currently ringing and you know without a doubt who it is, but you can’t answer him because you might have lost it in the pile of clothes on your bed and floor.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss to yourself repeatedly as you rummage through the clothes, the ringing of your phone becoming more persistent if that’s even possible. Then it stops ringing before you have the chance to locate it. You continue to look as you sigh, knowing it will most likely ring again in a few seconds. But it doesn’t. Instead there’s a knock on your door. You glance down at your body.

“Great, still naked,” you groan to yourself and move to the door, opening it and revealing your curly-haired best friend (who may you mention looks exceptionally good in his ripped blue jeans, black hoodie and white sneakers). He marches into your room before you even get to greet him. You close the door after him before turning to look at him. You grip the towel tightly, terrified it will fall if you let go. And cause a very awkward situation for you and Jeongguk.

“What’s taking you so long? We have to-” Jeongguk stops as he turns to face you, just now realising you’re only wrapped in a towel and not fully dressed at all. “Oh.”

Your lips turn into a straight line, nodding. “Yep.”

His cheeks turn a slight red color as he quickly turns back around, his back to you. “Sorry,” he then says. You laugh at his embarrassment, clearly not as fazed about this as him. And he’s supposed to be the girl magnet, you think to yourself.

“Calm down, Gguk. I decided to let you in even though I’m basically naked, so really, don’t worry about it.”

He glances at you over his shoulder, not even slightly discreet about the way he looks you up and down. You feel your cheeks slightly heat up, noticing the way his eyes linger on your hand which is still clutching the towel tightly. It has been almost 9 months since you met Jeongguk at the frat party and there has been a slight tension of something you can’t quite decipher ever since. There have been more than several moments like these where Jeongguk is staring at you a bit too long or his touch lingers on you for a while longer than they probably were supposed to. You always shrug it off, not thinking too much of it because it’s probably all in your head anyway.

Jeongguk sits himself down on your bed, gesturing to the bathroom. “Well, get dressed already. Jimin’s performance is in like 30 minutes.”

“Right!” You shriek, now remembering what the purpose of your shower was.

Jimin is Jeongguk’s best friend from high school and is a year ahead of you and Jeongguk at the same college. Jimin is a dance major, doing all kinds of dances varying from hiphop to contemporary and so on. He’s truly talented and even more of a sweetheart. You met him one night a few months back when you joined Jeongguk and his group of friends at a karaoke bar. You hit it off with Jimin in particular that night, and your friendship has only been getting better ever since.

Jeongguk watches with a lopsided smile as you scurry back to the bathroom to dry your hair. You haven’t even decided on an outfit yet. “What do I even wear?”

On your bed, Jeongguk is looking through your clothes. He holds up a red skirt without thinking, just simply liking the color of it.. “What about this?” He calls out to you, having no idea at all what you could possibly wear to go see a dance performance. You open the bathroom door slightly to look at him and the piece of clothing in his hand.

“A flaming red miniskirt?” You question, raising a single eyebrow at him. He catches your tone and drops it to the floor, looking for something else.

He tries again as he holds up a pair of light denim jeans with a cute, hesitating smile on his face. “Jeans?”

You grin, nodding, “much better.”

The place is crowded once you and Jeongguk arrive at the theatre where Jimin is going to perform. You look around, trying to see if you can spot Jimin. You want to wish him good luck before he gets on stage. Just as you locate him, he looks up and locks eyes with you. You wave excitingly, grabbing Jeongguk’s arm and pulling him towards his own best friend. Jeongguk lets you drag him along with a small smile on his lips.

“Hey, you guys made it!” Jimin beamed, hugging you tightly. You smile as Jimin gives you a light squeeze before pulling away.

Jeongguk grins at his best friend. “We wouldn’t miss it, hyung.”

Jimin pats Jeongguk on the shoulder in an appreciative manner. “Well, take a seat. The show is starting in 15 minutes or so,” he gestures to the seats, “I have to get backstage before the stylists have my ass for not being ready on time.”

You chuckle, not surprised that Jimin is one to always struggle with being on time. It has happened once or twice before.

“Good luck!” You make sure to tell him. Beside you, Jeongguk offers his hyung an encouraging smile and a thumbs up. Jimin gives your hand a squeeze before heading off to backstage. You both watch him run off, the stylist already smacking his arm as she tells him to sit down. You glance at Jeongguk who’s already laughing because of his best friend. “Where do you wanna sit?” You ask him.

He shrugs, “you decide, I’m happy anywhere.” You nod and purse your lips, looking over the theatre.

“Let’s just sit here,” you point to the seats right beside you. Jeongguk agrees, his hand coming up to rest against the small of your back as to tell you to sit first. Your skin tingles underneath your shirt at his touch, his hand strong but soft on you and lingering a tad bit longer than necessary. You sit down, Jeongguk plopping down beside you. His hand is resting on the armrest between the two of you and it takes all in you to not let your own rest on top of his.

To say your crush on Jeongguk had become less and less the past 9 months would be a total lie. If anything, it has only become worse and yet you can’t get yourself to tell him because you’re sure he doesn’t feel the same way. He’s still the ‘Jeon’ you met at the party almost a year ago, his fuckboy tendencies coming through once in a while and you’ve seen girls leave his room in the morning when you’d arrive at his place to hang out. And it hurt slightly every single time but you’ve never considered telling him why it hurts. He doesn’t even know it hurts you. But then again, here he is on a Saturday night, spending his evening with you to watch Jimin’s dance performance when in reality, he has seen Jimin perform multiple times. More times than he can count and it’s nothing new to him. He could be balls deep in some random girl right now and yet he’s here. With you. And his leg is brushing against yours, his shoulder is also touching you. It would be so easy to just tangle your fingers through his but your insecurities and doubt stop you from doing anymore. You sigh deeply, leaning back in your seat.

Jeongguk notices the heavy sigh you let out, looking at you with slight worry in his eyes. “Everything okay?”

You nod, offering him a soft smile. “Yeah, just a bit tired,” you answer him, a small yawn escaping your lips. It was partly true. You can tell he doesn’t quite believe you but decides against it, not wanting to push you into telling him.

Jimin’s performance starts right then. The lights dimmed down as he appears on stage along with a group of other people, his dance team that consists of other guys. Some of them are also Jeongguk’s friends; Taehyung and Hoseok. You watch with wide, exciting eyes, feeling very proud of Jimin for finally doing this performance when you know how much he has been working on it and how time consuming it has been for him. What you don’t notice throughout the entire performance is that Jeongguk is occasionally watching you instead of the performance, his heart beating just a tad bit faster whenever you almost catch him.

When Jimin finishes and bows to the crowd, you stand up for an applause, smiling widely as he thanks everyone by bowing one more time and then heading off stage.

Jeongguk taps your shoulder, motioning his head as if to tell you to leave. “Let’s go find him,” he says over the music that’s still playing. You nod, grabbing your things and following right behind. You squeal, happy and excited as you spot Jimin by the stage. He turns around just as you reach him, engulfing him in a tight hug. Jeongguk stands by behind you, watching you hug the living shit out of his best friend. It doesn’t feel right, he thinks to himself.

“You were amazing!” You cheered, squeezing him tightly as he did to you earlier. He laughs at your gushing excitement as you pull apart, thanking you and flashing you that charming smile of his.

Jimin glances at Jeongguk, smiling lips falling into a straight line. You don’t notice but Jeongguk is glaring at Jimin and Jimin knows exactly why. He scratches the back of his head, glancing back at his team before looking back at you and Jeongguk.

“We, um, we’re headed to a bar downtown. You guys wanna join?”

You look at Jeongguk briefly before smiling at Jimin, nodding, “sure.”

“Great! We’re leaving in a few, I just need to pack up my stuff,” Jimin grins and heads over to his team. You spot two people that you know — Hoseok and Taehyung. Taehyung caught your eye a lot during the performance, his mop of curly black hair stood out a lot and the way he was so into the performance and the mood of the songs. Truly mesmerising.

Jeongguk clears his throat beside you, letting you know that he’s still right beside you. Your cheeks heat up at the possible chance of being caught ogling a bit too long at Taehyung.

“Let’s go,” you pipe up, leaving Jeongguk’s side to go find Jimin again. The tension that’s starting to form is too intense for you right now. You feel Jeongguk’s eyes on you as you walk away and up to Jimin. Jeongguk’s heart drops a little when he can tell that you decide to walk with Jimin all the way to the bar downtown. He doesn’t get to stand there and grumble too long because Hoseok and Taehyung are quick to pull him along, dragging him in the same direction you and Jimin left in.

Your laughter sounds like a sweet melody to Jeongguk as he watches you from his seat at the bar, laughing at something Taehyung says to you. You’ve been sitting beside Taehyung for the past two hours, laughing and having a good time which is great but Jeongguk doesn’t like how close to you Taehyung is sitting and he certainly doesn’t like the way you have to touch Taehyung’s arm every time you laugh at something he says. Jeongguk takes a swig of his beer as Jimin plops down on the seat beside him. Jimin follows his line of sight, sighing deeply once he realizes what has caused him to become so quiet.

“Dude, you’re gonna burn holes in their skulls if you keep staring like that,” Jimin calls out, snapping Jeongguk out of his own thoughts.

Jeongguk sighs, taking his eyes off you and Taehyung. “Yeah,” he trails off.

Eyeing him carefully, Jimin places a hand on his shoulder. “If it’s that bad, why don’t you just go talk to her?” He suggests, the tone sounding hesitant.

Jeongguk glances at Jimin. “You know I can’t do that,” he grumbles, turning his back to you and Taehyung, facing the bar instead.

Jimin nods as he remembers why. “Sure, but can you explain it to me again? I still don’t see the point.”

Rolling his eyes, Jeongguk runs a hand through his hair only for it to fall back into his eyes. He really needed a haircut soon, he thinks to himself.

“I can’t tell her how I feel because that’d ruin our friendship and I’d rather have her be my friend than nothing at all,” he explains to Jimin as if it’s obvious. And it was true. Jeongguk’s straight up terrified that you’ll find out how he really feels about you and then proceed to end your friendship. It’s a risk he isn’t willing to take, maybe someday but just not yet.

Jimin hums to himself. “What if she feels the same then?” Jeongguk stays silent. “Ever thought about that possibility?”

Shaking his head, he sighs, almost sounding like he has given up on you already. “Listen, I just know that she doesn’t. She wouldn’t be over there with Tae right now if that was the case- Ow! What the hell was that for?”

He rubs the back of his head, pouting lightly at his best friend. Jimin shakes his head. “You’re dumber than I thought,” he concludes before getting up from his seat and heading back to the table where the rest of his dance team is sitting.

Jeongguk slumps in his seat, dropping his head into his hand. Jimin is right; he really is dumb. But as he glances back at you and sees the wide smile on your face, the same smile he can get out of you with his stupid jokes and goofy faces, he just knows that he wouldn’t be able to live without you even if it meant he got to tell you how he really feels. Jeongguk turns his back to the scene that is you and Taehyung again, finishing his bottle of beer before ordering a new one.

It isn’t even him who walks you home to your dorm that night. Taehyung gets the chance and swoops right in, offering to walk you home. You let him without hesitation and Jeongguk can only stand back, watching you walk off with Taehyung by your side. And it doesn’t go unnoticed, neither by him or Jimin, that you also forgot to hug your best friend goodnight. Jimin offers Jeongguk an apologetic smile, patting his shoulder and wishing him a good night before heading home with Hoseok, who’s also his roommate besides being his teammate.

Jeongguk is pretty sure everyone who passes by him on his way home can hear the sound of his heart breaking a bit more for every step he takes. But what does it matter? You don’t want this broken heart anyway.

“I’m thinking about moving out of the frat house.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and you choke on the coffee Jeongguk had just served you, coughing lightly and holding a “one second” hand up to Jeongguk who looks at you worried. Once your coughing dies down, you look at him, still surprised.

“You what?”

Jeongguk chuckles in his seat across from you. “I don’t feel like staying at the frat house anymore,” he shrugs, “I earn enough from working here to find my own place.”

Jeongguk’s little part time job at the campus café actually does pay him a good amount of money, but you wouldn’t expect anything else since he’s here more than he’s in class. The hours he dedicates to this place also gives him the right to chill in a booth with you during his shift because the owner of the shop gives him that much freedom. He has her hooked around his little finger and she doesn’t even know it. You smile at the thought, knowing very well that every single woman — old and young — would let Jungkook do whatever he wants after being flashed that charming smile of his. You guess that’s just the way his charms work.

“What’s on your mind?” Jeongguk asks, tapping your forehead to get you back to earth.

Your cheeks turn pink, “sorry.”

Jeongguk smiles at you, eyes glinting like they always do behind that long hair. “Actually, I already found a place I would like to rent, it’s not far from campus and it’s the perfect size even though it’s a 3-bedroom apartment,” he tells you. You smile, happy for him.

“That’s great, Gguk!” You beamed. “I’m happy for you.”

He did say 3-bedroom apartment though. Does that mean he’ll get himself a roommate? Your head fills with possible options for a roommate for him. Jimin could be a good one, but he already lives off campus with Hoseok. Taehyung lives by himself in a studio apartment, so that wasn’t an option either. He could ask that other guy he sometimes hangs out with, that one from his photography class and his frat house too. Namjoon, was it? You purse your lips, several faces showing up in your mind. Jeongguk clears his throat across from you, bringing you back once again.

“You’re zoning out a lot today,” he states, concern covering his face. You chuckle.

“I was just thinking about who you could ask to be your roommate,” you tell him and Jeongguk opens his mouth to speak up but you continue, “most of your friends already live off campus but you could ask that Namjoon fella, he still lives in the frat house, right?”

Jeongguk nods.

“He seems like a nice guy,” you ponder, finger tapping your chin. “You could just find some stranger too, but that’s quite a risk, isn’t it? Personally, I would prefer someone I know already, but you do you.”

You hear him sigh in defeat as you ramble on. “Or what about-”

Jeongguk cuts you off. “I already know who I’m gonna ask,” he blurts.

“Oh.” You fall silent.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says, “she’s rambling her ass off right now and she does that a lot to be honest, so I don’t know if I still wanna ask her.”

Your cheeks are burning as Jeongguk smirks at you, knowing very well that you’re aware he’s talking about you. Composing yourself, you sit upright in your seat. “Well, what if she doesn’t wanna move out of her dorm?”

Jeongguk chuckles sarcastically. “Oh, but she does,” he snickered, “with the amount of times she has complained about the shitty shower in her room, I’m convinced she’s just waiting for the opportunity to get out of there.”

“Am not!” You defend yourself even though you know he’s right.

Jeongguk laughs. “Shut up.”

You cross your arms over your chest, pretending to be offended but you can’t hold the act for long as you burst into laughter. “Okay, you’re right. I really do hate that shower.”

“Thought so,” Jeongguk smirks lightly. He stands from his seat, knowing he has to get back to work before the customers think he’s some lazy barista. He offers you another one of those charming smiles of his. “You’re my best friend, ___. I can’t imagine anyone else in that room other than you. So just think about it, yeah?”

You nod, smiling. You watch him walk off, heading for the cashier. He moves around the counter, patting the other cute barista boy (he’s a sophomore and he basically idolizes Jeongguk) on the shoulder as he passes by him and continues out to the back of the café. You turn back to your laptop and books, smiling to yourself as you take another sip of your coffee, made (with a tiny amount of love, but you don’t know that) by Jeongguk.

You don’t get too much time to yourself and your assignment before a certain dancer slips into the seat Jeongguk was in previously. You glance up at Jimin, who’s smiling slyly at you. You give him a confused but curious look, closing your laptop screen. “What?”

He nods his head in Jeongguk’s direction. “Did he ask you?”

“Asked me what?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about.”

You shrug. “He did,” you squint at him as he cheers, clapping his hands.

“Well,” he gushes, “did you say yes?” His excitement is bouncing off the walls as he leans over the table. You’re close to getting a whiplash from his quickly changing expression as you watch his face fall not even two seconds later. “Did you say no? Why?”

You shake your head, not able to keep up with him. “Calm down, will you? I didn’t even get to answer you.”

Jimin breathes out and slumps back in his seat. “Sorry,” he pouts but grins nevertheless, “I’m just excited.”

“You don’t say,” you mumble under your breath. “I didn’t give him an answer yet, he told me to think about it.”

Across from you, Jimin smiles at you - his smile hinting at something. You let out a small groan. “Jimin! I know what you’re thinking and no, I’m not gonna do it.”

“What?” Jimin exclaims, hands up in surrender. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

Now it’s your time to roll your eyes because yes, you do in fact know what he’s about to say. Jimin has been pestering you ever since he met you about the fact that you’re ‘pining’ after Jeongguk, your feelings on your sleeve and obvious to anyone around you, except for Jeongguk. The fact that you haven’t even told Jimin how you feel about Jeongguk just shows how well Jimin reads people and apparently you’re like an open book, especially to Jimin. Not to certain others.

“Have you ever thought about the possibility that he might like you too?” Jimin questions you, the same question he asked Jeongguk at the bar the other night. You nod your head at this, sighing deeply in exasperation.

“I have, Jimin, I really have,” you mumble, “but it’s obvious he doesn’t feel the same way. I can just tell that I’m nothing but a good friend to him.”

Jimin might scream at the both of you very soon. How blind and stupid can people actually be?

“If you say so,” he backtracks. You lean back in your seat, pen coming up to lay between your teeth. You bite on it as you stare at nothing in particular, Jeongguk is filling up your brain like he lives there rent free. “Look, ___,” Jimin catches your attention again, “accept his offer, maybe you’ll be surprised.”

He gives you a friendly, comforting smile and a squeeze of your hand before he gets up. He waves at Jeongguk who stands behind the counter again before leaving the café. His words linger around you. “Maybe you’ll be surprised.” Jimin had said and you wonder why he would say that. You know Jeongguk quite well even after less than a year as friends; what could possibly surprise you at this point?

Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to live in the same place as Jeongguk. This thought has appeared in your head for the past hours since you left the café. Now you’re sitting here, in your bed with a Netflix show, which you’re not paying attention to, running through several episodes. Jeongguk’s proposition has been raking up your mind since he left you to yourself at the café. It’s like he knew you would have to think about it when he told you to do exactly that.

And as you sit here, thoughts running at full speed, you try to come up with pros and cons for living under the same roof as your bff #1. Pros are that you get a nice shower every time you have to bath, you will live off Jeongguk’s delicious gastronomic talent and you’ll have your best friend close to you at all times. Cons would be the possibility of getting tired of each other even though you already spend five out of seven days together during the week. Another con would be witnessing girls leave his room and your apartment in the morning after having heard her scream his name all night. That specific thought makes a weird, not-so-great feeling appear in your stomach, making you frown deeply. But you will have to realize sooner or later that Jeongguk won’t ever see you that way and that this crush of yours is a lost cause. Maybe it really is time to just get over it. You sigh deeply, grabbing your phone off the nightstand to send Jeongguk a text.

you [11:38 pm]: i’ll do it, but you gotta make me delicious food every day

You wait for his reply, staring at your screen. Heart hammers wildly as three dots appear on the screen. Your breath hitches in your throat as you read his reply.

gguk [11:40 pm]: anything for you princess ;)

Jeongguk has never in these months of you knowing him, called you a nickname like that. And the way your cheeks blush as you imagine him saying it, tells on you. You love it.

Jeongguk groans as he puts down your last box on the floor of your new bedroom. It’s a box with all your English books and there’s a lot. “Have you even read all of these?”

You stop in your little project of hanging up all your precious polaroid pictures, turning to look at him. You scoff, lying as you say: “yes, of course.”

He smirks lightly, giving you a look that says ‘nice try’. You laugh to yourself, turning back around to your polaroids.

Jeongguk plops down on your bed, head laying on his hands as he brings them up behind his head. Today is a day for the books, you thought to yourself when he first arrived along with Jimin to get all your boxes and shove them into Jimin’s tiny car. He’s wearing blue jeans again, which you absolutely love on him, and he has styled them simply with a black t-shirt, showing off his tattooed right arm. You’ve been staring at him quite a few times since you arrived at the apartment you and Jeongguk have rented together. And it wasn’t helping how his arms kept flexing as he carried your boxes with all your shit up to your new bedroom.

He watches you in silence as you hang up the polaroids, standing with one in particular a bit longer. You smile as you reach down, showing it to him. “It’s us,” you smile softly.

Jeongguk takes the polaroid from your fingers, holding it closer to his face to see it better. It’s a polaroid photo taken at the Han River from that one night where you went out to eat dinner with his friends and some of your girlfriends. You had brought your polaroid camera along, hoping to catch some memories with it tonight. Jeongguk had noticed it that evening, grabbing it from your purse and snapping a ‘selfie’ of the two of you.

He smiles at the photo, remembering that evening as clear as if it was yesterday. That evening was one of the first times Jeongguk realized that he was indeed absolutely smitten by you and that you had him wrapped around your finger. You just didn’t know and you still don’t. “That was a great night,” he reminisces, handing you the photo back. You hang it up on the wall, right in the middle of all the others.

“Yeah,” you sigh deeply, “it was.”

Jeongguk claps his hands on his thighs as he sits up on the edge of your bed. You plop down beside him. “Pizza for dinner?” He suggests.

You nod frantically, “yes, please.”

And that’s how you and Jeongguk end up on the couch, watching that stupid movie with Gong Yoo. You’re completely sucked into that movie, mouth open in awe as you watch Gong Yoo unfolding his charms on the tv-screen. “Wow,” you breathe out as he kisses the main female character. Jeongguk scoffs from beside you, rolling his eyes before dropping his head backwards. The ceiling is more interesting than that ridiculous movie.

“Why is everyone so obsessed with this guy?” he asks, looking back at the screen again.

You shoot him a glare. “Are you sure you're not jealous?”

Jeongguk gasps dramatically, pretending to be offended by your words as he places a hand over his heart. “Am not!”

“Am too!” You laugh, scooting closer to him on the couch. “Admit it, you don’t like Gong Yoo because he’s getting a lot more attention than you.”

Scoffing again, Jeongguk knows that’s a lie and suddenly feeling like he needs to prove a point. He has girls waiting for him, not that you don’t know that. He smirks at you and says: “You know that’s a big fat lie, ___.”

You cock a brow at him. “You’re so full of yourself,” you scoff and get off the couch, taking the pizza boxes with you to clean up, “and you’re jealous, it’s obvious.”

Jeongguk scoffs right back at you as he gets up to follow you into the kitchen. “I am not jealous of some actor,” he states, “I have no reason to be.” You sigh to yourself, your back facing him as he leans in the doorway to the kitchen. You know very well that he has no reason to be jealous of some actor and you certainly don’t need him to remind you. He watches you clean up with a frown. “___.”

“What, Gguk?” You laugh humorlessly, turning to face him. “I get it, you’re hot and a woman magnet and so on, you don’t have to explain it to me.”

He smirks lightly, pushing himself off the wall and stepping closer to you. “Who’s the jealous one now?” He chuckled, arms crossed over his chest as he towers over you. You groan and push at him, making him take a step back from you.

“You’re so annoying,” you grumbled, moving around him and out of the kitchen. Jeongguk watches you walk away towards your bedroom. “Goodnight, roomie,” you call out, waving a hand over your head without glancing back at him. There was a tone of sarcasm in your voice. The door to your bedroom being closed as Jeongguk sighs to himself, wandering his way to his own bedroom. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he’s asleep. The day must’ve been more tiring than he had thought. A nice memory of him and a pretty girl at the Han River fills up his mind as he dozes off into the night.

The next morning you’re sitting at the dining table, laptop and books out. Your reading glasses are resting on the bridge of your nose and your hair is in a messy bun, making you look relaxed as you study for whatever class you have coming up. Jeongguk strolls out of his bedroom, no shirt… only a pair of grey sweatpants. You glance at him as he passes by you, heading directly for the fridge. You can hear him rustle around for a bowl and a spoon. A minute later he joins you at the dining table, a bowl of fruit loops in front of him.

“Morning,” he says softly, voice still hoarse from waking up. Your stomach tingles at the sound and you mentally slap yourself for being such a wimp for him. You don’t give him a response, continuing to read in your book and type away on your laptop. You can feel him glancing at you occasionally as he eats his cereal. Jeongguk pouts lightly, sighing deeply as you don’t pay him any attention. This is not how he expected the first morning in the apartment to be like. He grumbles to himself for a bit, contemplating on what to say to fill out the silence that has overcome the two of you. An idea pops into his head.

“Hey, I was thinking,” he starts, making you look at him briefly. You focus back on your laptop. Jeongguk falls silent.

“I’m listening,” you tell him, voice soft. “I just gotta finish this, but I’m listening.”

Jeongguk nods, hands fumbling. Why was he suddenly so nervous around you? There is absolutely no reason to be. Was it the tone from last time in which you had told him goodnight and then left him to himself that had him so on edge? He can’t really tell.

“I was thinking that we could have a small get-together with our friends, like a moving-in party?” He suggests. This idea actually sounds interesting, you think to yourself as you look back at him. Jeongguk smiles softly, continuing: “We can just invite the guys I usually hang with and then you can invite Lisa and Jisoo?”

You nod, smiling. “That does sound fun,” you agree on his idea, “let’s do it.”

A grin appears on Jeongguk’s lips. “Tonight? If people are able to make it with such short notice?”

Again, you nod. “I’m sure they don’t have more important stuff to attend on this Saturday evening,” you chuckle, knowing your friends and the fact that they rarely have much to do except for school, work and hanging out with each other. Same goes for Jeongguk’s friends.

“You’re right,” Jeongguk laughs, feeling more at ease now that you’ve joked around with him a bit instead of just sitting there in silence and not really noticing him. It feels better when you laugh, joke around and talk like you usually do without the annoyed and slightly jealous tone. “I’ll text around, asking them to come over tonight.”

You nod lightly, watching him get up from his seat and bringing his cereal bowl to the kitchen. “Remember to tell them to bring their own alcohol! We have nothing in this house yet,” you call out, chuckling slightly. You really didn’t. You almost didn’t have any food either. Maybe today calls for a shopping trip to the supermarket. You turn back to your laptop, eager to finish the assignment and then getting to the supermarket to buy snacks and some food for your empty kitchen cupboards. Maybe Jeongguk can join you on the trip there.

“You think this is enough?” Jeongguk wonders out loud as he places the bowls of snacks down on the coffee table. You join him a few seconds later, a bunch of glasses in your arms for the beverage. Jeongguk notices you joggling all those glasses, rushing to your side with wide eyes to take some from you.

“Thanks,” you softly say, letting him take most of the glasses and placing them down on the table as well. He smiles sweetly in return. “I think it’s enough, we have a few extra chips bags in the cupboard.”

“Perfect,” Jeongguk grins, clapping his hands and rubbing them together in excitement. “This is gonna be fun, I didn’t expect everyone to say yes but they’re literally all coming here in like ten minutes.”

You chuckle softly, making Jeongguk’s stomach do small backflips. He ignores them as he plops down on the couch. “I’m excited,” you sigh, plopping down beside him.

Jeongguk nods, smiling still. “Me too,” he murmurs.

You and Jeongguk fall into small-talk as you wait for your guests to arrive. A bit more than ten minutes pass and the first guest knocks on the door. Jeongguk gets up to let them in, not getting to say much before he’s engulfed in a tight hug by Hoseok. “Hey man,” Hoseok grins, squeezing Jeongguk tightly. He pats him on the back before letting go and walking further inside. Jimin and Taehyung follow right behind, both giving Jeongguk one of those guy hugs.

You lock eyes with Taehyung, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you. He lets go of Jeongguk to make his way to you, smiling widely. He looks really good, you think to yourself as he stops in front of you. His dark hair was curlier and more unruly than the last time you saw him which was only a few days ago. His smile was wide and bright as always, and his eyes a warm, dark brown. “Hey,” he greets you, smiling.

“Hi,” you reply, leaning closer to give him a hug. Jeongguk is closing the door behind Jimin as he glances your way and notices how Taehyung is already at your side, hugging you. He feels himself become slightly frustrated but Jimin is quick to push a hand against his chest, stopping him from walking over to you and make himself look stupid.

“Don’t,” he shakes his head at Jeongguk, eyeing him down until Jeongguk looks slightly less like he could punch Taehyung in the face right now. His jealousy is starting to get the best of him. He watches you, noticing how you smile that specific smile whenever you get flustered or complimented. Jimin glances in the direction of you and Taehyung, sighing as he looks back at Jeongguk. “You don’t get to be like this, Gguk. Not when you haven’t done anything to get her yourself.”

Jeongguk breathes out deeply, taking his eyes away from the relationship that’s starting to unfold in front of his eyes. Jimin is right, once again. He has no right to get all worked up and angry at the thought of you with Taehyung. At least Taehyung has the balls to actually flirt with you. Jeongguk feels like it backfires every time he tries to. Maybe it just isn’t meant to be you and him. With one glance at you and Taehyung, he joins Jimin in the kitchen to get himself a beer.

The night goes on, the rest of your friends arriving not long after Taehyung, Hoseok and Jimin. Lisa and Jisoo sit with you at the dining table, having fun as all of you laugh loudly at whatever you’re talking about. Jeongguk has been watching you tonight more than he’d like to admit, almost being caught a few times. But he was quick enough to look away before you could lock eyes with him. He hasn’t spoken much to you since your friends had arrived which made his heart fall a bit further into his stomach.

You glance in his direction, smiling softly. Jeongguk smiles back at you, deciding to get up and talk to you for the first time in hours. Grabbing his beer off the table, he’s about to get up and make his way to you, but he quickly stops in his tracks. Taehyung appears out of nowhere, standing close to you. His hands are resting on your shoulders as you look up at him. He smiles and says something Jeongguk can’t make out. You get up from your seat, letting Taehyung take your hand in his and guide you to the small balcony that is in you and Jeongguk’s apartment.

Jeongguk doesn’t notice Lisa and Jisoo looking at him, sad smiles on their faces as his face drops and he heads for the kitchen instead, walking past them. You nor Jeongguk knows that the two girls are secretly rooting for the two of you to finally get out of your heads and actually date. It has been too long of this pining after one another, but you’re both in denial no matter how much either Lisa, Jisoo, Jimin or whoever it is, tells you to confess to each other. Lisa gets up from her seat, letting Jisoo know she’ll be right back.

Lisa sighs deeply at the sight when she enters the kitchen. Jeongguk is hunched over the kitchen counter, head in his hands. She walks up to him, leaning against the counter beside him. Jeongguk senses her presence, grumbling lightly. “What?”

She scoffs, throwing a slap to his back causing him to stand up and face her. He glares at her, but he doesn’t say anything as he leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. He’s frowning deeply, looking at the floor. “What’s going on with you?” Lisa asks, even though she knows what’s up. Jeongguk glances quickly at her before diverting his gaze back to the floor.

“Nothing,” he shrugs.

Lisa scoffs again, not believing any of his bullshit. “Bullshit, Jeon. I know this is about ___.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at the mention of your name. He’s about to have had enough of talking about you and his feelings for you. Jeongguk is quite literally wearing his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see and yet you’re the only one who doesn’t notice. “I just needed a moment to myself,” he mumbles, sighing deeply before taking a swig of his 4th or 5th beer of tonight.

Lisa nods, “I get that. I mean, she did go with Tae just as you were about to approach her.”

“Yup,” Jeongguk pops the ‘p’, another sip of his beer down his throat. “She’s with Tae, probably already head over heels for him.”

The annoyance in his tone and the slight disgust makes Lisa sigh. “Listen, Jeongguk, you’re doing nothing. You walk around, hang out with her and now you live with her and she still doesn’t know. ___ is blind as hell and she won’t know about your feelings if you don’t acknowledge them yourself.”

“I know,” Jeongguk groans, “but I just don’t- I don’t think she’ll ever see me like I see her.”

Lisa pats his shoulder, giving him a smile that probably is supposed to comfort him but it only makes him feel like she’s pitying him. “Just think about telling her how you feel instead of getting hurt every time someone else does what you could be doing.”

And with that, she leaves him alone in the kitchen again. Staying in his place for a few minutes, he contemplates going out to the balcony and demanding to talk to you, even if it means he has to interrupt your conversation with Taehyung. He empties his beer, leaving it behind as he makes his way to the balcony. He opens the door slightly, slipping outside to see you there with your hand in Taehyung’s. His face drops a little along with his heart. He covers it well with a small smile, his heart hammering hard inside his chest still.

“Hey Tae,” he says, “can I steal ___ for a bit?”

Taehyung nods at his younger friend, looking back at you. “So Friday then?” Taehyung smiles at you.

Friday? What happens Friday?

Jeongguk looks at you, awaiting your answer like Taehyung. “Yep,” you nod, smiling softly back at the curly-haired man in front of you.

“Awesome, it’s a date then,” he grins and lets go of your hand, heading back inside. Jeongguk moves to the side, letting Taehyung through the door. You glance at your roommate slash best friend, watching him as he moves closer. Silence overcomes you for the second time today and Jeongguk finds it unbearable. There’s usually never silence between you or around you, only when you have study dates and even then you always end up chatting instead of actually studying.

Jeongguk clears his throat to break the silence. “So a date, huh?”

You look at him, a small hesitant smile on your lips but it looks closer to being a frown than an actual smile. “Yeah,” you trail off, finger fumbling as you lean over the balcony fence. Jeongguk’s hands are in his pockets but he feels them itching, dying to grab your fumbling ones.

“He’s a great guy,” Jeongguk suddenly blurts. You look at him confused. “Taehyung, I mean.”

You nod slowly, wondering where this conversation is going.

“But he loves girls, ___,” he rambles on, “you know, like, he has a hard time focusing on just one.”

Your face becomes hard, slightly offended on Taehyung’s behalf as the words leave Jeongguk’s mouth. “Oh, so he’s like you?”

Jeongguk falls silent at your words and it feels like a low blow. He sighs and frowns, looking away from you, staring at the almost empty street below. You can’t help but feel slightly guilty from saying that but it’s not a lie. Jeongguk has a booty call or two during the week, always having someone to contact whenever he needs his dick wet. But you still feel bad for firing off such a harsh comment.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, softly touching his bicep before heading back inside, leaving Jeongguk alone on the balcony.

You’re right, he thinks, but it’s only you who actually matters to him.

Two months have passed since your moving-in party, and things have been a bit tense around the apartment ever since. Taehyung has visited the apartment more often than any of your shared friends, but not for Jeongguk’s company. No, yours. And even though Jeongguk really has no say in your relationship with Taehyung, he still can’t help himself as he finds it ridiculous. He can tell you’re not as much in it as Taehyung is and it’s quite painful to watch. Why you’re not as into it as him is still a mystery to Jeongguk.

Today is no different as Jeongguk sits on the couch, watching his favorite cartoon when the doorbell rings. He groans lowly as he gets up from the couch to open the door. Taehyung appears in front of him, his big and unruly curly hair taking all the attention. Dude should get a haircut, Jeongguk thinks to himself as he leaves the door open for Taehyung to enter.

“Hey man,” Taehyung greets Jeongguk, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Is ___ home?”

Jeongguk cocks a single eyebrow. Shouldn’t he have checked that before coming here. “She’s in the shower,” he tells Taehyung, plopping back down on the couch. Taehyung nods, thanking him quietly before heading for your bedroom. Jeongguk watches him, grumbling under his breath because he’s starting to get tired of seeing Taehyung’s face that often during the week. He sighs to himself, trying to focus on his cartoon show instead of the sounds of you giggling inside your room.

Long hours pass before Jeongguk hears Taehyung leaving, the clock striking eleven in the evening before he’s out of you and Jeongguk’s apartment. He did leave quite in a rush though, making Jeongguk curious. He leaves his laptop on as he gets up from his bed to go to your bedroom. He knocks on your slightly opened door, peeking inside. You’re nowhere to be seen making him frown and furrow his eyebrows. He hears shuffling in the kitchen as he moves to the living room. When he reaches the doorway to the kitchen, he leans against it. You’re moving around, rummaging through the cupboards for something, dressed in pajamas shorts and an oversized t-shirt, one that looks awfully a lot like one of his.

“What are you looking for?” Jeongguk calls out, making you jump in surprise. You hold a hand to your chest as you turn to look at him, eyes wide. Jeongguk smirks lightly at your shocked expression, noticing the light blush that appears on your cheeks.

You turn your back to him to continue to look through the cupboards. “Just some snacks, I’m craving some right now,” you tell your best friend who you have no idea is just behind you. You freeze in your actions as Jeongguk reaches up to grab his usual snack off the top shelf. He hands it to you, smiling softly. You squint at him, wondering why he’s giving you his favorite snacks and the last pack at that.

As if he can read your mind: “You can have them if you want.”

Smiling, you open the pack and pop one into your mouth, the crispy consistency making you sigh in content. Jeongguk laughs at your happy expression, knowing the way to your heart is usually through food.

You grab another piece, holding it up to Jeongguk’s lips. He glances at it before opening his mouth and letting you feed him. His eyes are on yours the entire time as his lips brush your fingertips. Your heart leaps, making you pull your fingers back quickly. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to notice as he smiles, chewing the snack with the same happy expression you sported just moments ago.

“Let’s talk,” you suddenly blurt out, Jeongguk looking confused which causes you to explain further. “We haven’t like talked talked in a long time, so uh yeah, let’s talk?”

Your declaration has turned into a hesitant question as you wait, needing some kind of response.

“Sure,” he shrugs, smiling again. As he turns on his heel, you smile back and follow him into the living room. You plop down beside him on the couch, unintentionally letting your legs rest against his thigh as you pull them up under you. He glances at your bare legs for a second before diverting his eyes to you. “So what do you wanna talk about?”

You shrug, “I don’t know, life?”

Jeongguk chuckles, “life?”

You nod enthusiastically, smiling at him, “yes, life.”

He purses his lips, wondering if there’s anything to tell. You basically know most things already and not much has happened the past weeks except for the fact that his little ‘I’m in love with my best friend’ hasn’t resolved at all, and that he’s still hopelessly in love with you even though you have a boyfriend now. Which still seems surreal to him because it’s one of his friends whom he usually likes but not right now because well, yeah, he’s dating you. But there’s no way he’s actually going to tell you all of that.

“I don’t have anything to say,” he decides on saying, pouting playfully. You chuckle at his facial expression. He smiles at you, eyes going soft because you’re sitting so close to him for the first time in a long time and he feels relaxed. More relaxed than he has been for a while.

“Nothing much for me either,” you sigh, moving the pack of snacks closer to Jeongguk so he can eat some. “Tae asked me to come home with him for the fall break, he wants me to meet his parents.” You leave out the part where you broke up with Taehyung.

Jeongguk’s movements come to a halt, one banana crisp inches away from entering his mouth. “Really?”

You nod. Jeongguk notices how your tone was slightly hesitating and off as you told him about Taehyung’s request.

“Isn’t it a bit…” he trails off, not knowing which words to use without sounding like an asshole. You watch him as he searches for the words.

“A bit what, Gguk?” You press.

He sighs. “A bit over the top, maybe?”

You scoff lightly, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Jeongguk panics as you move a bit away, your legs no longer touching his. You give him a look that tells him to explain what he means. He sits up, elbows resting on his knees. “Listen, I just think it’s a bit unnecessary since it’s obvious that this relationship isn’t as important to you than it is to Tae.”

“You don’t know that,” you tell him, voice stern. Jeongguk is right, but you’re not gonna tell him that. He hasn’t been talking much to you for the past months hence he has no idea what he’s talking about because you haven’t told him anything about your now ended relationship with Taehyung. Call you bitter, you don’t care. Your best friend hasn’t shown any interest in your life whatsoever for two months now and yes, you’re blaming him for the tension there is in this home.

Jeongguk lets out a small groan in frustration, “but I do, ___! I do know,” he insisted, turning to fully face you, “I can tell because you’re not looking at him the way he looks at you, you’re not fully there every time he’s kissing you goodbye by the door before he leaves. I’ve witnessed it enough to know that you don’t feel the same as he does.”

You’re silent as he talks, listening to everything he says but still holding onto the bitterness that you have for him in regards to his little to no interest in you for two whole months.

“Don’t you dare deny it, ____,” he snapped, “I know you and you don’t love him.”

Punch him. You want to punch him for knowing you so damn well and for seeing right through you. And you want to punch him for being so dumb and blind that he still hasn’t figured out why you’re not in love with Taehyung. How can he not see that he’s the one you love? You’ve been wearing your heart on your sleeve for the entire summer and more, slowly falling in love with him ever since that night he brought you to the frozen yoghurt shop downtown.

“You’re right. I don’t love him,” you mumble under your breath. Jeongguk glances at you, eyes still filled with a small amount of frustration and anger, all directed at you and only you. “But you have no right to tell me this when you haven’t been interested in me and my life for two fucking months, Jeongguk!”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion, his heart slowly starting to beat faster because why are you fighting? What the hell just happened? “Wha-”

You get up from your seat, moving further away from him and Jeongguk feels like you’re slipping right through his fingertips even though he hasn’t ever been the one to hold you. But he should have, he should’ve been the one to hold you from the start.

“You don’t get to do this, not now when we haven’t really spoken to each other for so long,” you jabbed, “it’s my fault too, but I don’t come at you for having several girls over, do I?”

Jeongguk sighs, running his hands over his face in aggravation. “___, you’re overreacting. I wasn’t trying to tell you anything, I was just-”

“No, Jeongguk. No,” you shake your head, sneering at him. “I don’t need you to tell me or suggest anything, I don’t need your input and I don’t need you to make a decision!”

Jeongguk gets up, moving towards you, face twisting in anger. “Tell me, ___. What is he to you, huh? What is he?”

You glare at him, eyes hard on like his own and you don’t falter one moment. This anger and frustration has been a long time coming now, from both of you. “You’ve said he’s your boyfriend, but what is he really? Is he a fuckbuddy? Is he just someone to get yourself off with, huh?”

“No, Jeongguk, fuck you!” You shout, defending whatever it is that you have with Taehyung. “He’s good company, and no, I don’t see him like he sees me. He’s nothing more than good company but I actually like being around him unlike someone else I know!”

Jeongguk chuckles flatly, no humor behind it as he steps back from you. Hurt flashes across his face as he gets what you just said. “I see how it is,” he nods, giving you one last hurt look before retreating to his room. You stand back, hand coming up to cover your mouth as a cry rakes through your body. You didn’t know you had been holding back tears, the emotions you have for Jeongguk being poured out in the form of heavy tears in the middle of your living room. You’re frozen in your spot, sobs shaking you as you hold yourself. The sound of Jeongguk slamming his hand against the wall makes you move out of your frozen spot. You quickly make your way to your own bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

You slide under the covers, head feeling heavy as you let the tears fall. You didn’t intend to hurt Jeongguk the way you did, but you practically just shouted at him that you don’t like being around him, that his company isn’t good. It must’ve hurt him more than what you or he, himself, expected it to. You feel bad as you let your duvet engulf you whole, the taste of regret on your tongue as you keep repeating your own words in your head.

“He’s nothing more than good company but I actually like being around him unlike someone else I know!”

How could you even say that when Jeongguk hasn’t been anything but great company for you? He has been even more than that, he has been a friend you needed more than you ever knew, a person so supportive and loving that you always felt like you had someone to come to whenever times were rough. And in the midst of all this, you managed to fall for him as well. He didn’t do much to make it happen, he was just himself from the very beginning of your friendship and you’ve seen sides to him not many people have witnessed and you know the real Jeon Jeongguk. The Jeongguk who loves his camera more than anything, the Jeongguk who loves food and snacks and banana milk as if he was five years old again. The Jeongguk who’s such a softie, when you first get to know him like you do, that half of it would be more than enough. The Jeongguk who loves with his entire being, always putting his loved ones before himself – including you.

You sigh deeply, hating yourself for shouting such inaccurate words at him. You had to make it up to him, apologize to him for being so inconsiderate when all he did was trying to make you realize that the relationship you have with Taehyung is a waste of time. Jeongguk is right, you know he is. You don’t love Taehyung and you know you never will. The feelings just aren’t there, they’re elsewhere with someone who’s been worthy of them since what feels like forever.

Sleep doesn't overcome you as you stay in bed, staring at the ceiling. You’ve been tossing and turning for the past few hours, trying your very hardest to fall asleep ever since the fight you had with Jeongguk.You glance at the clock on your nightstand that’s reading 3 am — you have a morning lecture to attend in 6 hours. You let out a heavy sigh. Eyebrows furrowed together in frustration and your lips in a pout because why the fuck are you not able to sleep? Your eyes feel heavy from crying, but your best friend is taking up all your thoughts and the feelings you have for him are almost bursting out of your chest.

You groan to yourself as you roll over, pulling the duvet over your head. Closing your eyes, you try again for the umpteenth time. “I just wanna sleep,” you whine to yourself, but it’s no help. You give up on sleep.

You’re only half aware of what’s happening as you get out of bed and leave your bedroom, heading for Jeongguk’s bedroom. You stop in your tracks in front of his door. Maybe he’s also up, you think to yourself as you reach for the doorknob, turning it lightly. Peeking inside his dark room, you notice him fast asleep in his bed. You softly smile through the evident feeling of regret which is still heavy in your stomach. Without further thinking, you slip inside his room and close the door. You tiptoe over to his bed, glancing over him once again.

He looks peaceful, eyes shut and eyelashes touching the top of his cheek. Yet there’s a crease on his forehead and a slight frown upon his lips. The corner of your lips turn into a frown, copying his features unintentionally. Your eyes rake over the rest of his body. The duvet is only halfway covering him, from the waist and down. his naked chest is rising and falling as he breathes deeply. A soft tingle runs through your stomach as you carefully crawl onto his bed. You lift the duvet and slip under, sliding closer to him. He stirs in his sleep, turning over onto his side. you glance up at his face, noticing his eyes slightly open. You can barely see him in the darkness, but you can feel him looking at you.

“Hey,” he whispers into the darkness.

You smile, a sad smile, but he can’t see it. “Hi.”

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, voice soft yet hoarse. He moves a bit, trying to lay comfortably while creating more space for you. He’s careful not to touch you.

You shake your head at his question. “Not really,” you mumble.

You scoot closer, hand reaching out to touch his that is lying between the two of you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper softly into the night. Jeongguk turns his hand, letting you intertwine your fingers with his.

“For what?” He mutters quietly.

You breathe out shakily as Jeongguk is now the one to move closer to you. You let out a sigh, relaxing as his forehead rests against yours, his breathing clashing with your own.

“For the things I said, for shouting at you, for insulting you,” you explain, voice still soft and low as if someone outside would be able to hear you. “I didn’t mean any of it, I just-”

You stop yourself, hesitating. Should you just tell him? Tell him why you don’t love Taehyung when you have plenty of reasons to do so? Jeongguk senses the inner battle you’re having with yourself, his hand squeezing yours to let you know that you can tell him whatever it is that you have on your mind, reassuring you that he’s listening. “I don’t love Taehyung,” you sigh, “I broke up with him tonight… And there’s a pretty good reason for this.”

Jeongguk nods, humming in response because he already knows, it just took him insanely long to realize. Your thundering heart and shaky breath gave you away the moment he moved closer to you. Jeongguk is daring as he leans even closer, breath hitting your lips. You gasp lightly at the feeling of his lips ghosting yours, the skin of them softer than anything. His hand lets go of yours only to snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your hand touches his bare chest, the almost new and fresh tattoo he got two weeks ago feeling rough yet soft under your touch. He’s holding you so close that you’re unconsciously holding your breath.

“I was so scared,” you whisper against his lips, hand moving up from his chest to the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush against his hair, his long and slightly curled hair soft like you had always imagined it to be. “Scared you wouldn’t say it back.”

The tension in the room is almost unbearable but in a good way. This is months of feelings, tension and longing all coming together and clashing right here in this moment. You feel breathless, like you can’t breathe but at the same time, you’re perfectly fine.

“Say what back, ___?”

His hand runs along your hip and to your thigh, hooking around it and bringing it around him to hug his waist. His crotch is almost touching yours and your breath hitches at the feeling. Jeongguk smirks to himself, knowing exactly what kind of effect he has on you. He loves taking your breath away like this, but he can think of another way, something he’s been dying to do for a long time.

“Tell me,” he demands softly yet strongly, making you gasp again.

“I love you, Jeongguk,” You breathe out, feeling a weight coming off your chest, “I love you so much.”

Jeongguk’s heart skips a beat, a small smile appearing on his face as he cups your face, thumb running across your cheek. “You’re an idiot for thinking I wouldn’t love you back,” he whispers against your lips.

You whine at him for calling you an idiot and then you melt as he presses his lips against yours, soft and plump like pillows. Your hand tangles in his hair, fingers grabbing strands of curly, black hair as you let him kiss you until your breath is gone. It’s like you're sinking into him, fitting perfectly against his body. Goosebumps rise upon your skin as his hand wanders; over your bare legs to your waist and further across your chest and up to lightly wrap around the base of your throat. His tongue pokes at your lips, wanting to find yours. You part your lips, letting his tongue touch yours, the wetness and softness mixing well together as he pulls you even closer, a moan slipping out of you.

“Shit, ___,” he grunts against your lips as you press your core to his in eagerness, making him lose his mind, “please let me fuck you, let me love you so good, baby.”

You nod frantically, giving him full permission to do whatever he wants with you. A tiny squeal emits from your lips as he pushes you over, hovering over you and trapping you between his arms. He looks down at you, eyes soft and filled with want and lust. You smile up at him, hands running up and down the sides of his naked torso. You loved touching him like this, feeling his muscles tense under your touch and his soft skin that is filled with heavy tattoos, all of them having their own special meaning.

“I love you,” he whispers so softly you almost don’t hear it, eyes flickering between yours.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, cupping his face to pull him down to meet you for a kiss, a sloppy and wet kiss that makes your body tingle. You hum in satisfaction as he moves away from your lips, kissing his way down to your neck. He licks a stripe up your neck and to your ear, tongue flicking at your earlobe. He makes you shiver, his touch soft like a feather and yet rough enough to make you feel them more evidently than anything you’ve ever felt before.

As he works his way down with his lips, your hands are everywhere. On his shoulders, in his hair. You’re squirming under his touch, feeling impatient as he takes his time with you. It’s like he already knows every part of your body as he runs his hands down your sides and up under his T-shirt, that you’ve stolen at some point, pushing it up and revealing your breasts. He pulls the shirt all the way off, throwing it onto the floor without looking. His room is rather cold, making your nipples stiffen. He licks his lips, looking at your chest with hungry eyes. You gasp as he cups your breasts, thumbs running over each nipple. You bite your lip, holding yourself from moaning too loudly. You can’t hold it in as you watch him wrap his wetted lips around one of your hardened nubs, tongue lapping over it and flicking it.

“Holy sh- Jeongguk,” you moan, eyes closing as you arch your back in pure pleasure. He bites onto it causing you to twitch in his grasp. He smirks up at you as you glance down, watching him move to the other breast to give it the same amount of attention. He’s such a tease, you can barely comprehend it in your mind.

A small tiny moan emits from your lips as he moves further down, lips kissing the skin on your stomach, trailing around your navel and to the edge of your pajamas shorts. He glances up at you for permission which you grant him with a small nod, teeth biting onto your lower lip. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, pulling shorts and panties down your legs. They’re on the floor within a matter of seconds, out of the world and out of the mind of the both of you as Jeongguk focuses his attention on the wetness that has formed between your legs. His dick twitches in his boxers, the sight of you bare and naked in front of him messing with his head.

You whimper as he spreads your legs, revealing your wetness to the cold air of the room, making you shiver once again. He inhales as he lowers his face between your legs, quiet growl leaving his lips. “You smell so good, baby,” he rasps, hands running from your ankles to your thighs and squeezing the soft flesh there, making goosebumps appear on your skin. “Can’t wait to taste you.”

The feeling of his lips against you makes you jolt, your breath quickening as you feel him kissing against your folds. Jeongguk brings a hand up, the other hand gripping your thigh tightly to keep your legs spread for him. You moan lightly as he runs a finger down between your wet lips, loving every second of watching and hearing you squirm beneath his touch. You’re not prepared for the feeling when he spreads your folds with his fingers before diving in, licking up and flicking your already sensitive clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh my god,” you moan out, your hand digging into his hair as he licks and eats you out like a starved man. Your breathing picks up as he quickens the pace of his tongue, feeling yourself nearing your high. “D-don’t stop, Gguk.”

Jeongguk hums in response to your words, letting a finger slip between your folds and inside you. You gasp, leaning up onto your elbows to watch him. Your mouth hangs open, a fucked out expression on your face as he glances up at you, lips still tightly connected to your core. “Oh,” you hum, biting your bottom lip tightly, “oh, fuck.”

His mouth leaves your wet lips as another finger sinks into you, pumping in and out at a fast pace. He’s desperate to bring you to your orgasm, lips kissing all over your thighs and lower stomach. “Let go, baby, cum for me.”

Your arms give up, your head hitting the pillows as your first orgasm of the night comes at you with full force – Jeongguk’s goal is to make you cum at least three times tonight but you don’t know that. “Fuuuuck Jeongguk,” you moan, voice high pitched as you close your eyes. Your toes are curling, fist grabbing the sheet tightly as his fingers fucks you through your orgasm. As you come down from your high, Jeongguk removes his fingers from you, your release covering them as he holds them up. You watch him bring his fingers to his lips, licking your cum off them. You whine, sitting up to reach for him, desperate for more.

He chuckles with a smirk, letting you pull him closer by hooking a finger around the silver necklace around his neck. Your lips finally land against his again, a sigh emitting from you as you let him lead you back onto your back again. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he positions himself between your legs, his cock twitching against your core. You can feel how hard he is through his boxers. Your tongue dances with his as you reach down, cupping him through the fabric of his underwear.

He grunts against your mouth, letting your lips go to rest his forehead against your collarbone. Your hand squeezes him causing him to whine lightly. “Baby, don’t do this to me,” he rasps, lips pressing tiny kisses against the skin on your throat. “Need to fuck you.”

You nod, running a hand through his hair and down his neck to his shoulder blade. Pushing at the waistband of his boxers, he gets the hint. He helps you push them down his legs, his cock springing free and slap against his abdomen. You let him do the rest himself. He kicks them off, leaving them to fall onto the floor, long forgotten. He reaches over to his bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a condom. You watch him rip it open with his teeth before reaching down to roll it onto his sensitive, throbbing dick. You kiss him once he returns back to hovering over you, tongue sloppily fighting against his. Pulling away, he trails kisses to just above your breasts and back up to your neck. His hands are everywhere on you, running over your nipples to your stomach and further down to brush against your still wet, pulsing core. “Still so wet for me, huh?” He hums against your neck, teeth lightly biting into your skin. “Only for me?”

You nod, breathing heavily, “only you, Gguk.”

You can feel his smirk against your neck, shivers running through you at the thought. He lines himself up, leaning up on his elbows to glance at your face. You lock eyes with him, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. He leans into your touch, eyes closing momentarily before he presses a kiss to your palm.

The moment his eyes open again, you gasp. They’re dark, filled with lust and desperation. You don’t get to say a thing before he pushes past your folds and inside, making you moan his name out loud in surprise and pleasure. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god,” you moan, grabbing onto his bicep tightly. He hisses at the mixed feeling of your nails digging into his skin and the sensation of finally getting to be balls deep in you after all these months. He bottoms out, head resting in the crook of your neck as he stays still for a moment.

“Oh god, you’re big,” you breathe out into the darkness, taking a few minutes to adjust to his size before you tell him to move. He chuckles against your neck, pressing a small kiss there before leaning up to support himself on his hands, looking down to see where you’re connected as one. “Gguk, please move.”

You’re in another world as he pulls out and pushes back in, the force already unlike anything you’ve ever tried before. How is he better and bigger than what you’d expected?

“Fuck,” he groans, “you’re so tight.”

Your moans become more high pitched for each thrust Jeongguk does, your stomach tightening in just the right way. He sets a steady rhythm, somehow managing to hit the perfect spot every single time. “I love you so much,” you gasp out as he grinds into you, bottoming out in you and filling you to the brim.

He moans at your words, a hand grabbing your leg and wrapping it tightly around his waist as he fucks you harder. “I love you too,” he breathes out against your lips before kissing you hard but sloppily.

Jeongguk man handles you halfway through, unwrapping your legs from his waist and bending them to press against your chest. This angle causes him to hit even deeper than before. “Jeongguk, please fuck me faster,” you whine, moaning. He bites into his bottom lip as he follows your command, setting a faster yet still hard pace. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he hits you deeper for every single thrust, his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks hard into you.

You’re seeing stars as you close your eyes and moaning out loud in pleasure, loving you better than anyone ever good, cherishing your body in every way he can as he brings you to another orgasm. White flashes for your eyes as it hits you, hands digging into his hair and pulling him in for another kiss. “Oh my god, fuck,” you whine against his lips, feeling yourself tighten around him.

This brings him to the edge, low grunts and groans leaving his lips in between sloppy kisses. His last thrusts become even harder as he hits his high, he stills as he cums into the condom. He’s breathing hard along with you, forehead resting on your chest.

“Holy fucking shit,” he sighs deeply as he pulls out before plopping down to lay beside you. He pulls the condom off and throws it into the bin close to his bed. “That was-”

“Amazing,” you breathe out, turning onto your side to look at him. He turns his head, smiling at you. “You’re amazing,” you tell him.

He grins, leaning up to press his mouth to yours in another sloppy yet soft kiss. You peck his lips one, two, three times before resting your head on his chest. Jeongguk wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. The duvet is pulled over the two of you as you’re slowly beginning to drift off to sleep. You don’t allow yourself to fall asleep before you’ve talked about this whole thing.

You rest your chin on his chest, locking eyes with him. His finger tips are running up and down your naked back, goosebumps rising once again.

“What now?” You question hesitantly, voice soft and careful.

Jeongguk shrugs, smiling softly at you. He brings a hand up to push strands of hair behind your ear. “It’s just you and me,” he softly says, running his thumb across your bottom lip. You kiss the pad of his thumb, making him smile even wider.

“Just you and me?” You repeat.

He nods, “you and me.”

You lean up, pressing a last kiss to his lips before resting your head against his chest once again, this time really falling asleep. Jeongguk lies awake for a bit, fingers still running up and down your spine. Your soft snores fill the quietness of his bedroom and it already feels like this is how it’s meant to be, finally.

The sun is forcing its way through the curtains in Jeongguk’s bedroom causing you to stir in your sleep. You stretch before rolling over onto your other side, coming to face a sleeping Jeongguk. You smile, feeling your chest fill with warmth and love as you watch him sleep with his mouth slightly parted and light snores leaving him as well.

You reach out, brushing his overgrown, curly hair out of his face. He stirs lightly, reaching up to wrap his hand around yours and intertwining your hands. He’s still sleepy as he opens his eyes, dark brown eyes meeting yours.

“Hey,” you whisper, shuffling closer so that you can press a soft peck to his lips.

He smiles, feeling his chest fill with warmth and the feeling of being content and happy in this exact moment.

It doesn’t even take five minutes before Jeongguk’s is more awake and has you pinned down beneath him. He leans down, lips ghosting yours as he rests himself between your legs. He’s still naked just like you.

“Wanna go again?” He whispers against your lips, pressing a soft kiss to them.

You chuckle, “wasn’t last night enough for you?”

He shakes his head, lips moving further down to your neck and biting into your skin, in the same spot as last night. “It will never be enough,” he hums into your skin. You can feel his dick twitch against your thigh causing wetness to quickly appear in between your legs.

Without another word, you reach down and line him up against your folds. “No condom?” He looks at you, confused.

You shake your head. “I’m on the pill and I’m clean,” you tell him, “aren’t you?”

Jeongguk looks at you in awe, nodding his head. “Of course, I am.”

He leans down, kissing you softly, tongue poking out to ask for allowance. You kiss him back, letting him in, arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close. Jeongguk lines himself up again, hand wrapped around the base of his cock. You feel him poking at your folds, stomach tingling in excitement because there’s simply no cock better than Jeongguk’s.

“I love you,” he softly whispers.

You smile, “I love you too.”

Just as he’s about to push himself fully inside, the sound of the front door slamming shut stills him. Jimin’s voice sounds throughout the apartment: “Guys, get up! I’m inviting both of you out to eat breakfast, so you better be ready in five minutes!”

Jeongguk drops his head to your shoulder, a groan leaving his lips. “I can’t believe I get cockblocked again,” he grumbles against your skin, making you laugh out loudly.

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tastyykpop · 3 years

Note

jeno extra filthy degradation please 😭

ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ

Pairings: jeno x reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: dom/sub themes, degradation, brat!reader, brat tamer!jeno, spanking, fingering, eating out, overstimulation

you were annoying

that was as simple as jeno could make it. he found you absolutely insufferable. and the countless of times you've opened your mouth to make a stupid comment was like nails on a chalkboard.

sure you were pretty and kind to others but not very much to him. you were rude, cocky, and persistent, it was your way of getting his attention. and to say it worked was an understatement, you were on jenos mind 24/7. no matter where, when, or who he was with, he could only think about you. of course, you were the same, but that's because you've had a crush on him since trainee days and almost everyone in SM knew.

jeno knew.

since you worked at SM as a stylist, it was easy to get closer to jeno and work your magic everyday. you were blatant with every touch, every shameless sentence that entailed more then it should, he couldn't quite ignore it either or tell you to shut up. seriously, it doesn't work.

you're a brat, he would say to himself, nothing more than a brat that doesn't know her place.

which in this case, he was correct.

but to him, your behavior was easy to change. he's noticed how you've drawn blanks when he interrogates you on your behavior, how you downplay your wrongs to see him try and hold back his longing to make you submit. it was a game to you clearly, but jeno wanted to beat it.

so how did you end up under jeno so soon in the practice room?

well, the group had been preparing for a dance practice video and you and a few other stylists were called in to help get them prepare for the camera. jeno was trying his best to stay low and out of your sight. it didn't work, but it was worth a shot.

"happy to see me?"

jenos eyes rolled, "I'd be happy if I saw death staring at me in the eyes." he began walking away until you grabbed his arm, making him put his hands over his face.

"dont be like that." you push his hands away now seeing jenos annoyed face. "be lucky you're not stuck with someone else. at least I make your life more interesting.

"interesting or frustrating? I think you've got your words mixed up."

you began applying a light foundation on jenos skin, taking in his angelic features before realizing what he said, "impactful I must say. I know you love me, jeno."

jeno makes a face in disgust pushing your hand away from his face, "youre not my type."

"I dont know. chenle told me otherwise...."

"youre a brat."

"and you're close-minded."

"close- you-"

"done. now go dance and make some fangirls or boys scream." you don't bother turning around as you walk towards the back of the dance practice out of the cameras view.

jeno, somewhat red in the face, stood in his starting position for the choreography, you couldnt help but stare at him in awe. hes gorgeous, you can't lie about that. and the way he moved once the music started playing made you feel different. maybe it was your crush on him, but you heated up very quickly while watching him. other staff members weren't paying as close attention on the boys as you were, only their phones caught their mind. you didn't mind, but damn did they not see how hot jeno was when dancing?

sweaty and out of breath, the boys took a break to get a drink of water.

"you did well- you all did actually." handing jeno a bottle of water, he stared between the thing in your hand and you before taking it and chugging the whole bottle. "but I think mark was the one who stood out to me the most."

"what?"

"mhm. mark was very fluid in his footsteps and his movements were clean and precise. a good dancer I must say."

there's something up. you were staring at him the whole time and he knew it, he danced harder just because you were watching. how could you have seen mark when all you did was stare at jeno?

"and hes cute too. surely he's got a bunch of girls and boys ready to throw themselves at him. I would too, he's absolutely perfect."

jeno balled his fist. what game are you trying to play? "you're testing me." he may not like you, or maybe he did, but something about you talking about someone else like that sparked jealousy in him.

"good. maybe you'll do something about it." you put a hand on his chest, jenos heart pounding fast as you came closer and whispered, "I bet you won't. all bark no bite. pathetic if you ask me."

"youre gonna regret your words if you keep speaking."

"oh really," you leaned back, his eyes pierced your curious ones with a sense of fury and annoyance, "and what are you gonna do? spank me?"

just like that jeno pulled you out of the room and into another practice room. he pulled a chair out from the corner and pulled you over his knee.

"jeno, I was just kid-"

he spanked you hard over and over and over again as you wailed and wrapped a tight hand around jenos ankle for support. each spank was painful and to the point unbearable, yet jeno didn't back down. not after he felt he could break you now.

each time his hand made contact with your ass, felt like he was letting loose all the pent up anger you caused him over the past months you've been working here. for him, it was hell. no matter what people would say to you about him did not dictate his feelings about you. right now, he hated you and needed to let that burning passion out by spanking you. jeno wanted you to feel the hell he endured when around you. sure enough, you were feeling it, crying and sobbing on his thigh like an idiot.

you didn't fight back even though you proposed that you hated it. your body seemed to like it more then you thought.

"youre a pest!" he landed another hard hit, "an annoying pest who needs to learn when to shut the fuck up. now apologize."

"no!" you winced at another hit, squirming- no more like trying to grind on his lap because of how painfully wet you've become in just minutes.

"apologize." he repeated.

"you're- you're an idiot if you think I'll give up!"

jeno stripped you of your pants and panties, "its cute listening to little sluts like you thinking they have power over someone much stronger then them. it must be tiring thinking youre charge." he taunted before spanking you again, this time the impact was far greater and almost caused you to scream before jeno clasped a hand over your mouth. with the same hand, he pushed you off his lap and on the floor, leaving your lower half bare for him to see.

you were a pretty sight, a mess to say the least, but jeno loved that. finally seeing you disheveled with tears leaking down your cheeks, he thought of you as his little crybaby. he tried his hardest not to take a picture.

"don't think I didnt notice how your wet cunt leaked all over my thigh" he began, "do you really get off to being put in your place, slut? is that why we're here right now?"

"d-dont be so full of y-yourself."

"oh? but your dripping all over the practice floor, how could i not." jenos lips were close to your heat, teasing you with his eyes and tongue as he glided it just above where you wanted him.

you had nothing to say, yet your eyes told him everything. told him just how you'd defy him any chance youd get only to make him more upset. it wouldn't be fun if your goal wasn't to piss him off.

jeno kept his tongue away from your most needed area, his lips kissing anything but your dripping heat as you bucked your hips into his face. jenos hands would push your hips down and back his face away frowning at your behavior and returning to what he was previously doing. you weren't done though, since he was holding your hips, you grabbed his hair and forced his head where you needed him. his tongue inside you was far from good, it was amazing. and though you realized jeno wasn't pushing your hand away, you pushed and pulled his hair as you kept his head in place so he couldn't stop.

the long strides and the smooth rhythm he had was enough to make you arch against the floor, gasping and calling out his name far to loudly for his liking. but with watchful eyes and a steady tongue, he shamelessly enjoyed it yet he had to be aware of the people in the building. one loud moan and someone would sure walk in to see what's up.

so jeno swatted your hand away from his head and lifted up with a frown. he liked the frightened look on your face as he leaned closer and closer, "if you're this much of a slut for people to hear us, we might as well have just stayed where everyone else was."

"thats hot." you stated blankly, jenos eyebrow raised before realizing how far gone you practically were, with how big and dilated your eyes are. "w-wait no! I'll stay quiet I promise."

"No you wont." jeno got up and grabbed your underwear that layed on the floor, then shoved it in your mouth allowing you to taste yourself. "stay quiet, fucktoy."

"fucktoy?- oh fuck!" you mumbled into your panties as his fingers protruded inside you. at least you were quieter this time.

"tell me when youre about to cum." he said just above a whisper as he watched you slip further and further into bliss. the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head with each skillful thrust from jenos fingers made his cock grow harder each second. you were so hot, so damn beautiful as you moaned into the panties like a little bitch. jeno loved it too much to say he hated you.

"feels good- f-feels so good, j-jeno." you said quietly into the panties. it was getting harder and harder for you to keep silent as he began rubbing your clit like a desperate man, hungry for your cum. but you did your best keeping low.

you grinded against on his hand, inching closer and closer to what you believed to be your orgasm. clentching tightly around jenos fingers you gasped and spat your panties out, "jeno! i-im gonna-

"cum, fucktoy." he insisted, never removing his fingers from your wet hole as a white substance spilled out. he kept going, in and out, in and out as you clamped a hand over your mouth. so much sensitivity and his fingers were still going.

"stop i-i can't take it!" you found his wrist and tightly held it as you attempted to pull him out.

"youre gonna take this like a good bitch until I want to stop." he said right as your second orgasm washed through you.

too much. you could barely think straight and even tried pulling your hips back but his fingers followed.

too sensitive. you could barely breathe because of the overwhelming sensitivity. yet in a twisted way, it felt good in a strange way. maybe it was the pain of cumming over and over or how jeno worked his fingers. either way, you could feel another one building up.

"please, please, please." you cried hoping for the end, but there was no way jeno was stopping.

"apologize and this will be your last one." He stuck his fingers deeper, if that were possible, and watched you squirm trying to find words to say, but all that came out was drool. "disgusting whore." you slapped him in the face for that.

"I-i am not sor-sorry!"

"im not playing these games anymore. say you're sorry."

jeno growled, deeper and deeper he went and faster and faster he goes before your third orgasm of the day came. your legs shook and your grip got tighter but still to no avail did he stop.

you were very persistent on making jeno angry before, but now you seemed to have started rethinking that apology. "im sorry."

"for?"

"for being rude to you!" you legs shook again and that feeling in your stomach was back, "i-im sorry jeno, but p-please I can't take it!"

he did it. he broke you. and with that he finally pulled his fingers away letting all your cum out.

you cried softly, still a shaking mess from the orgasms and jeno, well he didn't care all too much but he knew he probably shouldn't be too harsh with you about now. so he gently took you in his arms, sitting your bare bottom right on his lap as he rocked you slowly.

"im never leaving after this." you say slowly, "and I know you don't hate me either, I can feel your boner against my ass."

jeno pinches your arm and shushes you. god, you were a pest and maybe youre right. maybe he doesn't hate you like he proclaimed he did. maybe he did enjoy this session in the practice room, but he won't ever say it. not because he's afraid to admit it, but because he doesn't want you to rub it in his face.

#nct #nct smut #nct dream #nct dream smut #jeno #lee jeno #jeno smut #lee jeno smut #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #ask #anon

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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Butterflies getting caught in throats with no words to help explain. Time standing still with a heart breaking. Determination and a willingness to see it through float away in sleep.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw injury (nothing major, just a wrist injury)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 6644

Shoutout to @damianodavide, who was a superb help on this chapter and the real life nurse behind this one ;) 😘

***

Damiano’s head was spinning. As soon as he closed his eyes, Y/n’s face appeared in front of him, eyes hooded, lips plumps from just having kissed him, and an expression that promised a need for more. It left him bothered in a way that he knew would not let him sleep until he took care of it. Trying to pretend it was her feminine hand instead of his own rather undignified touch, he reached into the waistband of his underwear immediately letting out a hiss at the contact.

He was desperate for her, but if he couldn’t have her, his imagination would have to do. Pictures flashed through his mind as he moved his hand. Her on her knees, looking up at him through long lashes. He had already gotten a taste of the way she reacted when he complimented her, watching her eyes go wide as he called her a good girl. Her being good for him. Her on her back, ready to be devoured by him in any way he pleased. Feeling his hands go into her hair pulling her face up to look at him. Her bent over whatever furniture he could find, willing to let him have his way with her. Deeply, madly, irrefutably, he wanted it all. She was truly making him lose his mind. Her body and the way she moved were infatuating. Her laugh when someone did something dumb. The look in her eyes when she teased him back. He could still feel the kiss she left on his lips. He never wanted that feeling to end. Brava ragazza mia.

He came with an embarrassingly loud groan, unable to hold back or keep quiet. For a moment, in the silence, he wondered if anyone had heard. He was well aware that his room was surrounded by those of bandmates and crew, but he couldn’t remember who it was exactly anyway, and it didn’t bother him for long, his hazy mind drifting around once again.

***

“Where is your mind at?” Y/n looked up as Victoria pulled her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Y/n had stopped in Victoria's room after breakfast, trying to keep tabs on what everyone’s plans were on their day off. She had meant to get some work done as Victoria was busying herself getting ready, but it had ended up with her staring into the distance, laptop almost forgotten on her lap.

“Oh, sorry. I’m here, what were you saying?”

“I asked where your mind is at.” Victoria fell forward laying on the bed. Y/n knew that the blonde was starting to learn to read her like a book and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Yeah, um, listen. What would you say to someone that may have absolutely decimated her career, by maybe accidentally kissing her boss while they were all high?” She didn’t dare look at the bassist, bracing herself for whatever negative reaction would potentially come from this.

Victoria sat up in surprise, eyes wide and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that.” Without giving in to Y/n’s slight protest, she removed the laptop from the assistant’s legs, closing it shut and putting it away. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it really. We sat on the couch, you know that. And I said something stupid about how his eyes looked like chocolates, or maybe gemstones? I don’t quite remember. Anyway, then he pulled my hair out of the hair-tie. I went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face. Fuck, it was bad. Not the kiss! He is very good at that! But I shouldn’t have done that. And then he just went ‘it's cool, it happens’. What does that even mean?!” She was talking much too quickly, getting it all out before the rational part of her brain would make her shut up. Make her remember she was talking to someone she’d only just started getting to know a week ago, who she was working for. “Then Thomas crashed and you know how that ended. Now I might be avoiding him. Just a bit.” She looked at Vic with a slight panic in her eyes, unsure if she had said too much.

Victoria, on the other hand, seemed delighted to no end, if a little shocked. “Wait, as if you kissed with all of us there and no one noticed!” She exclaimed, briefly pausing, contemplating, but shaking it off to get back to the conversation. “So… Good kiss, huh? Did you enjoy it then? Wanna do it again?” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Victoria! That is not what I am worried about here! I could lose my job. I- I could never show my face out there again if people found out. And I really enjoy this job, you know!” Her face scrunched a little bit, calming down with a sigh. “...But also, yes, he was a gentleman, and if he wanted to … kiss me again, I probably wouldn’t say no. But I also wouldn’t say yes. I work for you. This is not the time to be thinking about how much I enjoyed kissing Damiano!”

Her eyes went wide as her voice dropped to a whisper, looking down at her hands. “Ah fuck, I said that out loud.”

“Okay, let’s look at it from a rational standpoint then.” Victoria turned slightly more serious at seeing her panic. “There is no way you’ll be losing your job over this. Maybe I wouldn’t advise hopping into bed with the whole band and crew, but we always got a tight-knit relationship with people we work with anyway, you know that. None of us would rat you out to management or anything. Plus, if you liked and Damiano liked it… wouldn’t it be a shame to worry about anything else instead of going for it?”

“I don’t know if he liked it. I was busy trying not to pass out, to be honest. I avoided him this morning by going straight to your room. I actually kind of avoided everyone, I’m scared the words of what happened will just come out to anyone who asks… Kind of like they just did with you.” She let out another deep sigh, switching between looking at her nails, picking at them, and out the window. “If he ...you know ... Then maybe. I honestly don’t even know what I would do with that information. On the off chance that he did like it though. And wanted to go for it then I’d consider it.” She tried to remain as put together as possible and, well aware that she was failing miserably.

“Well, in that case, we have to find out what Damiano wants!” Victoria’s enthusiasm was back with a vengeance. “You should talk to him! Or should I talk to him? Maybe I should lock you in a room like those romcoms and threaten to not let you out again until you kiss.”

“Or you don’t do that because that is entrapment. I think I would be cool with you talking to him. But I still have to do my job. That comes first. Because as far as I am concerned,” Y/n got up and grabbed her laptop again, “it is business as usual. And last night was a fluke. Not to crush your rom-com dreams, love, but if I spoke to him I’d put my foot in my mouth faster than you can play bass.”

The smirk on Vic’s face didn’t promise anything good. “We’ll see about that, we’ll see,” she ominously muttered, before jumping up from the bed. “Now stop trying to pretend you got work to do, we’re going vintage clothes shopping.”

***

The thrift store turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place, just off a side street - perfect for shopping in peace without getting much attention at all. Y/n hadn’t been all that keen on keeping the band company for this little adventure, but Victoria had insisted, claiming she needed a female perspective in case the boys were being stupid again. It had only taken a serious case of the puppy dog eyes to win her over, and Victoria found herself making a mental note to remember it.

The store was stuffed full of clothes, a kind of chaos that seemed to have an order that only the owner really understood. But it looked like heaven, and within seconds everyone had vanished into some corner or other, dying to find their newest favourite piece. For a moment, Victoria contemplated who she wanted to follow first, feeling the need to talk to at least two different people but also never wanting to miss out on a chance to go crazy with Thomas. Ended up deciding on Damiano. It seemed the more pressing issue. She hadn’t failed to notice how he would try to pretend that everything was normal, yet continuously evading Y/n’s eyes. She had kept her distance all the same. This wasn’t acceptable. She had to do something, Victoria decided.

She found the singer shuffling through some blouses, although much more half-heartedly than he tended to be when it came to vintage clothes. Looking out from the racks Victoria saw Y/n doing the same. She briefly considered how to go on about this - admit that Y/n had told her what had happened? Pretend she had actually seen the kiss last night? - but figured that Damiano would start talking on his own accord sooner or later. Especially if this was affecting him the way it was Y/n, and she was almost hoping it was.

“Okay, spill, what’s up with you today?”

Damiano shrugged, pulling a shirt out from the rack, and holding it against his body, waiting for Victoria's opinion. She raised a brow and put it back wordlessly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he responded rather vaguely.

“Damia, you’ve barely spoken at all today. Normally you can’t shut up. And you know, I’d be thankful for some peace and quiet from you, but you’re actually worrying me. So what’s going on with you?”

Damiano had a panicked look on his face as he scanned over the racks of clothes, his eyes flickering back and forth, obviously noticing Y/n shuffling through some things and slowly getting closer. Taking Vic by surprise, he dragged her into the dressing rooms.

“Okay, that’s…. Weirdly intimate, but go on,” Vic mumbled to herself as he closed the curtain behind them, still nervously looking around the small space.

“Rather talk to you in here, than her hear me out there. I may have fucked up, royally.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Victoria was sure he would be burning a hole into the wall with his vision if he possessed that power. He was avoiding looking at her and she knew it.

“Explain,” she simply demanded, sitting down on the tiny stool in the corner and looking up at Damiano. She wanted to hear it from him, hear what had happened in his version of the story, hear what was bothering him so much.

“So we were at that bar, right? Y/n was sitting next to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you were there. Anyway. We were talking. I don’t know if it was the smoking or whatever else, but I looked at her and - I don’t know why I did this but I did. I pulled her hair out of her hair tie.” He leaned on the wall, his head hitting the brick behind him. He groaned but Vic assumed it didn’t have anything to do with the pain. “And… and she was so beautiful. Her hair just all around her. So soft. And at that moment, she was laughing and it sounded heavenly. And I went to look at her again and suddenly my lips were on hers…” His voice softened at the end, losing his train of thought and drifting. She had never quite seen him like this. “Then she was freaking out, and I told her some fucking stupid line like ‘it happens’. I just wanted her to calm down but… Now she must think I’d just...” He groaned, slumping a little and finally looking over at Vic. “Then she ran off to help Thomas.”

“So, what you’re saying then is that you did enjoy it? Potentially wanna do it again?” She felt transported back to the conversation she’d had with Y/n just hours earlier, posing almost the exact same question. She had never been this involved with any of her friends’ relationships to this extent, but something told her that her help was desperately needed in this case.

He raised a brow at her. “Did you not hear the part where after we kissed she then proceeded to freak out? I doubt that she even wants to see my face right now.” A heavy sigh left him and Victoria found herself laying a hand on his arm. “And of course I want to kiss her again, Vic. I close my eyes and she is there. Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

***

Y/n stood in the shoe aisle holding a pair of heels in her hand, contemplating for a second, before putting them on. Turning towards Ethan, who was walking towards her now, she realised it had eliminated all height differences between them. Definitely too high, she thought to herself. Holding onto his shoulders, she clumsily took them back off.

“Hey Ethan, find anything good?” The smile on her face felt forced but she was praying he wouldn’t see it.

He proudly holds up a black, studded belt with an intricate design on it, as well as a pink suede jacket. “How about you? I think I saw some nice trousers over there that might suit you. Wanna check it out?”

Y/n scoffed. She didn’t want to let her mood out on Ethan, trying her hardest to stay diplomatic. “Love the idea, but I doubt any of the clothes in here would go over my thigh. They’d fit you guys just great though. The jacket looks good, by the way.” She tried to distract herself from - well, everything - by putting the shoes away, mindlessly letting her fingers wander over the other pairs standing there.

Ethan looked at her in contemplation for a moment, but seemed to decide against following his train of thought. “At least try on some more shoes. Here, what about these?” He excitedly grabbed a pair of high-heeled boots, very much in the style she could see any of them wearing on stage - much less the one she usually went for when working.

A little intimidated, she took the shoes, if only to humour him. Ethan was nothing but a sweetheart, this was the least she could do. She put them on only with some slight struggle. She once again reached his height, almost amused by the feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with him, but the shoes felt strange. Very far removed from the usual flats, sneakers, boots, or whatever other pair that would allow her to keep running around all day without regretting it in the evening.

“Do I look silly?”

“You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.” His voice had the most earnest tone to it and it was only supported by the way he studied her, looking her up and down. “Maybe walk a few steps to see if you can get used to it.”

She laughed as she proceeded to strut and partially dance some steps down the aisle to the song playing in the store. “I haven’t worn heels in so long, still got it though!”.” Her small smile grew into a grin, rather proud of herself for still being able to keep up. Going to the mirror near Ethan she looked at the shoes, then at herself in the shoes, then back at Ethan. Still, the insecurity took over for a moment. Her voice seemed small when she asked, “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart for emphasis. “Want to go and see what the others think? I saw Thomas over there, and Vic and Dami disappeared into that corner a while ago.”

“Right, good idea.” She walked over to the dressing room looking for Damiano and Victoria, figuring they had gone to try on some things. Well, she was mainly looking for Victoria, still uncomfortable at the thought of facing the singer. She was in the middle of calling out for them when Damiano’s voice seeped through the curtain instead. She didn’t mean to listen, only to wait for him to stop so she could interrupt, but the second she realised what he was saying she wished she had never come over.

“Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

She stepped back. Frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of her chest, hurting, aching, breaking just that little bit. Processing what he had said seemed to happen not at all and then suddenly all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Anything but this suffocation. She needed to leave.

“I need some air.”

The words came out of her mouth much louder than anticipated, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that people were looking at her now. She didn’t care that was still wearing a pair of shoes that she had definitely not paid for yet. She just needed out, out, out, and away from all this. From him.

She didn’t realise she was walking on cobblestone until she wasn’t anymore, her ankle giving way, arms desperately trying to keep her from falling as she stumbled.

***

Damiano and Victoria stopped in their tracks as they heard someone approach from outside of the dressing room. Both heads turned towards the sound, when Y/n’s voice came through, telling maybe no one in particular that she needed some air. Her voice sounded strange. Damiano was convinced he had never heard that particular tone in it. As he threw back the curtain, he saw her stumble outside, clearly hectic, and he could feel a surge of panic run through him. Something wasn't right here. He forgot all about the conversation he was having, all about Victoria, and made his way outside. Not quite running, but the worry had him out of the door quickly. His heart sank when he saw her, lying on the floor just outside of the shop, holding her arm awkwardly, some scratches already beginning to bleed a little. As she looked up at him, he could see tears pricking at her eyes.

"Fuck, are you okay? What happened? I just saw-" The look on her face - or rather, the way she turned away from him - shut him up instantly. This wasn't the time to bombard her with questions. It didn't matter anyway. Instead of bothering her further, he quickly knelt down beside her, helping her sit up in return. He was acutely aware of the way she pulled away the second he touched her skin. Like she had been burned. ´

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry to ruin the shopping trip, you can go back in if you want to," she mumbled, trying to wipe some tears away but instead spreading some dirt and drying blood onto her cheek instead. Damiano wanted to touch her, clean her up, dry her tears, but the way she had pulled away a minute ago made him not want to try. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her more. He watched as she pulled out her wallet, handing it to him. "Go pay for the shoes please. And stop looking at me like that, I said I’m fine."

Yet, as soon as she moved, she winced in pain, taking a deep breath before getting herself up to a standing position. He found himself holding her arm in support, but she only accepted it for as long as necessary. As he let go, she let out a small cry of pain, obviously holding her hurt wrist the wrong way.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Damiano sighed. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but she was already in tears, turning away, and it simply didn’t seem like a sensible option. He looked around at the others as they gathered around Y/n. Only Thomas was missing, probably still blissfully unaware inside the shop and browsing for clothes. He tossed the wallet to Ethan. “Would you mind paying for her shoes real quick?” Ethan nodded, walking back into the store. Y/n was still standing between them, holding her arm close to her body in a protective gesture. Almost a similar expression to the one she had had on her face on the plane all those days ago. He wondered if something was scaring her the way the turbulence did back then.

“I am and will be fine, Damiano.” Her voice was stern. “I cry at a lot of things, this is no different. I wrap it up, put ice on it for a while and I’m golden.”

He watched as Victoria put a tentative hand on Y/n’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away from her touch, he noticed. “Y/n, that really doesn’t look like nothing. Look, it’s starting to swell up already.”

"What do you want me to do then?" She almost sounded resigned now as she looked back and forth between Damiano and Victoria. "We are in Amsterdam. I don't exactly have a GP on speed dial here. Now, where is Ethan with my wallet?"

She started walking towards the door of the shop, but Damiano defiantly held out his arm to stop her. "We are taking you to A&E."

Her face seemed to drain of all colour, and this time it was not because of the pain. "You are not taking me to a hospital."

Damiano looked at her, determination in his eyes, trying to make her understand that this was non-negotiable. Just for now, he would forget about the way she was brushing him off, the way she was evading his touch, the way she did not even want to look at him. Because right now she needed him and he would be there for her, if she wanted him to be or not.

"Yes, I am. Final decision. You would do the same for us if we got hurt. But we're responsible for you too, you're part of our crew, and right now, being responsible means getting this checked out. Besides, you're not getting your wallet back until you agree."

As soon as Ethan stepped outside again, this time with a slightly confused-looking Thomas in tow, Damiano snatched the wallet from his hands only to put it in his own jeans pocket. She was mad, obviously turning whatever was bothering her into anger, but Damiano was having none of it and he hoped the look in his eyes told her so.

"Fine! Take me to the hospital. But know that I am not happy about this."

"I don't need you to be. I just need you to come with me."

***

A quick refresher of her rudimentary Dutch verified that she was indeed looking for "spoedeisende hulp", another search on the internet confirmed that there was a hospital nearby, and before she knew it, she had been whisked into a taxi with Damiano. The others had decided to make their way back to the hotel, no point in clogging up the waiting room. Damiano promised to call with any news immediately.

Y/n wouldn't tell him, certainly not right then and there but she was happy that Damiano seemed to take the lead for once. She wouldn't have had any problems had any of the others needed medical help - but having people fuss about her? Making her the center of attention in a way she did not intend to be and having to accept help from others?... It was a completely different story. Still she appreciated the way he handled the situation, making sure she got registered with the administration straight away, listening attentively for further instructions, and leading her into the waiting area. She was also glad that it seemed to be quiet, not only because it would result in less of a wait, but also because the bustling would have made her all the more nervous.

This was out of her comfort zone. She had managed to avoid hospitals for the majority of her life, and yet here she was, because she panicked and couldn't handle her shoes. Looking down at them, she wanted to curse them. Curse the fact that they made her walk over to Damiano and Victoria in the first place, curse the fact that she had heard Damiano speak about her that way, curse the fact that they carried her out the door but not much further. She didn't even know where her actual shoes were. Hopefully, Ethan had kept his head and collected them on the way out after paying.

A few seats down, someone coughed loudly, reminding her exactly of where she was. It wasn't the worst hospital she had ever been in, that much was true, but she would rather not see one from the inside at all. She was dying for some comfort, some soothing words, a gentle touch, but as soon as Damiano made any attempt at reaching out to her she pulled back. His words were still heavily playing on her mind, the swelling of her wrist and the heat that seemed to seep from it a painful reminder. There was no way she was going to let herself fall, be reassured and consoled by him when he was so obviously sick of her presence. She wouldn't do that to either of them. Victoria with all her good intentions be damned. At least right now.

“Why are they not calling you in, it doesn’t even look like they’re doing anything,” Damiano grumbled next to her, eyes on the nurse’s station where a few of them were sitting. A few eyes were on them, something that looked like an excited discussion.

“Stop it, I’m sure they’re busy at work. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean they aren’t”, she bit back, slightly harsher than intended. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she turned away, not looking to have a deeper conversation.

It left Damiano sitting in silence. Leaving both of them in the same situation, again. Y/n and him alone. Well, alone enough. Alone enough to not have anyone distract her from the uncomfortable feeling that settled over them. No Thomas being silly, no Victoria making a dumb comment, no calming presence of Ethan. Through this whole process, Y/n had basically crawled back into herself. She wished she could disappear.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they were finally called, too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pain in her wrist. The nurse that beckoned them over had the warmest smile on her face, albeit tired eyes and it surprised Y/n how much comfort she found in the soft expression of the woman. White slacks, rolled up sleeves, pockets so full it looked like they were bursting at the seams, dark hair up in a bun. She found herself looking over at Damiano, wondering if he was aware of how gorgeous this woman was, how kind and calming her aura was, but his eyes were trained solely on her. She didn't allow herself to get lost in his gaze, quickly dropping hers and following the nurse into an examination room.

“Hi, I’m Ana, I’m going to be your nurse for today. You only speak English, am I correct?” She asked, gesturing for both of them to sit down, Y/n on the examination table and Damiano on a chair next to it. There was a slight twinge of an accent in her speech, but it was clear that she was fluent, which was a relief. Y/n didn’t even want to think about trying to get this done with the few words she knew in Dutch. She nodded, gratefully. “We’re going to go over what happened, and then I’ll do a physical examination, and the doctor will see you after as well.”

Y/n watched as the nurse fumbled with the computer, seemingly already typing things before Y/n had even said anything. “So, what exactly happened?”

“I, uh, tried on some heels and tripped on the cobblestone outside,” Y/n explained, taking a moment to glare at the offending shoes still on her feet. “Fell forwards, tried to soften the blow with my hands and now my wrist looks like this.” She held up the offending arm, gathering that the sight would speak for itself. The dried blood of the little scrapes on the palms of her hand did its best to make it look more dramatic than it felt.

“Oh, yeah that looks quite painful,” the nurse winced. “I see you’ve scraped your knee as well.”

Y/n looked down, slightly confused, only to realise her jeans had torn, revealing a beat-up knee underneath. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed, too occupied with… well, everything else. This felt like it was getting worse by the second, she never wanted to get back to a hotel room this badly. She felt like crying, but letting Damiano see her composure waver was the last thing she would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, moving her legs as if it gave her a chance of hiding her bruises.

“It’s not nothing, Y/n,” Damiano sighed next to her, before turning towards the nurse. “I think it’s more serious than she’s letting on.” In the same determined tone from before.

The nurse looked back and forth between the two of them. “It’s probably the shock of it.”

Oh yeah, the shock. Mainly that of finding out that Damiano didn’t want her around, apparently.

The nurse asked a few more questions, time of the accident, previous medical history, medication she was taking regularly, but they barely reached her. She found herself answering curtly, with Damiano filling in where he could. She wouldn’t tell him she was thankful for it. Even though the idea of him taking care of her made her emotional.

“Right, let’s get that wrist looked at then.” Y/n had feared it would be painful but as soon as the nurse started handling her? She knew it was her job to feel the joints, test her range of motion, move her arm. But unwelcome tears emerged in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to push Damiano’s hand away, as she almost reveled in the comforting touch on her back. The small talk didn’t even begin to make for a distraction. Yet, something was nagging at the back of Y/n’s head as she watched the nurse interact with Damiano. There was a familiarity in her eyes… Did she know who he was? Surely not.

“This will need an X-Ray to make sure it’s not broken,” the nurse concluded, finally letting go of her wrist. Damiano whispered a quiet ‘You okay?’ over to her, but she couldn’t do anything but nod. “I will bandage the scrapes a bit while we wait for a doctor. So, what brings you to Amsterdam today?”

“Work,” Y/n answered, trying to keep some degree of privacy, but Damiano didn’t seem to mind butting in immediately.

“I’m in a band, we’re on tour. She’s our assistant and overall angel.” She wanted to shoot him a look, both at the unnecessary honesty and the over-the-top way he was describing her, but a touch to her banged-up knee distracted her.

A doctor popped into the room quickly verified everything the nurse had told him And before she knew it she was being led down a hallway to get an X-Ray. Damiano stayed behind in the room.

“Cute couple, the two of you,” the nurse piped up next to her.

“Um, yeah, no. Not a couple. Just a working relationship.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n almost wanted to stop dead in her tracks, ask the nurse what on earth had given her that idea, but she also knew she was here to get examined and the last thing she wanted to do was annoy the person responsible.

“Very. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s made that crystal clear.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like you in a way that suggests he doesn’t like you. If anything, I would have guessed he was head-over-heels for you.”

Y/n was stumped for a reply. Was this woman making fun of her? She didn’t look like someone who would. So why would she say these things? With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, Y/n decided she would have to talk to Damiano at some point. Have him either stand by his statement and back off, or explain what the hell he was doing. Because she was starting to lack comprehension about any of it.

She was glad the rest of the appointment seemed to fly by in a hurry, or maybe Y/n’s brain had simply gone into power-saving mode, not really taking it what as happening around her anymore. Her exhaustion was tangible. The X-Ray was done quickly enough, someone sent her back to the examination room, and before she knew it, the doctor had announced that it was, in fact, not broken. A quick wrap around her wrist, some instructions on how to care for it (that Damiano seemed to listen to more closely than she did), and she was almost out the door. She was sure she would have fallen asleep on the examination table. It was only the nurse quickly saying her goodbye and adding another comment that almost threw her off balance again.

“Bye, guys. And by the way, nice show yesterday. I promise I wasn’t the one who threw the bra.”

***

It was dark out by the time Y/n and Damiano made it back to the hotel. He had made sure to text the others, telling them to go for dinner without them, they’d be fine, and he figured she would need some rest. The hotel restaurant was quiet enough and he motioned towards it, but Y/n shook her head.

“I’ve got a few snacks in my room, but honestly, I’m not hungry at all. I just want to go to bed.”

Yet, tired as she was, it only took one pointed look for her to shut him up, so he simply nodded and led her towards the elevators.

“At least let me bring you to your room and see if you need any more help. And I can give you your wallet back.”

He could tell in the way she stiffened next to him, the way she barely reacted to his words, that she wasn’t keen on the idea, but he wouldn’t let her get away with it. He was desperate to find out what was bothering her and why she was so distant, but he couldn’t figure it out. Was the kiss still playing on her mind? Was she uncomfortable with him? It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show her he was willing to be there for her.

Closing the door of her room behind him, a shout rang through the room.

“These fucking things, I hate them!” She was loud and angry while trying to get her shoes off, but her voice was wavering and if he watched her in just the right light he was convinced he was seeing the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s fine,” he tried to soothe, unsure if he was going about it the wrong way, but quickly bending in front of where she was sitting on the bed. She kicked her heels once more in frustration, obviously unable to get them off with her wrist still compromised.

“Don’t shush me when it’s all your fault,” she whispered and he almost stopped dead in his tracks, but he figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He stayed quiet, against everything in his heart telling him to find out what she was talking about. Instead, he focused on removing her shoes, gentle touches against her bare skin. Looking up at her, he realised that she was studying him, watching his every move, and he concentrated even harder on being the perfect gentleman. Yet, when he pulled the second shoe off her, he couldn’t help letting his hand rest on her calf a little longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas,” he decided, getting up and putting some distance between them. Too afraid of getting ahead of himself, of letting his hands wander more than appropriate places, of saying something he shouldn’t. He threw what he gathered to be her sleepwear in her general directions. “If you need any help changing because of your wrist, let me know.”

He hoped his smile was as sincere as he meant it. Either way, she didn’t give him much of a reaction, grabbing the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. A few sharp hisses reached him through the door, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

He wasn’t sure what the acceptable place for him to sit was, but since the room didn’t offer anything but a worn-out armchair and the bed, he decided that choosing the far side of the mattress wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even realise she had left the en-suite until her voice reached him.

“We really need to talk, Damiano.” She sounded resigned and tired and he wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was alright, but it didn’t seem like the right time. As soon as she reached the side of the bed opposite him, she all but collapsed on it. She sleepily grabbed one of the many unnecessary hotel pillows they placed on the bed and nuzzled her face into it.

“There will be more than enough time for that tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing the blanket and making sure she was fully covered by it. “It’s been a long day, try to get some rest.”

She didn’t even manage to argue anymore, eyes already fluttering closed, breathing slowly becoming more steady. She was gorgeous like this. A soft calm overtaking the scene. No wall up that kept everyone else from her inner thoughts. No front that she put up in desperate attempts to remain professional. Just a softness etched into her features that highlighted her natural divine beauty.

He wanted to take her worries away. He hoped that whenever they did get to talk tomorrow, it would yield some clarity. The last thing he wanted was for her to ever feel this way. He had grown so attached to her, so obsessed with the idea of having her around, that he already feared the end of the tour. If she would give him any option to stay in her life, he would take it, whatever way it was.

Damiano barely noticed the way he was slipping down on the mattress, his fingers softly patting her head, eyelids getting heavy. The last thing on his mind was Y/n, sleeping soundly next to him and wishing for nothing but to make her happy.

***

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wincore · 4 years

Text

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of.

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low.

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours.

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget.

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore.

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume.

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type.

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises. If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts.

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself.

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask.

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it.

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it.

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily.

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year.

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately.

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one.

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt.

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover.

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours.

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth.

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words.

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table.

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad.

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back.

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing.

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters.

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs.

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.”

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can.

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off.

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating.

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know.

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young.

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.”

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling.

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung.

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses.

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention.

Inviting him somewhere.

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure.

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more.

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter?

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him.

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.”

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.”

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.”

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts.

You’re disappointing.

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose.

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps.

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask.

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you.

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue.

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.”

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you.

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families.

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe.

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard.

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them.

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out.

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure.

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up.

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt.

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder.

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart.

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it.

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him.

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak.

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time.

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional.

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love.

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved.

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding.

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either.

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple.

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action.

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t.

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days.

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.”

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by.

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers.

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever.

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout.

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!”

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?”

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this.

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose.

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond.

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—”

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder.

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him.

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too.

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again.

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling.

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you.

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care.

“Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there.

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally.

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer.

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.

2K notes · View notes

bestruction · 4 years

Text

Getting high with them for the first time

N/A: If you do drugs do it safely

My masterlist

- Eren Jaeger

He's not the type of guy who pressured you to use, let alone say you're immature or coward for it. When you decide to try it, it's genuinely your idea, and who better than your boyfriend to teach?

That's how you end up in his room, with the door and windows lock to make sure the smell doesn't catch his parent's attention. You sat on the carpet while he carefully rolls the joint so that the cigarette holder doesn't fall.

“Tighten your lips like this and take a deep breath through your mouth” He took a short drag before releasing the smoke “But not too long since this is your first time your throat is not used to the smoke”

You nod and accept the cigarette doing as he said. You feel the smoke warm your mouth, watch it hoover before your eyes after blowing and wait for...Nothing. No different sensation, no tingling, literally nothing.

"I don't think it worked"

“It is not like a switch. Wait a minute, babe ”

You talk a little about the day-to-day of the two and then go to play something new that he had bought. After a few games and a few more huffs, you still don't feel any difference or anything. You even try to hold the smoke in your mouth for a longer time, which results in you coughing incessantly and Eren laughing in your face. Hearing him laugh has always been one of your favorite things. The way he bends his body and laughs out loud without shame until he blushes always makes you laugh together with him, like now.

You laugh, laugh until your body asks for air and needs to alternate between laughter and breathing. You feel calm, relax as if you had lifted a weight off your shoulders. You lay on the carpet feeling the softness of the fabric against your skin ... Was it always that soft? So silky? So comfortable? You close your eyes and rub your hand over the texture, and then the smell of Eren's citric perfume invades your nose. When you opened your eyes, jade eyes were watching you closely.

"I think it has taken effect now, huh?" He says stroking your hair. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" He asks, getting on top of you.

"A few times"

“Then I’m going to tell you again: you’re beautiful” he kisses your lips “So damn beautiful” He kisses your chin “Every single part of you” And now your jaw.

You two spent the afternoon making out on the floor and praising each other. Not because you were high, I mean, not only, but because being so sensitive brought it even more evident how much you wanted each other.

- Levi Ackerman

You had a horrible week. It seemed that everything that could go wrong over the course of seven days had made a point of happening even worse than you imagined. When you got home even after taking a long hot shower and lying in bed, you're unable to relax.

"If you keep turning from side to side, I won't sleep either" Murmured Levi.

"I know. Sorry"

"I'm not complaining. Come here" He pulls you to lie on his chest "Better?"

"A little bit"

"Just a little bit?" He smiles softly "You can try what I do when I get like this"

"Do you mean the mushrooms?"

"If you want to"

You two get out of bed and go to the kitchen. He takes a clear plastic bag from the fridge and places it in front of you. Levi is not the type of guy who gets high all the time. It's more like an escape for when his stress is too high, like yours. He already used it when you met him, and even if you didn't, you never saw a problem with it.

"Just it?"

"I can make tea if you prefer"

"Why don't you use weed like everyone else?"

"Too much work. To roll, check for purity. With mushrooms, I just need to buy and chew them ”

"Well, bon appetit"

You two eat the frozen mushrooms. The taste is not so bad, but it is not a good thing and the smell reminds you of something that had been removed from the forest, which makes sense. Levi suggests that you lie down on the sofa in the living room to watch a movie. There was no need to worry about tomorrow as it would be a day off for both of you.

Lying on Levi's lap and watching the TV, the colors start to shine before your eyes. You didn't remember the white wall looking so vivid, or the pixels on the TV seeming to slow down when you focused on a specific point. It was your house, but it didn't look real. You felt inside a peaceful dream, and inside that dream, you fell asleep forgetting about your nightmare week.

- Armin Arlert

It's your idea. It's Mikasa's birthday party, and Connie had taken some ecstasy pills from whoever wants to use them. So you take two, drag your boyfriend to the bathroom and lock the door.

"You don't have to do it with me if you don't want to, Armin"

"I'm curious too," He says, staring at the little pink pills on your hand.

Armin swallows one, and you do the same after him.

Armin swallows one, and you do the same after him. You want the experience to be as safe as possible. Then both sit in the bathtub and wait for the effect while talking. About half an hour later, you notice how dilated are the pupils of the blond in front of you. Your hearing is a little muffled, and you feel happy and light for no apparent reason. A slight tingle comes and goes through your body, like a wave spreading that sensation across your skin.

You go over to Armin and sit on his lap. He smiles at you, and more than ever, you want to kiss him until you're out of breath, and he's not different from you.

Armin takes your hand between his and brings it to his mouth. He spreads small, short kisses on your hand. You focus on the feeling of his lips running over your skin. You are so damn sensitive even his breathing makes you shiver.

As if a magnetic force pulls you both, you two kiss, letting that soft cloud of pleasure envelop you both. When Armin presses you against his body, deepening the kiss and tasting your mouth, you want to break the laws of physics and be able to occupy the same place as him. You want to become one with him.

And the two of you may not be able to do it, but you certainly tried A LOT in that bathroom.

- Jean Kirstein

Jean is handsome, tall, friendly, and intelligent. So when he starts to be invited to every possible party in college, you’re not surprised. You two have been dating since high school, and you don't feel jealous if he goes to parties alone but he always finds a way to convince you to accompany him with some excuse. Like, that it would be a lot more fun if you're next to him.

Today, this is one of those times when he convinces you. It's not that you don't like parties kind of, but a party full of strangers doesn't seem like the most attractive thing to you. Then after dancing and talking to people for a long time, he drags you to one of the rooms in the house to give you a well-deserved break.

"Thank you for coming with me," He said, hugging you from behind after closing the door.

"I'm going to want some compensation for that, Kirstein," You said, sitting down in an armchair that was there.

"How about ... That" Jean takes a bag with two white pills out of his pocket and tosses it towards you.

"What is it?"

"LSD"

"What kind of people have you been involved with?" You joke “If your mom knew what you've been up to, Jeanboo”

"Shut up" He sat next to her "If you want to try, I try"

It wouldn't be his first time getting high, he used to smoke weed with Eren in the basement since high school, but it would be yours. As I said, Jean is smart. You knew he had been wanting to try acid for some time. So of course, he had researched on.

Honestly? You are curious but afraid after so many speeches “don’t do drugs, kids”. Jean would never propose anything that could endanger the two of you, which is exactly why he only suggested it when you were alone, and if you said "no" it would be like it never happened.

"Is it just swallowing?"

"Put it under your tongue and let it dissolve"

You lie down on the floor and take it at the same time. It tastes bitter, but unlike any medicine, you've taken in your life.

It takes some time for it to start taking effect, but when it finally did you know. The sound of loud music, muffled by the walls of the room seems to be inside your head now. The colors tremble in front of you, mixing, moving, becoming more intense. You raise your hand towards the ceiling, and you don't feel like that's your hand. Everything seems surreal. You feel calm but active. It's like being very drunk, but the other way around.

Jean pulls you into his chest, and you can hear his heart pumping blood at full speed, like yours. You feel your throat dry, your body sweat, and your hands get cold.

If I could define that feeling with a word, it would definitely be intense.

You spent the night like that. Watching the furniture move and change shape, lying on the floor and without detaching from each other. At some point, you ended up sleeping, and after having the weirdest dream of your life, you woke up with Jean calling you carefully. The sun had already risen, and the house was silent, indicating that the party was over a long time ago.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, helping you to stand.

“Hungry and hungover”

He mumbles something about also being, and you go out to eat at the nearest cafeteria.

341 notes · View notes

waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Note

I knew it. I knew tumblr glitched again. Here it is when you have a chance. Teacher!tom has an unruly elementary class to put up with but things change when the new music teacher shows up. Eventually feelings develop between the two and only their students are willing to do something about it.

Here Comes The Sun

pairing: teacher!Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

“Jeremiah. Please. If I have to ask you to stop drinking the Elmers glue one more time, I’m gonna have to send you to the principle.”

“It tastes like white!” Jeremiah cheered before squeezing the bottle into his mouth again. All around him, Toms students were screaming and making trouble. His class was known to be unruly, and this day proved to be worst than most. Before Tom could take another step towards just one of his many misbehaving students, a woman he had never seen before slipped into the classroom and knelt down beside Jeremiah.

“Woah there. We don’t want to drink that, my friend.” You chuckled as you took the bottle of glue from him. “It’s not good for our tummy. Why don’t you try milk instead?”

“I’m black toast and taller ants.” Jeremiah told you.

“You’re lactose intolerant?” You connected the dots. “Tell you what, you come find me at lunch time later and I’ll give you a lollipop. Do you like lollipops?”

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly.

“Cool. Can you tell me your name so I know who to give it to?”

“This is Jeremiah.” Tom appeared behind his student and patted his back. “He does this a lot.”

“I had a feeling.” You laughed as you stood up. “I’m Miss. L/n.”

“Mr. Holland.” Tom reached out to shake your hand. “Nice to meet you. Jeremiah, why don’t you go sit down for some quiet time, okay?”

“I’m Y/n.” You said as soon as he left.

“Tom.” Tom laughed. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I’m the new music teacher.” You told him. “I’ve been making my rounds and introducing myself to the other teachers. Your kids are still a little young for music so that’s why you haven’t seen me.”

“Oh. That’s a shame.” Tom pursed his lips. Of course the gorgeous new teacher who could magically tame his kids wasn’t on his floor. He knew he’d barely see you, and he really wanted to see you.

“Is it?” You smiled coyly.

Just then, a scream ripped through the classroom. No one was hurt, they just wanted to scream.

“For the kids, I mean.” He covered up his accidental flirtatious remark. “We could all use a little music in our lives.”

“I completely agree. It calms the kids right down. It’s like magic.”

“I could definitely use some magic.” Tom laughed over the noise.

“When I play In My Life, they get so quiet, you’d think they were asleep.” You told him your secret.

“I love that song.” He smiled softly at you. “I love Here Comes the Sun too.”

“Me too!” You gushed. “My favorite is I Wanna Hold Your Hand though.”

“I like it too. I have a feeling we’ll get along.”

“Mr. Holland, you may be my first friend here.” You smiled shyly at him. “I’ll see you around.”

Tom watched as you left with a happy smile on his face.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Amanda asked, making Tom jump a little. He looked at her and then out at the class, who was suspiciously quiet. They were all staring eagerly at Tom.

“No. That’s the new music teacher.” He said skeptically as he made his way to the front of the class.

“She’s pretty.” Another student spoke up. All the kids nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, she is.” Tom laughed shyly. “Now, who wants to do some math?”

October

“Hi.” You knocked on Toms doorframe as you walked into his classroom, the same thing you did every day. He sighed in relief at the sight of you and made his way over to you.

“Hey little darling.” He greeted you. “How is your Tuesday treating you?”

“I’m gonna assume it’s treating me better than yours is treating you.” You chuckled as his students screamed and ran around behind him.

“What gave it away?” He asked sarcastically as a paper ball flew over his head.

“I had a hunch.” You played along. “How are you holding up?”

“Not great.” He sighed. “I’m getting a migraine and it’s not even 10 am.”

“Would apple slices make it better?” You presented a bag of apple slices from behind your back.

“They might.” Tok said sheepishly. You held the bag out to him and let him take a few, rubbing his arm to soothe him as he took a bite.

“Thank you. You’re a life saver.” He said with his mouth full.

“I have some Motrin in my bag if you want.” You offered. “It might help with the migraine. And your PMS.”

“Funny.” He narrowed his eyes at you. “Thank you again.”

“No problem. Why don’t you step out for a minute and I’ll look after your class? I’m off this period anyway.” You squeezed his arm to comfort him further.

“Are you sure? They bite.” He grimaced, and you let out a laugh.

“So do I.” You shrugged, making Toms eyes widen.

“That was a joke.” You said quickly. “Take a minute, gather yourself, and then come back. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

“You’re an angel. Thank you so much.” He brought his arms around you and squeezed you.

“I thought I was a little darling.” You chuckled into his ear as you hugged him back.

“A woman can be more than one thing.” Tom teasingly rolled his eyes.

“Very true. See you in a few.” You squeezed his hand. He gave you an appreciative smile before leaving the classroom. You made you way to the front of the class and clapped your hands.

“Hi my friends.” You shouted over the noise. “What have you been learning today?”

The students quieted down at the sight of you and one girl raised her hand.

“Yes, Carly?” You called on her.

“Are you and Mr. Holland dating?” She asked politely. The rest of the students nodded and looked at you, as if they all had the same question.

“No, we are not dating.” You laughed nervously. “Boys have cooties, haven’t you heard?”

“Do you like him?” Another student raised her hand.

“He definitely likes you!” A girl called out.

“Now class, I know it’s fun to speculate, but Mr. Holland and I are not together.” You told them. “You know who is together though? Q and U. They’re married, in fact. That’s why they’re always together in words like quiet and question. Can anyone else give me a “qu-“ word? Yes, Elizabeth.”

“Croissant.” Elizabeth answered.

“So close.” You nodded. “That’s actually a “cra” not a “qua” sound.”

“Not the way Mr. Holland says it.” Another student cut in.

“That’s because he’s from the O.K, Josh. They speak differently.” Elizabeth turned around in her seat and rolled her eyes.

“Oo, very close again.” You tried not to laugh. “Mr. Holland is from the UK.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth turned back around in shame.

“That’s okay.” You assured her. “Everyone makes mistakes. How do you guys feel about Mr. Holland anyway?”

“I love him.” One of the boys raised his hand. “He lets us have snack time. Mr. Osterfield’s class doesn’t do that.”

“I like him too.” Another boy chimed in. “He gave me extra time on my math test when I couldn’t figure out what 9x10 was.”

“Do you know the answer now?” You asked him.

“Uh huh.” He nodded eagerly. “90.”

“Great job.” You clapped for him. “Maybe you’ll be a math teacher one day.”

The boy smiled and shrunk down in his seat, proud of himself for knowing the answer.

“Hello, class.” Tom came back into the room and smiled at you. “Did you all behave for Miss L/n?”

“Yes they did.” You beamed at the class. “What a smart, well behaved class.”

“Are you sure you watched the right class?” Tom said out of the corner of his mouth so only you could here.

“I’m sure.” You chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Holland.”

“See you tomorrow little darling.” He smiled softly at you as you walked out of the classroom. He sighed happily and went to his desk, immediately noticing a packet of apples slices you left for him.

“Mr. Holland! I have a question.” A student calling out caught his attention.

“Yes, Amanda?” He asked.

“Is Miss L/n your girlfriend?” She asked, making Tom go bright red.

“What? No. What? No. What? No.” Tom stammered.

“You like her!” Amanda gasped. “I knew you liked her. I told you Elizabeth. Carly and I were right.”

“Whatever.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes again.

“I have a question.” Tony raised his hand.

“Yes?” Tom asked nervously.

“When are you gonna ask Miss L/n out?” Tony asked, making the class nod.

“This is not appropriate for class time.” Tom laughed nervously as he made his way to the blackboard.

“But you guys are so perfect for each other!” Carly whined. “You need to ask her to be your girlfriend. She’ll totally say yes.”

“You think so?” Tom asked them shook his head when he realized he was asking third graders for relationship advice. “I mean, this is not up for discussion.”

“But you guys belong together.” Amanda gushed.

“She totally likes you.” Jennifer piped up.

“Ask her out already.” Joseph called out.

“Please? I’ve always wanted to go to a wedding.” Kaley said and all the girls agreed.

“Me too. Can I be the flower girl?” Elizabeth raised her hand to ask.

“I wanna be the flower girl.” Carly whined again.

“Her niece Sophie would definitely be the flower girl.” Tom chuckled, then shook his head again. “Not that we’re getting married.”

“Why not?” Candy pouted.

“Because she’s not even my girlfriend.” Tom reminded them.

“So ask her out.” Jason said simply. “She’ll never be your girlfriend unless you ask her out.”

“I think that’s enough of this topic for today.” Tom clapped his hands as he diverged from the topic. “Who wants to do some sentence structure?”

November

“Jason, please stop biting Candy.” Tom begged. “That’s just her name. She is not actually candy.”

His attention was immediately drawn to another student who was misbehaving.

“Elizabeth! Get that out of your mouth! Erasers are not food. I say this everyday.” Tom whined as he made his way over to Elizabeth to take the erasers from her. His eyes drifted to the boys, and he immediately regretted it.

“Oh my God. Joseph, put that back in your pants.” Tom groaned. “Please.”

“Mr. Holland! Mr. Holland!” Eric screamed from across the room. “Watch me floss, Mr. Holland!”

Tom looked at Eric, who was flossing rapidly in the back of the classroom.

“Very nice, Eric.” Tom nodded stiffly.

“Who’s Eric? My name Jeff!” The child quoted the outdated vine, making all his friends laugh.

“Okay.” Tom said weakly.

“Epic chungus moment.” Eric and his friends shifted into a T pose. “Bruh bruh bruh BIG OOF bruh bruh bruh.”

“Okay.” Tom repeated.

“Mr. Holland?” Tom felt someone tap him from behind.

“Yes, Jeremiah?” Tom knelt down beside his student.

“Watch this!” Jeremiah cheered before opening his mouth and squirting Elmer’s glue inside.

“Oh my God. Please. Don’t drink the glue. I’m begging you.” Tom pleaded as he wrestled the glue bottle from his hands.

“But Rachel is.” Jeremiah said with a full mouth.

“Rachel is - - RACHEL.” Tom yelled when he saw another student pouring glue into her mouth.

“No drinking glue.” Tom snatched the bottle from Rachel. “This is not a snack.”

“But I’m hungry.” Jeremiah whined.

“We just had snack time.” Tom reminded him.

“Tony ate my snack.” Jeremiah pouted.

“Why did Tony do that?”

“Because I gave it to him.” Jeremiah said simply and Tom groaned.

“Remember what I said about sharing snack?” Tom said through a forced smile. “We can’t share snacks in case someone has an allergy.”

“But you said sharing is caring.” Rachel spoke up.

“Yes, I did say that.” Tom kept a tight smile. “Sharing is caring unless it comes to snacks. Then we have to keep our snacks to ourselves.”

“But you and Miss L/n share food all the time.” Rachel continued.

“It’s different with Miss L/n and I.” Tom explained. “We’re adults so we can share snacks. She’s not allergic to anything I give her.”

“Do you think she’d like some glue if I shared it with her?” Jeremiah asked.

“Maybe, if she was making an arts and crafts pro-“

“I mean to drink.” He cut Tom off. Before Tom could answer, a scream caught his attention.

“Candy!” He shouted. “Don’t bite Jason!”

He spun around in circles, seeing children misbehaving everywhere he turned. He was getting over whelmed very quickly as just as he was going to succumb to defeat, you opened his classroom door.

“Hi my friends!” You shouted over the noise and held up your guitar. This caught their attention and they all stopped in their tracks, eyed glued to the guitar like bugs to a light.

“Hi Miss L/n.” The class said in unison as they returned to their seats.

“Does anyone here like music?” You asked as you rested your guitar against your chest. You looked at Tom and winked, and he instantly melted. Like Superman, you had burst in the room to save him. The students nodded eagerly and watched your every move.

“You do?” You gasped. “Me too!”

You stood in front of the class and began to strum a simply melody on your guitar.

“Here comes the sun, do do do do.” You sang to them.

The children fell silent as they became enthralled by the music. Tom leaned against his desk with a huge smile, unable to be more in love with you.

“Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here. Sing along, my friends.” You asked of them.

“Here comes the sun do do do do. Here comes the sun and I’ll say.” The children sang along with you.

“What’ll you say?” You asked as you continued playing.

“It’s all right.” They sang in response. You finished out the song, slowly letting the music fade out at the end.

“Thanks for listening my friends.” You spoke softly. “Now, let’s all put our heads down for some quiet time.”

The children listened to you and kid their heads down on their desks, shutting their eyes as well. Tom walked over to you and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Thank you. You are such a gift.” He mumbled in your ear.

“I try.” You laughed as you pulled away. “I learned the song just for you.”

“Did you really?” His eyes widened in appreciation.

“No. I’ve known it for years.” You admitted. “But wouldn’t it be romantic if I did?”

“That’s very romantic.” He agreed. “Has anyone ever done that for you?”

“Unfortunately, I have yet to be serenaded.” You sighed dramatically.

“How rude.” Tom teased, making a mental note of what you were saying.

“I know, right?” You added. “It’s a tragedy.”

“I think my class might be asleep.” He realized as he looked around. “You’re like a child whisperer.”

“I told you. Magic, baby.” You smiled as you held up your guitar.

“Oh, it’s definitely magic.” He noted with a grin.

“Well I should head back down. The recorders won’t play themselves.” You sighed again, a little sadly this time.

“See you later, little darling.” He squeezed your hand.

“See you later.” You waved, your high heels clicking against his floor as you left. Tom let out a content sigh, reveling in the rare silence of the classroom. Jeremiah slowly raised his hand and looked at Tom.

“Mr. Holland?” He whispered.

“Yes Jeremiah?” Tom asked.

“You know what you have to do.” Jeremiah gave him a pointed look. The rest of Toms students looked up with wide open, blinking eyes, all staring at Tom. Tom sighed again, knowing his students were right.

December

You knocked on Toms door the following week, the early December chill in the air. He let out a nervous breath as he opened the door for you, knowing it was finally time to enact his plan.

“Class, we have a special visitor with us.” Tom announced as he let you in. “Can we all give a musical welcome to Miss L/n?”

The class greeted you with excitement and you did the same.

“Hey kids.” You waved. “Good to see you all.”

“Good to see you too.” You turned to Tom and held up a bag. “Pretzel?”

“Thank you.” Tom smiled as he took a pretzel from the bag. “So, um, I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening.” You nodded as you munched on a pretzel.

“We always have lunch together, right?” He began.

“That’s right.”

“Would you maybe want to have dinner together one night?” He squeaked, knowing his face was bright red. Behind him, his class was dead silent, all pretending not to listen as they tried to hear every word.

“Ooo.” You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “Like an after school activity?”

“I was thinking this Saturday.” He offered. “I could take you somewhere where they have better food than apple slices and pretzels, though I do love those.”

“You wanna give me your weekends, Mr. Holland?” You asked through a coy smile.

“You know, little darling, I really do.” He smiled back.

“Then it’s a date.” You blushed. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

“All right. Saturday.” He nodded, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Bye now. See you at lunch.” You put your hand on his arm and kissed his cheek before turning to his class.

“Well it was great to see all of you!” You grinned. “I hope you have a fantastic rest of your day.”

You winked at Tom before leaving swiftly, a silence settling in once you were gone.

“Well?” Amanda called out.

“Well what?” Tom asked.

“Did you do it?” Carly was nearly bouncing out of her seat.

“Class, I know you like Miss L/n but our personal relationship is none of your concern.” Tom reminded his students. The class let out a collective groan, and Carly looked like he might cry. They were all dead silent, and it made Tom feel slightly bad.

“Yes, I asked her out.” He admitted and the class erupted into cheers and applause. Tom rolled his eyes as an embarrassed smile tugged at his lips.

Tom walked into his class the following week and was met with an uncharacteristically silent classroom. His set his bag on his desk and looked around, growing more suspicious by the second. All his students were staring at him expectantly, yearning for him to speak.

“You guys are oddly quiet.” Tom commented. “Did Jeremiah eat another book?”

“How was the date?” Carly was the first to speak up, and everyone chimed in. They were leaning on the edges of their seats, impatiently waiting for the answer.

“Did you kiss her?” Tony asked.

“Did you guys hold hands?” Elizabeth sighed.

“What did she wear?” Amanda wondered. “I bet she looked so pretty.”

“Did you take her to your penthouse and freak it?” Jeremiah asked.

“Did I - - what?” Tom looked at his student in confusion.

“Are you guys gonna get married now?” Jennifer called out.

“No, Jennifer.” Tom chuckled. “We’re not getting married now.”

“I hate it here.” Jennifer grumbled as she shrunk down in her seat.

“Okay, we have a lot to get though today so I hope you all had a good nights sleep. If you could all take out your social studies textbooks and turn to page 116 for me.” Tom began to teach. He turned on the Smartboard and turned to his class, seeing them all sluggishly taking out their textbooks with glum expressions. He let out a sigh and rested his hands on his hips.

“You guys aren’t gonna focus unless I tell you about the date, huh?” He realized. His students shook their heads and he chuckled a little.

“The date was amazing. She wore a black dress with white music notes on the waistline. She looked very pretty. We held hands when I was walking to her car and yes, I kissed her.” He answered their questions. The class dissolved into giggles, applause, and commentary.

“All right, I told you. Now, textbooks. I mean it.” He said pointedly, and for once, they complied.

You and Tom continued to date, keeping up with your lunch dates, but engaging in weekend and after school dates as well. Tom students kept an eye out for a ring on your finger as the months went by, asking him almost every week when the wedding was. Come May, he actually had an answer for them.

May

“Class, I have a favor to ask you.” Tom announced to his class on a particularly warm morning. “I am going to ask Miss L/n to marry me.”

His class began to scream, and this time, it was welcomed. Carly started crying while Jennifer and Kaley jumped up and down.

“I know, I know.” Tom grinned. “It’s been a long time coming. That’s why I need your help. If I’m going to pull this off, I’m gonna need all hands on deck. Are you guys in?”

“We’ll do anything.” Carly promised.

“Great.” Tom nodded. “First, I need some ideas.”

“You have to show her how much you love her. You need to make a romantic gesture.” Rachel declared.

“Yes! You have to do something big so she knows how much you care.” Jennifer agreed.

“Get her a dozen roses.” Kaley suggested.

“No, he needs two dozen.” Carly said. “And chocolate.”

“You should get a flock of doves to deliver the ring.” Elizabeth spoke up.

“Or show up on a horse.” Rachel added. While the girls began to discuss, Amanda quietly raised her hand.

“Yes, Amanda?” Tom called on her.

“She’s a music teacher, right?” Amanda asked and the class quieted down to listen.

“Yeah.” Tom nodded.

“So play her some music.” Amanda shrugged.

“What do you mean?” Tom wondered.

“I have an idea.” Amanda grinned.

June

“Hey, Mr. Holland asked that you go to his classroom.” Mr. Osterfield popped into your class to tell you. “He said his students are a nightmare right now.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll be right there.” You hopped off your desk and went to the door. “Thanks.”

You quickly made your way to Toms classroom, knowing how unruly his class could be. You opened the door and stepped inside.

“Mr. Holland, are you ok-“ You stopped mis sentence when you saw Tom sitting on a stool, surrounded by all his students. They were quiet and tame, smiling eagerly at you as you shut the door behind you. The weirdest part, however, was the guitar in Toms hands.

“Whats this?” You asked through a hesitant smile.

“1,2,34.” Carly counted down to cue them in.

“Yeah I’ll tell you something I think you’ll understand.” Tom began to sing as he played along on the guitar. “When I say that something, I wanna hold your hand.”

“I wanna hold your hand. I wanna hold you hand.” His students sang in perfect unison. You covered your mouth with your hands as tears welled up in your eyes.

“I wanna hold your hand. I wanna hold your hand.” His students backed him up. They finished out the song while you stood there is happy shock, hanging on to every note. Tom set the guitar down once he finished and stood up, slowly making his way to you. He took your hands in his and smiled softly.

“You’ve given me your lunch time and weekends. Would you mind giving me the rest of your life too?” Tom asked as he presented you with a delicate diamond ring. Your eyes flickered to the ring and widened before looking back at Tom with a dropped jaw. The anticipation in the classroom was palpable as the students eagerly awaited your answer. All at once, your mouth closed into a smile and you nodded.

“You know,” you laughed as a tear of joy rolled down your cheek, “I really would.”

Tag List 🏷

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #teacher!tom holland #teacher!tom Holland x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #iron man #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine

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mha-adore · 4 years

Text

General HCs: Students

Excluding Dekusquad and Bakusquad I have everyone else here, I hope you like it ☺

Tokoyami (+Dark Shadow)

* He's really trying to be a harbinger of truth and exposer of deciet. He's a dork. He's just trying to impress you.

* He's so stupidly into music and has like seven playlists he's made for you. Please listen to them he worked hard. He's really shy about his music tastes.

* Dark Shadow teases him relentlessly. You're walking near him? Tokoyami mysteriously trips into your open arms. You need help reaching something on a high shelf? Shadow birb got you covered. His only goal is to make you notice how flustered he is with you.

* He's insecure about being part avian. Most people aren't really attracted to birds, right? Honestly he could look like anything, it doesn't matter. He's a little angsty but kind hearted and pays close attention to you.

Jiro

* She's written like fifteen songs for you and you've heard none of them. They're top secret hidden in her locked diary. If you ask her very nicely and promise not to judge she'll play some for you.

* Expect a lot of punk and metal gifts from her. Her entire existence is punk and metal please lift her up. She is so shy about it.

* Totally the flustered gf. Borrows your clothes without asking and denies it only to approach you in front of everyone else and be like "oh hey here's your shirt back btw" and leave like it was nothing but she is screaming inside.

* Honestly just share a closet with her you two would trade clothes so often you'd need to stitch your names into the tags to keep track. Share the same perfume/cologne too while you're at it. Did you use the same fragrance or did you snuggle together for an hour? No one else knows.

Momo

* She knows other people are after her either for her physique, her family wealth or both and as such, is distrustful at first. She doesn't want to fall for someone only to learn they're using her. Give her space to get comfortable with who you are.

* That said when she knows it's genuine feelings she spoils you rotten. Designer clothes, expensive jewelry, a custom hero costume etc. Her wallet is yours for the taking. Please don't fuck her over.

* Because her family is well known both as elites and heroes she has a reputation to keep up. She insists that you go with her dressed well and looking great so she can show you off with style.

* She is actually very soft hearted and needs some soft love sometimes. Just sit with her under a blanket she made and watch a romcom. Don't judge her for binge eating, she needs to eat well to support her quirk. If anyone makes fun of her kick their ass into the stratosphere.

Aoyama

* He simply will not stop sparkling and neither shall you. He shares his skin care, hair care and multi vitamins with you. You're both glowing, literally.

* He can be spontaneous and over the top in everything he does. He likes to show off and catch stares. He wants to catch your stare. If you gaze longingly at him he'll act suave while squealing with glee inside.

* He spends his money frivolously. He buys expensive care products, jewelry, clothes, stuffed animals...Did I mention it's all for you? He's penniless for you and doesn't mind that at all.

* He craves your attention so much. Spend some time alone with him and just look at him. In public keep your eyes locked on him. His ego will go through the roof, in the best way.

Monoma

* He is so fucking full of himself. Until you're around. He's usually narcissistic and up his own ass but when you walk by he's suddenly humble, kind and friendly. It's just him wanting you to see his good side.

* Sweet hearted asshole wants to feel loved. Just be kind to him. Help him with his homework. Spend free time with him. Help him show up 1-A. He'll love it.

* Totally uses you as a reason 1-B is better than 1-A. "Sure you guys fought villains and all but you don't have anyone even vaguely as attractive as my beloved!" Just let him have his fun in the sun.

* His hero costume is over the top for a reason. He wants to be the prince to sweep you off your feet, kiss you and ride off on a horse. He has the attire covered. Next, your love.

Hitoshi

* Above anything please just be accepting of his quirk. Don't ask him to use it for anything unnecessary or say anything bad about it. He's been ridiculed his entire life for his "villainous quirk", please be kind.

* Nap with him dammit. He's sleeping deprived because he pours all day and night into becoming good enough for 1-A. He wants to be a real hero and he values that over sleep. Cuddle with him at night and he'll sleep like a happy rock.

* You must love cats, end of discussion. His backpack is cat shaped, his phone case is a cat, his spirit animal is a cat, he may as well be a cat. He'd be over the moon if you compares him to a Maine Coon.

* When he does get into 1-A please be happy for him. He worked so hard for it, show your support. Even if you're in different classes you can see each other during lunchbreaks and after school.

Mirio

* He is sunshine. He is warmth. He adopts introverts. It's our man. His hugs are like butterfly kisses if they could crush you.

* He's the type to be really into you and still treat you like a friend. He can't get with someone unless he knows them very well beforehand.

* Though he's friendly and out reaching to others he's still a private person who shares little about his personal life. He needs to learn about you first. Being open yourself will encourage him to start chatting about himself.

* He loves romantic songs. He isn't one for Spotify, playlists or the such but if he hears a song that makes him think of you he's texting you the link immediately. He gets so caught up texting you that he stops listening to others and is in his own little world.

Tamaki

* He is just....So shy. So baby. He really wants to be a strong hero and save the people he loves but he is so shy. Don't pressure him into anything, he just needs someone who will let him be himself.

* That said, he has no experience in love. He's had crushes over the years but nothing meaningful enough to mention. Until you came along and took his heart for a stroll. Now you're all he thinks about. Is your hand warm? Do you like to kiss cheeks? What's your favorite flavor Pop Tart?

* When he manages to confess to you (not if, when) it'll be something cheesy but sweet. Like on Valentine's Day he'll leave a heartfelt card on your desk with his signature and a flower. He's a simple man.

* His feelings are so sensitive please never yell at him, not even out of excitement. He's scared of upsetting the people he cares about and wouldn't dream of upsetting you, his little mochi ice cream. Yes all his pet names for you are based on food.

Nejire

* She's the personification of a flower crown. With thorns. Very soft, sweet and pleasing to the eyes but very capable of defending herself. She is not a sex object and beats the ass of anyone who says so about herself or you.

* I personally headcanon her as asexual but that's my idea on it. You can see it however you like. Either way she's very romantic and loves cute gestures like 3 foot tall teddy bears and hand sewn clothes.

* Imagine this: at the beauty pageant, she wears a dress you sewed for her yourself and, alongside her natural beauty and talent, wins the pageant. She would have just been proud to show everyone your skills but she won wearing that dress, you can bet she's telling everyone you made it.

* She treats Eri like a daughter and hopes you'll do the same with her. Call it a little childish but she loves the idea of playing house with you. Married in a little happy home caring for Eri together.

I think that's everyone I need to add for now. If you want to see someone else in this let me know! My next two posts will be this same format for pros and villains. If you have any headcanons to share or a request my inbox is open

#mha x reader #tokoyami #tokoyami x reader #jiro kyoka #jiro x reader #momo yaoyorozu #momo x reader #aoyama yūga #aoyama x reader #monoma neito #monoma x reader #mirio togata #mirio x reader #tamaki amakiji #tamaki x reader #nejire hado #nejire x reader

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years

Text

pushing buttons ~ eminem

word count: 1912

request?: yes!

@thatonegirlthatlikesthings “Hi me again I literally love your writing so much omg I was wondering if you could once again indulge my Eminem obsession cuz my baby don’t get enough love🥺🥺 I was thinking like a angst/fluff where MGK tries to hit on the reader even though he’s with Meg Fox now and Em loses it and dr Dre and Paul try to call him down but it doesn’t really work and the reader has to chill him out. I love you I love your writing and I love you bye!🥰☺️❤️❤️”

description: in which his enemy tries to push his buttons by flirting with his girl

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warning: swearing

masterlist

“What the fuck is that prick doing here?”

Marshall glared at the tall blonde standing across the room with his arm around a familiar actress. It was the night of his launch party for his new album, and he thought it was just supposed to be personal friends of his as well as his friends from the industry. However, a few others from the industry had arrived as well, including the infamous Machine Gun Kelly.

“Paul invited him,” Marshall’s girlfriend, (Y/N) responded. “Said you two should try and squash the beef. Fans are getting tired of it.”

“Squashing the beef and becoming friends with the enemy are two totally different things,” Marshall hissed.

“You don’t have to be friends,” (Y/N) told him. “Just...shake his hand, look friendly for the pictures, end the beef.”

Marshall rolled his eyes as (Y/N) wrapped an arm around his waist and gave him a slight squeeze. “I know, I tried to tell Paul he should run this past you first. But him and MGK’s manager think it’s best for both of you to end the beef. He wants to move on with his new punk pop genre, you should move on too considering the fact that you absolutely destroyed him.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper for that last part, causing Marshall to smirk.

“This is gonna push me to drink,” he muttered as he noticed Kells approaching him.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” (Y/N) hissed. “If you break your sobriety, I will be your worst nightmare.”

Marshall smiled at her before dropping it to glare at Kells.

“Hey man,” Kells started. “Listen, thanks for the invitation. I know things have been rocky between us, but I hope you know I never meant any harm by my tweet about Hailie, and I still view you as a massive inspiration to me. I just thought...maybe I’d get more recognition with the diss, and it worked. It just sort of fucked up my rap career in the process.”

(Y/N) gave Marshall a quick look before sipping on the drink she had in her hand. They were both shocked by such a mature response from Kells, especially after the stuff Kells said about Marshall following the drop of Not Alike and Killshot.

She was watching her boyfriend expectantly as he processed what had been said to him. He glanced back at (Y/N) finally before saying, “No hard feelings, man. Tensions ran high, we both said some shit, I think it’s time we get past it.”

Kells smiled and offered a hand to Marshall. Although reluctant at first, Marshall took it and shook his hand. Kells soon left and went back to his girlfriend, knowing not to overstay his welcome.

“Was that so hard?” (Y/N) asked. “At least he’s being mature about it, too.”

“A little too mature,” Marshall said.

“Stop it, you just don’t like him. Let’s get a non-alcoholic beverage.”

~~~~~~

As the night continued, Marshall was pulled from (Y/N) as people kept coming and congratulating him on the album. She wasn’t too shocked, it was a normal occurrence. Luckily enough, she had come to know most of the people at the party through Marshall, so it wasn’t like she was awkwardly standing around for any amount of time.

She was at the snack table when a tall stature came to stand next to her.

“You lost your boyfriend, huh?’

(Y/N) looked up to see Kells stood next to her, a friendly smile on her face.

Despite the feud between the two, (Y/N) never had any sort of opinion on Kells. She hadn’t listened to his music - besides that one song with Camilla Cabello that blew up - and she didn’t want to form an opinion based on a beef she wasn’t even a part of. So, him standing next to her didn’t make her as angry as it had made Marshall earlier. Instead, she smiled back at him.

“Yeah,” she said. “Nothing new of course. Everyone congratulating him on the album and whatnot.”

“Seems like a lot of people just trying to kiss his ass.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “That may be true in some cases. Most of the people here who have already worked with him and known him for so long know better against that. Maybe it’s because they’ve already worked with him though, who knows. Where’s Megan?”

Kells gestured aimlessly into the crowd. “Also pulled away from me. Talking to...someone I guess.”

He didn’t sound too concerned over it, although maybe it was just the same situation (Y/N) was in. Megan was pretty popular as an actress, this was probably nothing new for Kells either.

“So, how did you and Em meet?” he asked, offering her one of the two red cups he had in his hand. (Y/N) didn’t think much of it at first. She figured he had probably gotten a drink for Megan then realized he had lost her in the crowd.

“We met through a mutual friend, actually. One from back in Detroit,” she explained. “I knew who Marshall was, obviously, but I was never really a hip hop fan. We got to talking and before I knew it, he was asking me out on a date. We were official within a month, and we’ve been together ever since. That was like...three years ago now, I think.”

She took a sip from the drink Kells had given her and cringed at the strong taste of alcohol in the cup. Noticing this, Kells asked, “Too strong?”

“Just not used to alcohol,” she explained. “I’ve mostly given it up in solidarity with Marshall. I’m proud of his sobriety, even if I’ve only been here for the tail end of it.”

“That’s lame,” Kells scoffed. “The old man shouldn’t hold you back from doing some fun shit.”

The tone of his voice plus the subtle diss caused a slight feeling of annoyance in her, but she pushed it down. Be the bigger person, she had been telling Marshall all night. She couldn’t go against that.

“He’s not holding me back from anything,” she responded. “I chose to do it. I just know it sucks to have to be sober when everyone around you is drunk or high. I want to be that one person he can confide in in those situations, you know?”

“You’re too good for him, man,” Kells said. “For real, you have a heart of gold and the body of a smoke show. You shouldn’t be wasting it all on that fucker. You should be getting with a real man.”

(Y/N) shuffled uncomfortably, now putting her cup down on the snack table. “I’m perfectly happy with Marshall, thank you. Besides, you have a girlfriend. One who is literally at this very party right now.”

He waved off the comment, as if it weren’t a real concern. (Y/N) looked around the room, desperate to find someone she knew who could save her from that situation.

Across the room, Marshall was glaring daggers into the back of Kells’ head. He could see the uncomfortable look on (Y/N)’s face, and saw the drink she had just discarded on the table. He knew something was happening, something he didn’t like.

“Why the fuck did you invite him?” he asked Paul. “Why didn’t you warn me first?”

“It needed to be an authentic meet up to end the beef,” Paul responded. “After tonight you won’t see or hear from him ever again.”

“You bet I won’t, because I’ll have him six feet under the fucking ground if he doesn’t get away from (Y/N).”

Paul looked over at the two. His face grew concerned upon seeing (Y/N)’s. “It can’t be anything too serious. He’s here with Megan, remember?”

“Do you see Megan anywhere around here, Paul?” Marshall asked.

He was so furious you could almost see the cartoon smoke coming from his ears. He was clutching his plastic cup so hard that it would’ve shattered into a million pieces if it was glass. It dropped from his hand suddenly when he saw Kells grab (Y/N)’s waist, trying to pull her closer to him. Both Paul and Dre had to grab him to stop him from going over and beating the shit out of Kells right then and there.

“Calm down, man,” Dre told him.

“He’s fucking touching her, Dre!” Marshall snapped. “She’s obviously uncomfortable, let me go over there and beat the shit out of him!”

“Not here,” Paul said. “Not in front of all these people. Go over and get her - peacefully - then you guys can just leave. This was a stupid idea from me.”

“Really fucking stupid,” Marshall hissed as he pulled away from the two. He tried to keep his anger at bay as he went over and wrapped an arm around (Y/N), effectively pulling her from Kells’ grasp. “Come on, babe, let’s go home.”

“What’s wrong, Marshall? Don’t like another man talking to your girl?” Kells challenged.

“I don’t like other men grabbing my girl when she’s obviously uncomfortable, no,” Marshall responded.

“Sounds a little insecure to me. Maybe you should work on that, man. You’ll be able to keep up with this absolute bombshell when you’re not so over jealous of her.”

Marshall’s grip on (Y/N)’s waist tightened. She tried to calm him down, but it was obvious he was past the point of no return.

“Fuck you,” he snapped. “Man, I don’t know what your fucking problem is, but you’re the one who started all of this shit. Now you’re coming here, to my launch party, trying to flirt with my girl, and now you’re insulting me?! Must be a sad existence you live, Kelly, when you can’t even be happy with your own success. You have to keep trashing on someone else who’s doing much better than you.”

Kells’ cheeks were tinted pink with anger as he glared at the two of them.

“I suggest going to find your girlfriend while you still have one,” (Y/N) told him. “Because I will be telling her about this whole...incident between us.”

Before any other words could be said, Marshall took (Y/N) and guided her out of the building. When they got to the car, he sat in the driver’s seat for just a second, trying to make himself calm down.

“I should go back in there and fucking kill him,” he said, more to himself than to (Y/N).

“No you shouldn’t,” she told him. “He was just trying to push your buttons. He seems very happy with Megan, and there were so many other girls at that party he could’ve flirted with if he just wanted to be a scumbag. He only chose me because he knew it would get to you.”

She reached over and put a hand over one of Marshall’s that was clutching the steering wheel. On contact, he loosened his grip and realized how much his hands hurt from holding the wheel too tightly.

“Whatever his intentions were, they don’t matter,” she assured him. “I love you, Marshall, and only you. No other asshole will ever come in and swoop me away from you.”

He chuckled at her slight insult, their own way of flirting with one another. He leaned across and kissed her gently on the lips before finally starting the car.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

#eminem #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers x reader #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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messwriting · 4 years

Text

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Western AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

(i'm gonna make you) feel it

a.k.a. ✨ MAKKI’S ADVENTURE TIME ✨

Hanamaki “Big Tease” Takahiro x Female Reader

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: Porn With Plot. Corruption Kink. Reader’s engaged to be married - a bride. Cheating. Highly inappropriate touching and dancing moves (that’s their job tho). Alcohol. Completely unresearched strippers industry. Lowkey exhibitionism. Fucking in a public space (private room). Fingering. Oral sex. SMUT: Doggy style over a sofa. Makki’s a little shit. Overuse of the word “cute” (for real, so many times omg).

Word count: ~7.3k

Note: Saint Dymphna and poor little me would like to introduce you all to the: 🤠 LAWBREAKERS MULTIVERSE 🤠

So, @dymphnasprose basically came at me with: “what about we take cowboys and make them skskskskskssk like magic mike style strippers” and thus was born the wicked duo newest adventure. We had a lot of fun (and a lot of panic) but here it is! Anyone asks why I’m doing two once again it’s also dymph’s fault and my sheer love for Iwaizumi. Also, dymph I love u and I’ve had lots of fun doing this little group project together🥺💕

That being said I’d also like to thanks @mixedhell who once again is a mage of dialogue and helped me several times; Tay, my love @deathcab4daddy, who helped beta part of this and also @xmyshya who was kind enough to beta this too <3

Makki’s songs: Cowboy Casanova (dymph’s courtesy) + Feel it

You can also read: IWAIZUMI | MATTSUN

Hanamaki is focused.

He surveys the screaming crowd inside the packed nightclub, sees the different groups occupying the big booths, the pretty decorations that never fail to distinguish his targets inside the dimly lit room.

Makki likes the meaning behind the different outfits and colors; the details merging into the allegory of remarkability, crafting the idea of uniqueness in their special day where screams of freedom swimming inside intoxicated heads build a tendency into wildness. In building lasting memories of a singlehood that doesn’t really exist anymore, into falling prey of sexy, large men who could take them into a one-time intoxicating memory that they can savor into the end of times.

Marriages can end, Makki thinks, but memories like the ones he makes are forever.

And tonight he has already found the one.

You must be the prettiest little thing he has seen in months, all beautifully clad in a sparkling white party dress, a sexy slit that shows the classical frilly garter adorning your thigh, with a golden black banner that announces for the whole world that you’re taken, soon to be married and enjoying your bachelorette party. It’s almost a challenge, really.

Great. That’s exactly how he likes it.

A brilliant and ridiculous white cowboy hat decorated to leave a tacky gown falling from your head is perched on the table where your small group sits, about eight women dressed in black and a beautiful entourage of bridesmaids if he ever saw one, but it’s you; cute, happy little you who blushed at the very first look at his partially naked torso when all Hanamaki did was pass by your table in his low cut jeans and open flannel shirt, a tilt of his cowboy hat made with half a mind to compliment the ladies until his eyes laid on you.

Your bright eyes had shined with embarrassment at your interest, chest filling with a renewed pull of air at the mere sight of him, a burning in your face that he could notice even in the poorly lit room, flashing lights giving him just the best of peeks -- your plush lips punished by the row of white teeth that closed around the soft muscle and pulled.

That was all he needed, the smallest of sights and still, the biggest of hints.

You were going to be his tonight. He’ll taint that pristine white and you’ll beg for his every move, he knows it just as he knows the women will scream for him as soon as he steps on the stage.

And, in fact, that will be sooner rather than later.

He’ll make sure of it.

The loud music is pulsing through his body, like waves crashing against his skin, his heart seemingly beating alongside the bass in deep, sexy strokes of the R&B music echoing through the club. The youngsters are doing their dance, a coordinated thing between the six newbies of the Club, while Makki and Mattsun wait by the side of the backdoor of the stage, ready to take their places in the next performance.

“Anyone in your sights yet?” Issei asks him as he passes him the bottle of water, which Takahiro puts on top of one of the structures before sending a small grin at the dark-haired man. They’ve been here for four years now, and they have joined the place together, looking to make a good buck while going to College. Stripping is fun, easy, and profitable when you’re young and hot and Matsukawa and Hanamaki are nothing else but.

“The one by the left, the table with the tacky cowboy hat and the golden balloons.”

“A fan of the work, I see.” Matsukawa pulls the curtain to the side just an inch, his eyes quickly surveying the space and centering on the acquired target. Makki knows exactly what he’s seeing, a table filled with a group of beautiful women and you in white shining over them all, the balloons above the wall seeming way more ridiculous once he knows about Makki’s plan of action.

One dick for life. Ha.

“Poor little thing doesn’t know what she’s in for tonight.” Mattsun’s grin is mischievous and all-knowing. Hanamaki has a type, it’s a running joke, but every good joke starts from a glimmer of truth. And in Makki’s case, it may as well be the truth itself.

“And that’s a sexy little group.”

“Yeah, it is. But you already have plans for tonight, don’t you. I’ve heard about it from Oikawa.”

Mattsun doesn’t answer, only a chuckle and a lopsided grin marking his face as he keeps studying the crowd.

The group performance wraps up quickly, being one without public interaction and soon enough Oikawa is making a show, threading between the public with his mic, hyping the crew out with just the right few words.

The lights start going down, softly casting the audience in shadows while the stage is tinged in bright colors before becoming red and by the time people’s eyes are focusing at the center again, Hanamaki and Matsukawa have taken their places.

The music starts to play, soft and calm, pulsing through the bodies of everyone as their eyes focus on the attractive duo in center stage. They’re not supposed to end up naked yet, that’s saved for the end, but as the choreography flows, sharp hip movements, thrusting motions like ocean waves crashing on rocky shores, still get women screaming at the top of their lungs enough for it all to merge with the song as if it’s part of the original bass.

Makki’s wearing a half-opened plaid flannel shirt with nothing under it, and he pops every remaining button open along to the song, the screams getting louder. His jeans are tight enough that every plane of muscle is noticeable, and his belt is black and striking, with a big, bull-shaped buckle. Later he’ll change his outfit to leather chaps and a vest, but right now, he’s more laid back. He looks good, he knows it, but the appreciation in your eyes as you coily drink his from from across the room is like a fucking golden star on his pride.

On top of his head, locked tight, it’s his pinched front cowboy hat. As Makki throws it in the air and catches in the middle of dancing, the screams engulf him from all sides.

But everything else is fading to the back of his mind as his eyes find yours in the dark, the appreciative, enthralled shine in them not lost to Makki. Could never be lost to Makki, who holds onto it as if it’s a life-line; You’re interested.

Ok, that’s good. But it’s also the basics.

Makki twirls and fall on the floor, hips fucking into nothing as the crowd goes insane. He kneels on stage, his shirt flying to the spectators; two women take hold of it, pulling in contrary directions until it rips.

Makki throws you a wink, every woman in that direction claiming it as theirs. You, however, shrug into yourself, eyes looking away as your hands tight their hold around the champagne glass they’re holding. You’re so cute, hands in front of your face as if that would keep you from staring. Makki feels himself glowing, growing excited at the mere sight of your scurrying eyes as they choose the floor instead of his body.

So fucking pure.

Takahiro wants to force you to look up and revel in the guilty desire he’s bound to find there. There’s no need to avoid him if he doesn’t charm you, that’s the beauty of soon-to-be brides. There’s such a deep will inside them to be faithful to the allegory of a husband they do not have yet, lost in a daydream of happiness in finding the one when they haven’t even tasted anything but. Makki eyes the golden balloons floating around the table while he dances -- one dick forever.

Poor little thing. He can’t let that happen, can he?

When Makki hops off the stage and walks over to your table between deafening screamings and pleads for him to take them, instead, his hand closes around your dainty little one, adorned with pretty french nails and just a single golden ring and even the soft, smooth skin of your hand against his rugged palm is a thrill inside his veins.

Your eyes are shining, nervousness sweeping from them as they lock with his. Hanamaki tries to be lowkey, giving you a reassuring smile supposed to be nice, to be trusting -- a complete disconnect of the way his guts stirs in the excitement of your touch.

He lowers his lips to your ears, pretends the way his nose runs over the shell is a mere accident. “Let’s go for a ride, sweetheart.”

Your lips fall open by the side of his face and Makki can feel the way you suck a breath, a little gasp ruining your efforts when he lets his lips brush against your jaw. Another accident, whoops. He’s such a careless boy, isn’t he?

Your teeth punish your bottom lip as your eyes seem to look anywhere but him, trembling hands as you seem half-way into telling him no. Makki can't have that, though. He brings his face to look deep in your eyes, a lopsided smile he can manoeuvre into being just the right amount of kind by now.

"You're not gonna let me go up there alone, will you?" He almost pouts, big hands finding their way on your arms in up and down motions that drag just the right amount of trembles from you for him to know he's winning. "There's no fun without you, sweet girl."

He dips his lips onto the shell of your ear once again, just in time to hide his mischief. "You're the star of the show. I'm just your ride."

That seems to make you giggle and Makki uses that to bring his grin into your view, palms sliding down your arms to clasp your hands and - finally - guide you up with him.

One thing Makki knows is that he likes his brides sweet.

Pliant.

And as you get up and follow him quietly and sheepish, clumsy tripping over yourself when some of your bridesmaids erupt in cheers, he knows he is right once again -- you’re just his type.

Thing is, Makki doesn’t waste time. He makes you twirl in your high heels just to have you falling in his arms, he picks you up without effort, a little gasp breaching your lips as your hands plant against his chest.

Makki just has to grin at the way in which you close your palms and retreat them back to yourself, quick, burning up in a beautiful, delicious expression of shame. Fuck, he wants to make you beg.

When he’s at the stage, he drops you on your feet with enough aggression to get you to slide straight to the floor, unsteady knees opening under you until your ass is planted on the stage.

Makki thinks your open mouthed expression, little breaths breaking through your lips as your anxious eyes stare up at him, have to be the best thing he’s seen in a while. And he’s just starting.

He bends at the waist, his hands to reach your knees and push them open, your bright little white dress sliding up so much he can steal a peek at your fancy underwear.

Such a vixen, aren’t you? All wrapped in lace.

Makki lets himself fall on top of you and you gasp, even as he stays holding himself in a plank, not one bit of skin touching yours. The song is pumping, slow and sexy even if the screams sound louder in the close space. He twists his hips, the rolling motion has them right between your juicy thighs. You’re forced to keep them wide open and the way in which you look mortified just may be what ends him.

Makki drops his knees in the ground, lets the screams wash over him as he drags his hips against your center, soft, then hard. His hands by the side of your head, his toned chest right in front of your face. He knows by the way his skin burns that you’re staring at him -- good, he wants to be the center of all your attention tonight.

Your hands are in front of yourself as if you’re afraid at your own excitement, eager eyes looking for his in a wirlwind of emotions and it makes his fucking skin erupt with goosebumps that the most noticiable one is desire.

Oh, Makki’s going to wreck you. The song turns frantic just as he comes to slide over your body, nose trailing along your collarbone and chest, teeth nipping at your clothes as if he would prefer to be doing it to your skin instead, and he feels the way your shame almost consumes you, body shaking as he finally reaches destination: right above your beautiful open thighs, so close he can almost taste you.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last. And Makki is forced by the choreography to climb back up your body even as he lets his hands linger a bit too close to your clothed center, every woman around screaming as if they can read his mind.

He gets back up and kneels between your open legs, thrusting in time with the music as if he’s actually still thinking about choreography and not in doing this to you later. You’re growing more embarrassed by the moment, your whole body burning and tense, but responsive to his movements and, better yet, his smiles.

His body is used to the motions, to swirling and grinding and thrusting in a wave motion, crashing over your hips time and time again until your lips fall open, and he knows he hit the jackpot.

Makki holds himself in a plank again, his skin turning clammy with the exertion, but he angles his crotch just right and has you singing a groan for him again -- then turning bright with shame in sequence.

Such a precious little thing indeed.

The ground choreo ends way too soon for Makki’s wishes, but he’s soothed by the way in which you let yourself be picked up, hands clinging to his shoulders with such a fierce hold he almost wants to test it out. He throws you up for a moment, relishes in your nails at his back, and his forearms hold you by the underside of your knee, closing on your hips.

And that makes your pretty little clothed cunt roll right against his semi-hard on. There’s a ripping sound, probably your slit getting wider to acomodate your open legs and thus, him.

Lovely.

Makki rolls his hips, right against your center once, and the crowd erupts in screams just as he starts mimicking fucking you standing. A beautiful option he saves in the back of his mind for later.

You let out a yelp, then proceed to try and hide your head against his neck, your pretty mouth gliding against his skin gives him such a high he almost loses the tempo of the song. He tells you to hold on and plants his hands on your bare ass, lifting you until he can have you in front of his face, a bit uncomfortable move but one that has every single woman in the club wet -- it’s in the air by now, and he can smell it. The idea makes his skin prickle, your hands holding his hair for dear life as if you’re afraid to fall, but your clothed cunt is right there, and he can’t pass the opportunity to steal a little touch as he pretends your hold is what pushes his head flush against your pussy.

You let out a beautiful sound almost in time with the song, and he is letting you fall once again on his arms, the smile on his lips the last nail on your pure coffin.

And unfortunately that means time’s up.

Makki lets your legs fall but holds you by your waist, depositing you on your own two feet at the stage and snickering at how your legs falter to hold you up on the high heels. So, as a gentleman, he takes your hand in his, helps you down the few steps on the stage, almost groans at how your hand seems to not want to let him go.

Before he leaves you, he pulls your hand into his lips, absolutely glowing at how breathless you look from the little action after he literally ravished you on stage. It physically pains him that he needs to pick up another bride into his show.

“See you later, pretty one.”

Under you, your legs are faltering, knees trembling like a newborn deer as you’re left alone to fend for yourself in the long path back to your table. Women congratulate you, screaming on your sides at the men who was almost fucking you dumb on stage and his friend, as they continue their show.

Your heart is beating in your ears, leaving you stupid and lost as you’re finally - finally - rescued by your friend, who brings you back to the table with loud congratulations and happy cheers. You feel your body sweating and throbbing, weirdly pulsating for something you can’t name.

Recognizing it would make it real and you cannot believe that after five years in a nice relationship with your only boyfriend and soon-to-be-husband, this is the first time you feel this wet.

You plop down on the closest seat, hands pressing to your chest as you try to both fan yourself and hide behind them. It proves, as expected, a hard task.

Your childhood friend has arrived and you hug her sideways, the short conversation you two exchange somehow lost to your poor heated brain as your eyes keep sliding to center once again at the stage.

The way he dances on stage feels overwhelming, this bride-to-be suffering way less touching and grinding than you, as “Big Tease Makki” stays standing up, his hands groping everywhere in his sculpted body as he dances to the sensual song, including the considerable bulge in his pants.

Something flashes and he turns his head your way so sharply you feel the need to melt further on the sofa, poorly hiding away as everyone around you cheers once again.

His eyes on you were burning a hot trail that slithers over your warm skin even in the dark, the ghost of a feeling of touch, erupting goosebumps along their way as they circle your neck and dip down your side, strutting over your chest to end by your face. Even in the distance, you swear you can feel the way those lips slip into an easy grin, satisfied at the way they have you breathless and weak by thought alone.

The idle chatting of your friends, excited and drunk are dulled by the pounding of your heart inside your chest, and you feel constricted by their presence on your sides at the booth, both ways filled with testimony to your inner turmoils-- can they see your sinful thoughts while they stay that close to you? Can the pounding of your heart and the heat in your face be felt at such a short distance?

The mere idea that they can pry inside your skull and discover the sinful dreams unfolding is too much for you right now, your spine shooting up while you balance yourself in your pretty heels and ask in a meek, nervous voice for the girls to let you pass. Some ask if you need help or if you’re going to the bathroom, and in both options it feels like you’re going to be flanked immediately, so you deny it and say you have to make a quick phone call about something you forgot to confirm and they all nod away, drunkenly squealing for you to be quick.

You’re almost free when one of your bridesmaids, your childhood friend, looks up at you with puzzled eyes.

“Hey, everything's okay?” She’s not drunk, only happily buzzed with sparkling wine, but her eyes are attentive when they lay on your face, worry etched in her brow as she looks for hints hidden in your dolled up face.

“Yeah, just need to take a breather.” You give her what you hope is a reassuring smile even as sweat drips down your back, but the place is dark and loud and she lets you go without much prodding. The place is full and swarming with women, groups of men present but fewer, waiters clad in skimpy clothing as they work the tables full of drinks, shots and champagne. Some are flirtatious, charming smiles along with muscles as they sweep women off their feet and leave their wallets thinner; others are pretty serious, and the mysterious aura has their pull, the ecstasy of conquest working as an aphrodisiac.

You pull past the bodies, feeling a bit light headed as your chest pounds and the booze traverse your body, clumsy steps on too-high-heels you’re not used to, but your bridesmaids had pushed you to wear along with screams to live a little and say hello to the last night before you’re a proper married lady. You’ve never really felt the weight of those words as the last two days, tasting for the first time the sweetness of night as you’ve never before.

If brown, bored eyes make a appearance in your mind as you flee to the corridor leading to the private rooms and women’s bathroom, you’re quick to stop the train of thought before it leads down a muscular torso clad in a tight jeans with a firm ass and a hot, big cock that humped against you in every opportunity while he took you to the stage.

A drop makes it way past your cunt lips to stain your fancy underwear and you groan, ashamed. You’ve never felt this unbecoming need before, the arousal so thick your breasts seem to be heavy against your ribcage, dress feeling too tight on your heated, oversensitive skin.

You’re reaching the curve left that will take you to the bathroom when big hands engulf your frame, palm over your mouth and you’re pulled inside one of the private rooms, too breathless to even make a sound.

“Howdy,” his voice sounds right by your ear, as you’re caged against a burly body and the closed, probably sound-proof door. “Got a fugitive here.”

“Uhh, sir, I--”

“Sir?” He laughs, head thrown back prettily as you drink the arch of his throat. “Oh my god, call me Makki, pretty one.”

The petname makes you flush, tongue heavy and clumsy in your mouth around words. “Uh… Makki, I’m sorry but I, ah…” You fumble with your hands, avoiding touching him, eyes downcast as you try to also avoid even looking at him. It’s too much, he seems everywhere.

“You’re engaged? I can see that, love. You have a banner right there.” He sounds so nice, mischief and boyish glee as he stands way too close to you.

“Then you understand…”

“I understand this is your last night of freedom, right? The last chance for you to be bad,” He breathes against your jaw as he noses along your skin to your ear, his cowboy hat gliding softly against the side of your face, “To be wild.”

Your mouth opens and closes but not a single sound comes out, your brain completely lost to the science of mixing letters into words. All you can think about is how your blood seems to be galloping in your veins, the pounding of your heart so oppressingly loud the beat of the song seems to mimic it and not the contrary.

You are lost to everything but the unbelievable feeling of painful arousal, so sharp and deep your bones seem to be melting out of their places and dripping into the outside by your cunt.

“But,” Leaves your lips dumbly and Makki’s fingers silence you, his lips so close you can taste his every exhale, the flap of his hat managing to blind your vision to anything past his face.

“You’re going to be married to the exact same man forever, sweetheart. You can let go one night. One night for you to feel good.” Makki licks at your throat and your lips fall open with a shameless moan as you burn with shame. “Has he ever made you feel this hot, sweetie? Hm? Have you ever even felt like this? It’s your last chance tonight, right? Don’t lose it.”

Makki’s hands massage their way down your sides, grabbing at the flesh of your hips, brushing your ass, and you’re dead silent as you drool away in your panties. Unable to think, unable to speak, embarrassment clogging your throat together with an impossible, unacceptable yes.

“C’mon, sweetie, let me take care of you.” It’s a plea, and he knows your chest will hurt with the same need that is in his tone. “Just this one time, so you can know what it feels like… how great it can be.”

“One time.” He promises you, earnest eyes boring into yours and, dumbly, enchanted, you nod… and agree.

Well, Makki ain’t waiting around for you to change your mind.

His hands loop around your thighs immediately, pressing you against the door until he can press his body between your open legs. The slit of your dress gives in just the little bit needed to allow his hips to make their way against your core, his lips busying themselves with planting kisses along the arch of your neck, teeth nibbling at the lobe of your ear, tongue gliding over the shell.

His breathing is soft, but so close it feels like it engulfs the room, slithering inside your head and scrambling your thoughts. His crotch presses against your center enough to hold you high and open, one of his hands relieved of their place as it climbs your side and closes around your jaw, angling your head back until you’re trapped between his face and his chest.

You shudder, eyes fluttering closed as if you cannot hold them open, and Makki feels his skin prickling, warmth spreading from his limbs to his chest and down his hips to center themselves at his burning length. You’re such a little vixen, all big eyes and open mouthed staring at him while he has hardly done anything.

He can barely wait to see how you’ll burn when he buries his face in your pussy.

Right now, though, Makki reigns in his excitement, fingers caressing your cheeks until your pretty eyes open up again, dazed. There’s just something about getting pretty little things like you to yield, to breathe out as his lips plant themselves carefully, softly, against your cheek, then the line of your jaw, your chin and your nose.

Every little kiss has you getting restless, trembling in his arms while your hands close around his shoulders, painful little welts that he loves to see. Such desperation.

It’s really the best.

His lips press against the corner of your wobbling plush lips and you shudder, but they push it back, and when Makki finally decides to kiss you, you’re opening your mouth in your eagerness, tongue lapping awkwardly at his lips as he chuckles and decides it’s time to stop playing.

When he kisses you then, you gasp, precious little sound leaving you as if you had no idea you could even make it, and then you’re melting against him, pressing against his chest as his mouth works its wonders on yours, tongue circling, searching, sucking. He nips at your lips, steals all the short bits of breath from your lungs until you’re writing against him, pressing sinful hips against his crotch in such a desperate way it’s endearing.

The hand on your thigh dips further under your dress, finds the plush meat of your ass and engulf it in its palm, delighted at how inexistent is the small little thing you’re wearing and how fucking delicious it feels. His fingers dig into your bottom until you break the kiss to gasp at how easily he can slip his long indicator from your ass to your pussy.

It’s his time to lose his air at how fucking wet you are, ruined fancy panties and moist thighs.

“Oh god, look at that. Little bride is so wet for this cowboy.”

You make a face, lips pursing in an awkward turn and coily shifting to look down, appraising looks on his chiseled chest. “Okay this one was bad!” Makki offers with an easy smile, the hand on your neck dipping into your breasts, palms pressing on your chest as he turns his focus on circling the hard nipple through your clothes, closing around the plush meat until your offending honest little lips part once again to him. He can see in the turbilion of your eyes how you’re still swirling against guilt, holding back from him.

“But can you blame me? Look at me.” He makes a mention with his head towards the big bulge straining his tight jeans, which have you unconsciously looking down, his hand sliding over your jaw to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, charming, easy-going smile in his lips. “Look at you.”

He rolls his hips once against your sex, feels the blistering heat even through layers of clothes but he’s done this enough to know exactly where to aim, having a moan escaping through the tight cage of your lips before you can hold everything else in by the lock of your teeth.

He can’t have that, though. He thrives on applause after all.

“Now, beautiful, I’ll need you to stop that right there.” His fingers dip under you to slide against the soiled fabric clinging to your folds and you all but tense, melting after as if you cannot conceive how good is his mere touch. “I want to hear you, c’mon.” Your eyes drop on his in hurt, but you free your bottom lip, mouth imediatelly falling open around a groan as Makki presses aimless around the entrance of your sex. Damn, Makki likes this.

“Yes, like that. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” His cock is straining against his boxers already, length rolling in perfect aimed strokes over the apex of your sex as his fingers thread on the outline of your beautiful cunt and when he dips inside a single fingertip, your sex and hands cling to him, all the beautiful curves of your body against his and he just-- He wants to see.

“Ok, dinner time!” Makki chuckles as he brings his hands once again to hold you firmly by your thighs, fingers spread enough to keep rolling against the edges of your cunt.

“Wha-What?” You give a charming yelp at the way he holds you effortlessly while abandoning the door to walk over to the couch. It’s just a cheap upholstered thing in front of the circular stage with the pole hanging from the ceiling, but it’s just the perfect length for what he needs.

He lets you fall, open and disheveled over it, legs spread to show the lace he saw earlier, stained and soiled after just a bit of makeout.

“You’re so cute.” It’s mockingly, really; meant to be a jab at how you’re so hazed and undone by just a few moves of his, but the way in which your doe eyes thread up to him, shiny and unfocussed; your hands closing around your frame as a hand plants in front of your breasts is just… cute. There’s no other word. You’re just a cute little thing and he wants your demise.

Makki groans and pulls you to the edge of the sofa by your legs, easily dropping between your thighs in a wave move, face planting itself on your breasts to suck at sweaty clothes, teeth pulling the fabric down until your nipples peek through and he sucks them inside his mouth, too.

You tremble so easily, even worse when he abandons it to nose his way down your body tightly clad in the white dress, kisses over your belly until he’s nosing at your clothed cunt, open mouth kisses adding to the moistness in your poor underwear.

“Delicious.” Makki says for no reason other than to state his thoughts, tongue rolling over the clothed slit as if its skin, reveling in how your poor legs start to shake, needing the aid from his hands spreading them to finally stop. “Tell me, honey, have your fiancé ever fucked you good? Hm?”

The mention makes you stiff, head pressing to the side of the sofa as if you’re fighting a battle inside your own mind, triggered by the piece of trivia question.

“I bet he hasn’t,” Makki laughs, nosing at your pussy with such pressure his whole face gets smeared in your juices. “Is he your first boyfriend? Tell me more.”

“I--how do you--” You stutter through bitten lips, truth tipping out once he easily spreads you open with his thumbs on each side. “Yes.”

“What a waste, such a wet fucking pussy and not one single effort from your hubby to-” Makki pulls your underwear aside, tongue lolling out to lick a long strip from your entrance to your clit, “lick”, once, it”, twice, “clean.” and thrice.

You let out a cute little noise and he gets impatient, pulling the lace at the side with enough force it rips easily under his hand. Your indignant noise doesn’t even sound right, lost in a moan at the way he closes his lips around your clit and brings his tongue to play with it fast. His hand presses harder on the skin of your thighs, leaving you open as a present, ripe and wide.

If Makki says he eats pussy as a fucking meal, it’s not out of vanity. He doesn’t like to stroke his own ego, it’s just the plain truth. He works his tongue around your cunt, licks at your puffy lips, slither his way over the labia, gathers all the dripping …. and lets it drip over your pussy, just to suck it up and spit on it, after all he never understood the whole don’t spit on the plate you eat. If it’s pussy, he’s sure it’s the fucking other way around.

You’re writhing and moving around, a symphony of gasps and moans fighting their way past your tight lips. Makki doesn’t mind. As he brings his thumbs to stroke up and down the sides of your cunt, he knows you’ll be screaming in no time. It’s just too much. It’s clear you’ve never had anything like this just by the frantic way you’re humping his face, hands grabbing at anything and everything they can, unable to hold on. His only shame is how busy his mouth is, unable to tease his way into the pure debauchery you’re demonstrating.

He pauses a bit to angle himself back, eyes trained at your pussy, dripping fucking wet all over the dress and the sofa. His thumbs spread at the sides of your entrance, pull it open just to see it blink and gap, begging for his cock without a word leaving your lips. Shit. His cock is straining against the tight jeans in such a painful way he has to let one hand go, open his button and fly, let the poor warrior fight its way past the band of his calvin kleins.

Then he’s back at his work, one thumb keeping you open as his hand returns to plunge his indicator inside slowly. Makki’s mouth almost falls open at the bewitching way your walls give in, letting him sink inside the velvety wet inside with ease. You’re clenching around him, groaning above and begging below, so he lets a second one inside at the retreat and advance of his wrist.

“Have your little husband ever made you feel like this, huh? Have he eaten this little pussy so good you make a mess?”

“Jesus Christ!” You moan above and Makki laughs. He loves this. Loves the little religious bout he gets from tight little brides when they actually taste heaven amidst sin. You try to ride his fingers, but he presses the back of your knees higher, and you let out a breathless “God!” at the new angle.

Then he starts the real game, fingers moving around your heat in search of a specific spot he finds with little prodding and then abuses until you’re begging.

“Oh my god! I, fuck--Jesus!”

“Yes, just like that sweetheart. If you beg for me real pretty I’ll give you what you want.” He says as his fingers keep plunging in and out of your heat in an upwards motion, strong but slow, dragging the feeling of his thick digits inside your walls. It’s close, he can feel it in the way you’re swelling around him, restless kicking out legs and praying for God as if it isn’t Makki who’s giving you all this.

“My name, sweetie. Beg for it, c’mon. Say it out very loud, how you want my cock to fuck you nice and hard as you’ve never had before, huh? Just--”

“Fuck!”

“Just tell me more how you had no idea it could be so good and how you need me to show you how fucking good a man can actually fuck.”

“Oh my god,” you all but yelp, but then sighs a, “yes, please.”

“Hmmm? Couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh fuck, Makki please fuck me!” There’s a breathless, outstandly maniac laugh breaching your lips after that, a flow of quick words falling from your lips as a train of thought, “Jesus I’ve never felt like this, oh my god I think I’ll actually die without--”

“There we go!” Makki laughs, voice loud as he stops everything to get up and once again bends down to pick you up.

“Wha--Wait!” You squeak, body tense and trembling at the loss as Makki only kisses around your tearstained face and makes his way around the upholstered couch. “Makki!” That has to be the needier, whinier tone he has ever heard his name in.

And he loves it.

He lets you slide through his hands, bends you over the back of the couch, your ripped panties sliding to the floor by one of your legs. One of Makki’s hands descends hard on your ass with a loud slap, your lips opening around a beautiful moan. The other does the same, both circling and massing the plump flesh as your ass and pussy blinks seductively at him.

That does it. Makki curses as he pulls his pants and underwear down, his hard, bloody-red cock slapping up against his navel; he closes his hand around it to slap it between the crack of your pretty behind and feels everything in him tingling at how wanton you sound in your moan, angling your back so that your ass can climb higher, head against the seat cushions.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Makki praises you as he tilts his cockhead on your slit, up and down, up and down against your clit, labia and entrance. It’s absolutely delicious how you clench to try and hold his cockhead, but it slips up to bob against your ass. “Ops, let’s try again.”

He does the same thing a second time but then you groan and whine once again, “Makki, please!”

Well, fuck, who’s he to deny you, right?

He pats your ass and supports his weight at the back of his feet, cockhead right against the beautiful hole weeping for him and, carefully, slowly, deliciously starts dipping inside. Your pussy sucks him in as a vice, muscle clenching and releasing; loud, satisfacted moans in your lips. It’s almost choking to him that the loud noise in the room comes from him, too, mouth falling open in a growl.

When his hips are nested against your ass, Makki has the urge to kiss you but squatches it down in favor of holding you strongly and fucking you throughly. Motioning himself in waves as he had on the stage, his cock slides in and out of you with such delicious, timed precision he thinks you’ll come twice on him before he’s done.

Your tight heat is velvety wet around him, squelching sounds sinful in the room as he grinds his hips against your ass, cockhead nestled against the firm pressure of your cervix. There’s babbles tipping from your lips, as if your mind has broken and you have to pronounce your mess of thoughts out loud. It’s cute.

Maybe he'd appreciate it more if his mind wasn't falling him also; his whole body feels constricted, strained, hips rolling in long, deep, strong strokes that make his cock into a pleasure antena, broadcasting to his whole being, blistering heat spreading through his veins and turning sharp at his spine and to start pooling at his balls.

He is about to dip his hand to your clit and end you when your body seizes, legs kicking while dangling from the backrest of the couch and your pussy starts creaming hard like a vice around his cock.

“Fuck!” He groans, tensing his whole body before you bring him over with you, hand slithering to hold the base of his cock, hard. Then he laughs, no breath to spare. “Wow, baby, no heads up? Now you gonna have to give me one more, I’m not done with you yet.”

You let out an indignant groan, but rest boneless under him. Makki retreats his hips from your snug grip and starts pistoning his way inside your heat, unforgiving even as you yelp and whine, oversensitivity probably making you burn. Makki lets one of his hands let go of your hips and fall hard on your ass, in time to feel the way your pussy grips at him, yelp turning into a moan. Makki lets his hands slide down the side and curve his wrist so your fingers can find your clit, rubbing him frantically as he angles his hips just right, every wave of his body aimed against your precious spot.

“Yup,” Makki groans, growing exhausted. “Just like this.”

Your eyes snap open, hands frantically reaching to hold on anything by them as you look back at Makki with shiny, big, dazed eyes in absolute terror at the fact you are, indeed, going to keep cumming on his dick, second orgasm hitting you so hard and fast Makki actually tips over with you, the pressure in his balls releasing in one blissful climax at the incessant contracting of your cunt and the wave of your orgasm gushing out of your pussy in the closest thing to a squirt he could pull out of you amidst a unending orgasm.

Makki stays inside you as he rides his high, grinding his hips even as you cry from the oversensitivity. When he pulls out, he’s careful with the condom and also has half a mind to hold your body, throwing the used thing somewhere to be cleaned after. Almost as if perceiving the breach, his cellphone starts ringing somewhere, loud as fuck in the closed room.

“Damn, fuck,” Makki scrambles to the sound, his legs almost giving out under him and his fingers so numb it takes three tries to actually accept the call. Which he didn’t read who from.

“MAKKI! WHERE ARE YOU, WE’RE STARTING IN FIVE.” Iwaizumi nags at him, stern and loud, piercing through his haze enough to make his brain drop some adrenaline into his bloodstream, suddenly alert and kicking, muscles straining but holding as he pulls his underwear and jeans quick over his ass and searches for his cowboy hat in time to dip and run to the presentation.

“Sorry baby, gotta go.” He saunters to you, plants a kiss on your sweaty head and another at your swollen lips and smiles the same sinful smile that ended up bringing you here, along with a tilt of his cowboy hat. “Duty calls.”

#hanamaki x reader #hanamaki smut #hanamaki takahiro smut #haikyuu smut #thesmutpilecollab

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

At 11:08pm In The Music Room, I Was Saved (Part 2)

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

Part 1

A/N: second and last part, lovelies. Thank you again anon for this prompt (I may have, once again, deviated from your original idea bear with me), and thank you @venablemayfairgoode for helping me figure out the end (tw: the death of a dog is mentioned :))))))) ). As always, English isn’t my first language. x

Word count: ≈ 7 000

You were so fucking pissed. Also, you couldn’t stop crying. The world had ended on a beautiful late spring afternoon and now, for some reason, you were trapped in a gloomy building with people you didn’t know and the woman who had broken your heart bossing you around.

And the worst was, you had been so relieved to know she had survived. And you shouldn’t have. But the tears you had cried on the plane to Outpost 3 had not only been for your family and friends; they had also been for her. They had mostly been for her. And you hated yourself because of that.

She looked different. Her clothes were darker, her hair was darker, her eyes were darker and they were glazed. They looked as if they were made of stone. Tourmaline maybe. Something bad must have happened to her, but you decided you didn’t care. Bad things had happened to you, too, and one of them she had caused.

“There’s been a mistake,” she said, voice very deep and very slow. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t want to be here,” you sobbed.

“You were assigned at Outpost 2.”

You were so mad at her. Had she done this? Ripped you from your family and sent you to this dark place to spend the rest of your life consumed by grief and guilt and hatred? She couldn’t have done this, she wouldn’t have done this but then again and was that panic in her eyes? It was gone before you had time to take a good look at it, but you knew her. You knew how to read her.

“Why are you here?” she asked, as if you had chosen to, as if it had been your decision.

“Because some rude guys barged into my flat and shoved me into a plane,” you sobbed, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. “I don’t want to be here,” you repeated.

“You should’ve been sent to Outpost 2,” she said. She was trying so hard to hide the confusion from her face, but you saw it, and you saw that flash in her eyes again and it was panic.

Suddenly it hit you: how could she know where you should have been sent? How could she –

“Did you…” It was hard to speak. Your throat was too tight. Your eyes widened with horror, and hers hardened. “Are you the reason why I’m here?”

You were vaguely aware that everyone else in the room was staring at you and Wilhemina. You should have felt ill-at-ease, should have felt shy. But all you could feel was anger.

“I don’t want to be here!” you cried again, but this time it was fierce. This time it was a cry of rage.

Wilhemina tapped her cane on the ground. The sound echoed off the walls.

“Better sad than dead,” she said coldly. And then she proceeded to ignore you as she explained the house rules.

You barely heard what she said. You were burning, and you couldn’t stop your tears from falling. This was not happening. You were in a dream. You would wake up and everything would be alright. You would count to ten and the nightmare would end.

You counted to ten. It didn’t end.

What you did hear of Wilhemina’s speech sounded ridiculous. No technology? No sex? Death punishment for intimacy? People basically being your slaves? Her eyes were too cold. They were glazed. This wasn’t the Wilhemina you knew. The Wilhemina you knew had used cruelty for protection. This one used cruelty for fun.

A few people protested, but the protests didn’t last long. This Wilhemina was just as scary as the one you knew.

And then she was leaving, to the sound of her cane, every tap a stab to your heart. A Grey led you to your room and you collapsed on your bed, hugged your pillow, and cried.

The next few days you didn’t leave your room often. You felt so empty. You spent most of your time lying on your bed and grieving the people you had lost. You got up for lunch and dinner. Sat at the table and stared at your plate as the others tried to make small talk. The food cube had no taste. It felt like jelly in your mouth. You hated it. You hated having to swallow it. You hated how it never soothed the hunger in your stomach.

You sat on the left side of the table. Wilhemina sat at the head of it. The light from the candles would glint off your food cube and fork. Coco sat on your left, a girl named Mary on your right. Coco would do most of the talking. Complaining, really. Sometimes – but only sometimes – you would glance in Wilhemina’s direction. Once or twice, she met your eyes. Hers were cold and like a black hole.

After the first week your tears finally subsided. You spent more time in the music room with the others, playing board games, reading, talking. Coco was a bitch, but she made you laugh, and you soon befriended the girl named Mary. She was about your age, was very shy and didn’t speak often. She kept in her pocket a photo of the dog she had owned and loved more than anything else, a small, sweet thing with big black eyes named Sam.

You didn’t know how Wilhemina spent her days. You barely ever saw her. You could forget her, you thought, if you didn’t dream of her every night. You would forget her if only your stupid heart would stop skipping a beat and break into a gallop every time you heard the familiar sound of her cane, letting you know she was coming, she was coming! in a second you would see her and be near her and hear her voice. You would forget her if she wasn’t your first thought every damn morning when you woke up. If when she was near you, you didn’t feel like you were burning and suddenly became aware of every single sound that was her, the rustle of her dress, her breathing, her heart beating, her eyelashes fluttering, everything.

You barely ever saw her, but when you did, time stopped, and it lasted forever.

You fell into a routine. Aimless, dreary. Getting out of bed every morning. Eating your food cube. Making small talk with the other residents. A teary-eyed Mary showing you her picture of Sam. Trying not to think, not to remember. It went on like this for a week and a half, until two Greys were found having sex and were sentenced to death.

It was Mary who told you the news, just before dinner. At first you thought she was joking. But then every soul at the Outpost was talking about it and even Coco seemed scared.

You didn’t know the Grey girl, but you had spoken to the boy once or twice. His name was Mark. He smiled at you every time you would meet him in a corridor.

You ate your food cube in complete silence and shock. When dinner was over, when Wilhemina stood up and walked off, you didn’t think. You stood up, too, and followed her.

She didn’t become aware of your presence until she was halfway down the corridor to her room. You saw her slow down, come to a halt. She tapped her cane on the floor, then turned on her heel.

Time slowed down. You noticed every detail, even the smallest ones. The way the candlelight glided over her cheekbones as she turned. You were still so attuned to her, every inch of her.

You stopped breathing as her eyes locked with yours. And it would have been so easy, to take a step forward, to wrap your arms around her waist, to pull her close and go back home. It seemed her eyes were pleading you to do just that.

But then she blinked, and her eyes turned cold. Glazed. Tourmaline. You felt your body stiffen.

“May I speak to you?” you asked, almost a hiss. Then you added, “Ms Venable.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly at you, raised her chin. “I do not care to hear what you have to say,” she said coldly.

You took a step forward and snarled, “I will say it. You can either listen to me here, or in your room. Office. Whatever.”

Her nostrils flared, and for a second you thought she was going to slap you. You had seen her slap some of the other residents who had dared question her rules. That was one of the things the new Wilhemina had no problem doing.

But she merely nodded, almost imperceptibly, and led you to her room.

You tried not to look. At the bed, perfectly made, at the pillow where she laid her head every night. At the vanity where she did her hair and make-up every morning. All the small rituals you knew so well.

It hurt. Merely standing there in her room felt like someone was crushing your heart between cold fingers.

You came to a halt in the middle of the room and tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. Wilhemina stopped in front of you, rested both her hands on the head of her cane.

How did she look so different? Why was her face so hard and so cold? She reminded you of the ancient statues of Greek or Italian gods. The powerful, lifeless stare. The dangerous power. How she could destroy you – how she had destroyed you – with one word or one tap of her cane on the floor.

You searched her face for the light, for the fear, for the love, the shyness and the boldness, the desire to be completely, truly seen and loved. You found nothing.

“Well?” she asked, annoyed, after a while.

You cleared your throat. “I heard you’re gonna have Mark and that Grey girl executed tomorrow morning.”

“You heard right,” she mocked.

You cleared your throat again. Your right hand twitched at your side. “Why?”

She made an annoyed noise. “You know why. They didn’t follow the rules. They put their own little disgusting needs first and compromised the group. We cannot have more mouths to feed.”

“Disgusting needs,” you repeated automatically. You took one step towards her and raised your head defiantly. “I don’t remember you calling sex ‘disgusting’ when we were doing it.”

Something flashed in her eyes. Something that almost looked familiar.

“Don’t be crude,” she hissed.

“You cannot have those two Greys killed,” you went on, ignoring her. “That’s murder, Wilhemina.”

Her name dropped from your mouth before you had time to think. You paused. She didn’t react.

“I know you’re better than that,” you added, taking another step towards her. Closer. You wanted to reach out and touch her. It seemed to you she was leaning forward, forward – towards you. It seemed to you her eyes flicked to your lips.

How you had missed her. How you missed her still. How you wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her and demand an explanation as to why she had destroyed your world, stolen all the stars from your night sky. How had she dared, who did she think she was, and what had happened to her that had stolen all the light from her eyes?

“For God’s sake, Wilhemina,” you cried when still she didn’t react, didn’t speak, didn’t move, “you can’t kill two people for being in love!”

“Why not?”she hissed, low and dangerous, like a snake.”What’s so special about love?”

“You know what’s so special about love. You felt it.” A pause. “And don’t tell me you didn’t. You may think you were good at hiding your feelings, but you weren’t.”

Wilhemina’s gaze hardened. “Those two Greys will die tomorrow at dawn,” she answered emotionlessly.

You raised your hands in frustration. “What’s wrong with you?” you cried. Again, she didn’t react. Her silence only fueled your anger. “If you do that,” you went on, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from yelling the words, “if you have them killed, you’ll be walking down a path I cannot follow you on.” You gave a mirthless laugh. “But I guess you don’t care. Who am I kidding? You don’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. You made that clear months ago. But ask yourself this question, Wilhemina: will you be able to sleep knowing you’ve killed two innocent people?”

Oh, she would. Without a doubt she would. She knew it and you knew it and you saw it on her face. Yours turned sickly pale.

“Okay,” you mumbled, lowering your head in defeat. “Okay. I – you know what, I –“ You met her eyes again. “I don’t even know how I could fall in love with you in the first place.”

She swallowed, but her face remained blank. But that familiar something flashed in her eyes again, something sad, that looked almost like the Wilhemina she used to be.

You knew confronting her would likely make her shut down. You knew that. But you were only human, for God’s sake, and you had been hurt and betrayed and it was a well-known fact, that anger was stronger than Man.

So you took yet another step towards her and clenched your fists.

“I have questions,” you growled, “and you’re going to answer them. Why am I here? What made you think you could dump me with no explanation? Did you even love me, or was it all a game to you?”

By the end of your little outburst you were breathless, and Wilhemina, the Wilhemina you had tried to reach and caught a glimpse of, had been roughly locked away.

“Say one more word,” she enunciated, glazed, empty eyes staring right into yours,” and I’ll have you arrested and whipped every day until you meet your pitiful end.”

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off. “Don’t forget who you are, Y/N. I’m the only one who has authority here. If you question me or my rules again, I’ll make sure that insolent tongue of yours is nicely severed from the rest of your body. And don’t think I won’t enjoy watching.”

Your whole body was shaking. But it wasn’t with fear. It was with rage, and with something else you didn’t like at all, for that something else was love. Love that was terrified and aching because this wasn’t her, this wasn’t right, and part of you desperately wanted to make it right again.

Someone knocked on the door. Your eyes widened.

Don’t, you screamed at Wilhemina in your head. Ignore whoever it is. Talk to me. Let me in, let me help you, let me –

“Yes?” Wilhemina called.

The door opened, and Mary shyly stepped into the room. “I, um, I’m sorry to bother you,” she said in her sweet, low voice. “But, um, Y/N, I need your help with something.”

“Can’t it wait?” you asked her, your gaze not leaving Wilhemina’s face, your voice shaking, your body shaking with rage and love and ache.

“Obviously it cannot,” Wilhemina answered, eyes boring into you. “Or else little Mary wouldn’t have been brave enough to push that door open.”

Mary shot her a scared glance and immediately lowered her eyes again.

Send her off, you begged Wilhemina. Make me stay.

Her gaze was too intense, it was too cold, too dark. You lowered your head and turned to Mary.

“I lied,” Mary whispered once she had closed the door behind you two. She glanced up at you with a smile. “I don’t need your help with anything. I just thought I should come and rescue you.”

You swallowed. Your body was still shaking, and you couldn’t unclench your fists. “Right.”

“I heard her threaten you. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you retorted sharply.

Wilhemina wouldn’t hurt you, you thought. She had only tried to scare you, to push you away. She would never carry out her threat.

But then again. You didn’t know what this new Wilhemina was capable of. Fear vaguely sang in your chest. Maybe she had meant every word.

“If there’s anything I can do to help you,” Mary was saying, “please tell me. I’ll be happy to listen.”

You thanked her, told her you wanted to be alone, and went to your room.

Wilhemina had decided the execution would be public to set an example. All the residents of Outpost 3 gathered in the music room and the two Greys who were to die were ordered to sit down on their knees in the middle of the room. They were both crying. Pathetic. Weak. Wilhemina looked down on them and smiled to herself.

A guard walked in with a gun. The Grey boy whimpered.

Someone – the hairdresser – mumbled something, a protest probably, but he was too scared to say it loudly. The old lady who had once been a star nodded at Wilhemina and gave her a smile and a thumbs up. Wilhemina ignored her.

You were standing in front of her slightly on her left, by Mary’s side. Wilhemina was trying not to pay you attention, but somehow you were the only person she could see.

You spent an awful lot of time with Mary, she had noticed. Laughing together, talking together, napping together. Good thing for you. Mary was just the type of person who would treat you right. She’d be kind, and happy, and healthy, and enough.

The Grey boy said something, pleaded for his life, probably. Wilhemina didn’t care. She didn’t listen. She nodded to the guard, and he crossed to him, holding the gun in front of him.

Wilhemina saw Mary grab your hand, saw you touch your shoulder to hers. Oh, you would be alright.

She didn’t know why, but her eyes had started to sting. Her hands were shaking. She willed them not to. They would not stop.

The guard raised his gun, pointed it at the Grey boy’s head, but Wilhemina didn’t see him, not really. She saw you turn your head and look at her, your eyes glossy and pleading, your hand holding Mary’s, and Wilhemina took a sharp intake of breath and felt tears pool in her eyes for she had loved and loved you and she had lost you. And now she was losing you again.

But she couldn’t go back, not now. She would lose her authority, she would be laughed at. And besides, she didn’t want to. This execution was the right thing to do. It would make everyone at the Outpost fear and respect her. They would bow their heads to her and they would hate her but they would never, never laugh at her.

There was a low but fierce shout, “Stop!” Your voice.

The guard lowered his arm slightly. He looked at you, confused, then at Wilhemina, awaiting orders. You stepped forward, letting go of Mary’s hand, came to a halt as if you weren’t sure what to do. A second passed. Then you crossed to Wilhemina, cupped her face in your hands, searched her eyes and murmured, “I love you.”

Something inside of her melted. The warmth from your touch and the warmth from your voice seeped into her and turned ice into water. The water washed down everything and left her insides dripping wet and glinting in the sun like after a hurricane.

You had spoken too low for the others to hear, but they saw the change on Wilhemina’s face. They saw her eyes widen and the light weave in as if she had opened a blind to let the sun in. They saw life and emotion settle back on her face and soften it.

For the first time since the world had ended, since you had walked into this music room sobbing and looked up and met Wilhemina’s eyes, you found her again. And you fell in love with her all over again.

You tried to give her a smile, and it was small and quivering, but it was genuine. It was fond. Wilhemina’s lips parted on a breath as she searched your eyes, wondering, hoping, and when she blinked a tear rolled down her cheek and you caught it with your thumb. You were crying, too, but you smiled again, stroke her cheek. You felt the tension leave your shoulders.

The gunshot echoed off the walls as loud as a crack of thunder. It made everyone in the room jump. The Grey girl screamed as Mark slumped onto the floor at the guard’s feet. The guard moved his hand, pointed his gun at the girl and pulled the trigger.

The second gunshot was louder, somehow. It deafened you and left a ringing in your ears. Your hands fell from Wilhemina’s face as you both turned to stare at the two corpses. Blood slowly pooled around them and shone faintly in the candlelight.

The guard met your horrified gaze and shrugged. “Following orders,” he said nonchalantly. “It was taking too long.”

Wilhemina was staring down at the two dead bodies with an unreadable expression on her face. Then she looked up at the guard, and her eyes were glazed again.

“I didn’t order you to shoot,” she said coldly.

“You did,” the guard argued.

“She told you to stop,” Wilhemina said, nodding at you, her voice growing angry now.

The guard shrugged again. “I only take my orders from you.” He raised his gun and held it to his chest, a defiant look in his eyes.

Someone in the room was crying softly. You didn’t know who. Your mind had gone numb.

Wilhemina turned away from you. Slowly, regally, she walked to the corpses, her dark, glazed eyes fixed on the boy’s head. She stopped in front of him and tapped her cane on the ground. Then she gave orders to carry the corpses outside and burn them.

Dinner was silent that night. You swallowed your food cube and drank your water. You couldn’t look at Wilhemina. Coco tried to diffuse the tension with a few sly remarks that made some of the residents laugh nervously. When dinner was over, you excused yourself and went to your room.

You lay on your bed and prayed for sleep, but sleep, unsurprisingly, didn’t come. You turned and turned until you gave up. You sat up with a groan and buried your face in your hands.

Blood, slowly pooling. The two bodies, not moving. Wilhemina’s eyes, widening. A tear rolling down her face, that you caught with your thumb. You couldn’t chase those images from your mind.

It hadn’t been her fault, not really, you told yourself. She would have spared them in the end. You knew it. Without a doubt.

You buried your fingers in your hair, dug your nails into your skull. She would have spared them, for the Wilhemina you knew had come back, if only for a few seconds – and she had been hopeful, and you had been, too.

And you knew you should still be mad, you knew it was too early to forgive her. But you were ready to surrender and fall back into her arms the second she’d want you back. If she ever decided she wanted you back.

There was a whisper, in your head, that assured you she did.

At 11:00pm you gave up on trying to sleep. You got up and went to the music room, hoping someone would be there and would like to talk to help you pass the time. Maybe Coco, for she would make you laugh. Or Mary, for her kindness would soothe you.

There was only one person, and it was Wilhemina. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. You thought it was because of annoyance, or disappointment maybe. Bullshit, your heart told you. She had been the one you had wanted to find.

Wilhemina was sitting in an armchair, her hands resting on the head of her cane, her eyes fixed on the fire. She raised her head when she heard your footsteps, and met your eyes.

“What are you still doing up?” she asked, not unkindly.

“There’s no curfew I know of,” you replied, probably too sharply, but Wilhemina didn’t seem to mind. She nodded, then resumed her staring at the fire.

For a minute you hesitated. Going back to your room was the wisest and safest option. But before you had consciously taken your decision, your feet moved towards Wilhemina. A moth drawn to a flame. Always, when it came to her.

You sat on the armchair opposite the hearth from her. For a long moment there was only silence. The fire crackled lazily and warmed you up.

You glanced up at Wilhemina, only to realize she was staring at you. You quickly lowered your gaze, nervously shifted in your armchair, then glanced at her again.

The expression on her face wasn’t closed, you noticed. There was a wistfulness to it, some sprinkles of curiosity, too. You felt hopeful again.

“So,” you said, assuming a casual tone as if you two were having a friendly conversation in a bar, “what’s your plan in the long run?”

Wilhemina watched you for a few seconds before she answered. Her voice was emotionless. “The Cooperative should contact me soon enough with new instructions.”

That’s not what you had meant. You had meant about her and you. But you let it drop.

“So you’re still following orders, uh?” you taunted. “I thought you were the only boss around here.”

“This is bigger than this outpost,” Wilhemina replied coldly. “This is about building a new, better world, where everyone is at their rightful place according to their worth and abilities.”

“What is my rightful place in this new world, do you think?” You waited, but no answer came.”What is yours?” you tried again. “Let me guess. You are the feared, hated leader. Making sure everyone respects you, making sure everyone survives. Noble work, but it sounds awfully lonely. Wouldn’t you rather fall asleep in somebody’s arms every night?”

Wilhemina’s expression hardened. She kept silent, which surprised you, and averted her eyes from your face to stare at the fire again.

You watched her. You watched the shadows the flames threw on her face. Followed the arch of her brow, the line of her mouth.

Had she done something to her hair, or was it the dim light? It was darker now. She had let you dye it once when you two had been dating. You had frowned at the smell and coughed and splashed the walls with tiny dots of orange. Wilhemina had tried to scold you, but she had burst into laughter instead, her hair piled on top of her head. She had let you wipe the dye splatters from her face and tuck her hair in a shower cap. And while the dye processed, she had sat on the couch reading and you had rested your head on her lap and grinned at her.

Wilhemina cleared her throat, bringing you back to reality.

“What you said earlier, did you really mean it?” she asked in a low voice, still staring at the fire. “Or were you only trying to save the Greys?”

You leaned forward, digging your elbows into your thighs. “I’ll answer that once you’ve answered my own question. Why did you leave me?”

A pause. An annoyed look.

“Because I felt like it,” Wilhemina replied.

Your jaw dropped. “Wow. Because you felt like it?” You shook your head, anger rising in your chest. “I don’t believe you. I’ll ask it again. Why did you leave me?”

Wilhemina’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve just told you why. It’s not my fault you’re too proud to accept it.”

“Why did you leave me?” you repeated, clenching your fists.

Wilhemina made an angry noise. She tapped her cane on the floor, then slowly stood up. You jumped on your feet and followed her when she crossed the room and turned right down a corridor.

“Did you wake up one morning and realize you didn’t love me?” you called, as she opened the door to her room. You stepped inside after her. “You’d had your fun, but now it was time to plan the end of the world? Uh? Do you have any idea,” you growled, voice growing louder and angrier, “how it felt to watch you leave without even knowing what I did wrong?”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Wilhemina said, voice quavering.

“Then why the fuck did you leave?” you growled, taking one step toward her. “Tell me! For fuck’s sake, I deserve an explanation!”

She couldn’t meet your eyes anymore. She was staring at the floor and her breathing was quickening at it always would when she was trying not to cry. And suddenly you were in the company of the Wilhemina you knew, the one you loved, the one who didn’t think she should be soft and kind but was still willing to try, for you.

“Elijah came to see me,” she answered, so low you barely heard it.

“So what?” you growled. “You fucked him and realized he was your one true love?”

She winced, and you bit your cheek, thinking that maybe you had gone a bit too far. But she deserved it, part of you thought. She had hurt you too badly.

You waited, but she didn’t add anything after that. So, rage beating inside your chest instead of your heart, you strode to her and planted yourself right in front of her, fuming, and she flinched but held her ground.

“Tell me,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “Why did you leave me?”

She drew in a breath, turned away from you and crossed to her chest of drawers. You were about to yell at her when she opened one of the drawers, closed it again. She crossed back to you and dropped something into your hand.

A lighter. Small and black and plain. You stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“What…?”

Wilhemina had never been good with words. But when you two had been dating, she had been willing to open herself up to you in any way she could. Actions sometimes were easier, she had found.

You glanced up at her, then back down at the lighter in your palm. “I don’t understand,” you said.

Wilhemina had averted her gaze from you again. “I couldn’t pick it up from the floor,” she whispered brokenly.

It didn’t hit you all at once like a revelation. Instead it felt like something spreading inside your head. A bubble. Slowly inflating until it burst.

“What?”

Somehow, it was the only thing you could say.

Wilhemina squared her shoulders, raised her chin, built up her walls. She met your eyes and glared.

“You got what you wanted. Now leave before I feed you to the monsters outside.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but instead you burst into tears.

Your chin dropped to your chest and you sobbed, as Wilhemina stared at you in shock. She extended one hand towards you, hesitated, changed her mind. Her brow pushed up in confusion and concern as she waited for you to calm down, dying to touch and comfort you, but not daring to. She had lost you, after all. She hadn’t been enough.

Some people are just too fucked up to be loved, Elijah had said. She could hear his voice now as if he were saying it again, remembered his exact intonation, the way he had pronounced every syllable.

“It’s alright,” she tried after a little while. “He was right.”

“Who was right?” you sobbed, wiping your eyes.

“Elijah. I did the right thing for you.”

That made you burst into tears again. Except this time, you wrapped your arms around Wilhemina’s waist and pulled her close.

She stiffened against you, but you buried your face in her chest and held her tight and cried and cried at how blind you had been. Your heart broke, but this time it didn’t break for you. It broke for her. For how low her self-esteem was, how she had tried over and over again to be kinder and softer and yet had still been convinced loving her was a burden. Loving her had been the best thing in your whole goddamn life.

Tentatively, Wilhemina slipped one arm around your waist and rested her chin on top of your head.

“I’m gonna bring Elijah back from Hell and kill him,” you mumbled against her chest.

“But he didn’t do anything wrong,” Wilhemina replied. “He was right. All he did was love you so much he only wanted the best for you.”

You shook your head, wailing as Wilhemina brought her free hand up to your head and started stroking your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked. “I’m so sorry.”

Wilhemina’s fingers stuttered in your hair. “What for?” she asked, and you couldn’t see her face but you knew what her expression must be like right now, brow pushed up in confusion, eyes wide as she tried to think of something to say or do to help you calm down.

You sobbed against her chest and tightened your grip on her. “I’m so sorry he did this to you and I let him.”

“I don’t –“She paused, hesitated. “I don’t understand,” she breathed after a moment, which only made you cry harder.

You felt her body stiffen again. “No no no, please don’t cry,” she pleaded. Her hand hovered over your head, afraid to touch you now. “I’ll stop talking, I’m sorry, I’m going to shut up. But please don’t cry.”

You clung to her, clutching the back of her dress, wishing that you could… you didn’t really know what. Let her creep inside of you, let her nestle by your heart so the outside world could never hurt her ever again.

When you had calmed down enough to speak, you asked her what Elijah had told her exactly. You wanted to hear every word, so you could erase them from her brain and replace them with words of truth and love.

You had expected her to refuse, to shut down and keep silent. But to your utter surprise, she let out a shaky breath, pressed her cheek against your head, and started to speak.

It was barely a whisper, and at first she paused and hesitated every second or so; but then, words poured out of her, ashamed and painful. You closed your eyes against a fresh wave of tears as you listened.

It didn’t last long. When she was done, her whole body slackened and you tightened your grip on her, afraid she was going to collapse on the floor. She didn’t, though. She nuzzled your hair and sighed.

She hadn’t broken up with you because of you. She had done it for you. Or at least, she had thought so. And it made everything worse, for you had said hurtful things to her. Accused her of things that had never even crossed her mind. Rubbed salt on the wound.

Not your fault, said a voice in your head. You hadn’t known.

After a quiet moment had passed, you took a deep breath and pulled away. Wilhemina let out a faint noise of protest, but you cupped her face and locked eyes with her.

“Have you ever thought that, maybe,” you whispered, offering her a small, teary smile, “I’m the only one who can decide what and who’s enough for me?”

Wilhemina’s eyes widened a bit. You gave her another smile, then let go of her face and looked around the room.

“You said Elijah told you you could never be enough for me and you believed him,” you said, gathering unlit candles in your hands. “I know this kind of thoughts don’t go away easily. I know it takes time and work. But let me show you something.”

You came to a halt in front of Wilhemina and held out the lighter. She glanced at it, then met your eyes, frowning. You leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her mouth. Wilhemina’s lips parted on a breath as you pulled away.

You smiled. “Let’s pretend these candles are my heart. Shush, let me finish. Sit down. Let me show you how you light up my heart.”

You set the first candle down on the bedside table. “Remember the day we met at the supermarket? I was blocking the aisle with my cart and you snapped at me. Told me my ass was too big for this world.” You chuckled softly at the memory. “My life was so boring before that day. I hadn’t realized it, but it lacked challenges, it lacked passion. It’s like my brain was asleep, and with just a few words, you awoke it.”

You flicked the lighter and lit the candle. The flame flickered, then grew. You glanced at Wilhemina, gave her a smile.

“Remember the first time we made love?” Wilhemina’s eyes were riveted on the burning candle. You bit your lower lip, set a second candle on the chest of drawers. “You were so nervous, and you tried to hide it, but Mina, honestly, I can tell you now, you weren’t very successful. You thought you would hurt me or not know how to pleasure me. Remember how many times you made me come that night? You’re a great lover, Mina. And you sure have talent in these fingers and tongue of yours,” you teased. Wilhemina’s eyes, wide and shining, flicked to you. “But do you know what you’re even better at? The way you take care of me after. The way you cannot seem to be able to stay away, how you always snuggle up to me and hold me and ask me if it was good.” You lit up the second candle.

You took a third one, put it on the floor by the door. “Remember my birthday?” you went on. “I’d spent the last one alone. You brought me breakfast in bed, bought me flowers and a cake.”

“I ruined your birthday cake,” Wilhemina whispered sadly.

You shook your head, flicking the lighter again. “But you bought it. For me. To celebrate me.”

You crossed to the other side of the room, set two candles on the vanity. “I don’t know if you’re even aware you did it, but you’d always fluff my pillow when you’d make our bed in the morning. You’d never fluff yours. Only mine.”

Wilhemina let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“It’s only one example of all the things you did that made me feel so loved. Like how you’d always buy pears even though you don’t like the taste of them, just because you knew I do. Or how you read the whole of War and Peace just because I said it’s one of my favorite books. That’s more than a thousand pages, Mina.” Your voice broke as your lips parted on a smile. “You didn’t even think it was that good. But you read the whole thing. Valentine’s Day. You said you hated Valentine’s Day. You bought me flowers and chocolates and tickets for Carmen. Front row center seats, Mina.”

You were crying again by now, but these tears were happy. You set the last candle by the bed. “You made sure I’d survive the Apocalypse. It was you, wasn’t it? I don’t know how you did it, but I’m sure it was you. I used to be mad at you for having saved me but left all my friends and family to die. But you saved me. Gave me another chance at life. Because you still cared about me.”

Wilhemina sniffed, wiped her nose on the back of her hand. You walked around the bed and took her hand.

The whole room was studded with bright, dancing dots of light, as if you had stuck your head into the night sky. Wilhemina’s hand was shaking, but she laced her fingers with yours and gave them a tight squeeze.

“So, you see,” you whispered, “see how bright you make my heart shine.”

A sob pushed out of Wilhemina’s throat. She wrapped her free arm around her waist, hugging herself as she cried. You leaned towards hers, bumping her shoulder with yours. For a while she didn’t move; then she, tentatively, laid her head on your shoulder. And then, as you did not protest, did not push her away, she slipped her arm around your waist and pulled you close.

Her hand cupped your face and her mouth crashed against yours as she sobbed and you sobbed and kissed her fervently back. How you had missed this. How you had missed her. One of your arms wrapped around her shoulders to press her closer still, tongue sliding inside her mouth. You were shaking, entirely too hot and so, so alive.

Something seemed to break loose inside Wilhemina. She let out a noise like a whimper, and suddenly she was crying over and over again “I’m so sorry” and “please” and “don’t go”. You pulled away slightly, cupped her face to make her look at you.

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered. “I forgive you.”

Her shoulders slumped with relief as another sob pushed up her throat. “But what about Mary?” she hiccupped.

You frowned, stroking her cheek. “What about Mary?”

“And what about the two Greys?” she went on, voice growing frantic and breathless. “What about the rules? I’ll hurt you again, I’ll hold you back, I’m too fucked up –“

“None of that,” you shushed her gently.

“But I –“

“No.” A kiss on her mouth, slow and sweet, meant to reassure. You tugged softly at her lip, and she moaned, dug her fingers into your skin. She let out a breath that went all the way down into your lungs, and sank into you.

After a moment, she rested her cheek on your shoulder and opened her eyes to look at all the lighted candles. You held her, stroking the nape of her neck, rubbing circles on her back.

The candles were burning. They lit up the room.

Tag list: @sapphicsarahpaulson @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @asktammyr @peggycarter-steverogers @coconutlipss @saucy-sapphic @thesupremewife @coxmicbabygirl

#does reader forgive wilhemina too quickly in that one?#yes #but i want to give w all the love and no one but god can stop me #ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #fics

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fleatomatosauce · 2 years

Text

Another requestless Cookie Run x reader? HOOOOEY! Here we go….

Blue, Purple, and Burning-Hot Pink

A Parfait x Reader fluff fic, part one

Notes: this story is in first person, using the reader’s perspective. The reader also has more feminine traits.

Day 1

Dear Diary,

Today was a horrible day.

First of all, the weather was nothing but gloomy gray skies, gusts strong enough for a Cake Hound to fly through the air, and cold temperatures to flake your dough. Every day I looked forward to going outside to visit my neighbors, admire the wildlife and occasionally eat some goods at the cafe, but GUESS WHAT? The weather called: it says NOT TODAY!

As much as I love the outdoors, I’m also quite happy being inside. There’s some good soap operas to watch online, I can mess with my makeup, paint my real-or-fake nails and cook up something yummy to eat! But don’t get me started on watching famous streamers online. I repeat, DO NOT. There’s about 17 handfuls of awesome accounts of 6 handfuls of different topics waiting for you to enter their lives, and boy oh boy, those are some wild rides! Commenters can say things so hilarious that they send the streamer into orbit, or something unexpected happens (usually in gameplays) that leave everyone on the edge of their seats. And don’t forget about comments getting noticed and replied to!!!

So many streamers give me joy, but not as much as someone specific:

PARFAIT COOKIE!!

From her beginning of her career as a budding musician to now a fairly known awe-inspiring idol, this cutie Cookie loves to spread happiness to hearts! This affected me super duper well…in two ways! Parfait has the prettiest contacts, the glitziest hair accessories and the cutest curly smile!! Chances of this happening are low, but I’ve always dreamed of her being my partner! Us cuties need to stick together, right? I AM a bit musically talented, having a few good years of knowledge in (instrument), so maybe I can impress Parfait with that!

Surely you’re expecting a rainbow of activities for me to do in my house during the bad weather…but you’re wrong! The murkiness that I could view from the window at any time drained my motivation to do anything at all. Makeup? I’ve used up every look. Soap operas? All boring reruns. Cooking? Too full, a microwave jelly meal would suit me okay.

Going to bed tonight seemed too normal for me; I was already drowsy for the whole day, so this won’t be a shocker. As I finish this entry, I know sleeping won’t be easy since today was boring enough to not have anything to think about to pull me to sleep. Maybe boredom itself will lull me…

I felt yucky and gloomy inside the whole day. I was feeling blue.

🎶🎶🎶

Day 2

Dear diary,

The results came in: it was a bit hard to get to sleep last night. Thankfully I feel rested enough, so with a bit of hope, the first thing I did today after getting out of bed was to open the window curtains. I remembered from the news a few days ago that today’s weather would be better, but not perfect. What awaited me outside was proof of not only the forecast, but something else as well;

Today was gonna be an OK day.

I mustered the courage to bake a Hollyberrian omelette complete with its hashbrowns inside. It was a good omelette, so that lifted my mood a bit.

The good tastes finally released creative juices in my mind for a new makeup look: something earthy and rustic with (fake) freckles. If you don’t know exactly what a Hollyberrian omelette is, this may sound confusing: how could something from such a fancy kingdom inspire you to make something so…country-style??? Potatoes. That’s it.

For my Show To Watch of The Whenever, the rustic look I made inspired me to watch a well-known show where Cookies from the 1800s live a cozy life on a little house in the Vanillian meadows. Watching the program gave me a warm feeling of comfort and nostalgia. I’ve seen the show since I was seven, and I’ve always felt like Apricot Cream Cookie, the young protagonist, was my sister and friend telling about her experiences in the meadows. Seeing her face again reminded me of peace and calm in life. I melted into my chair from the happiness.

As I was eating the usual lunch, I suddenly realized that there was one thing I totally forgot to do yesterday: Watch streams! I was a bit upset that I could forget one of my favorite dailies, but this worry went away as I clicked therealparuparu’s user page:

Hear Parfait Cookie’s true colors shine in her Feelin’ Blue and Pink concert- 3 DAYS ONLY!!

I audibly gasped. Did I really forget about my all-time favorite celebrity crush’s concert!? I need more deets-stat!

I scrolled further down:

After a long time of hypeful waiting, Parfait Cookie’s “Feelin’ Blue And Pink” concert is here! Get the feels on as the part streamer, part idol performs her recent hit single about how just one word can make a Cookie happy or sad-but these concerts will be 100% happy!

This string of concerts takes place in the Cookie Kingdom’s Jamboree Hall! Performances start at 12 pm this Friday and end just this Sunday, so grab your tickets soon! Don’t worry, there’s lots of exclusive merch to buy like vibrant t-shirts and color-changing glow sticks! See your pink selves there 💗

I let a louder audible gasp.

FRIDAY THROUGH SUNDAY!?

12 PM!?!?

Today is a Friday! And even worse, it’s a little over noon!! I need to buy a ticket RIGHT NOW!!!!!

I scurried to my purse and hastily threw out my belongings from there. Keys decked with cute keychains…no. Receipt from the supermarket…no. Adorable squishy I impulse-bought the other day? Nada por mi! Wait….let’s see…

AHA!! There it is!!

I luckily found my wallet and opened it to find some Coins. I knew where they were, so I dug a bit to find them a-

IS THAT A TICKET TO THE PARFAIT CONCERT???

To be continued…

Author’s note: this was originally going to be one long fic, but I then realized I can just split it to parts so you guys can get the story earlier. Hope you enjoyed!! 💕

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #parfait cookie #cookie run fanfic #cookie run x reader #fluff #wiiware writes

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thechangeling · 3 years

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But you like her better: Part 2

Sorry it's been a minute! I hope you like it.

Cw: Some brief ableism, mentions of internalized biphobia, and self injurious stimming.

2013

It was raining when 16 year old María Machado Sotomayor first met Kit Herondale.

Marí had always loved the sound of the rain. It was peaceful and rhythmic, creating a nice tingly feeling in her skull running straight down her spine. It also good for the plants. Which meant that Marí arrived (on time for once) at her favorite class in a pretty good mood.

Marine biology was their one of their three special interests, the other two being lacrosse and Base guitar. So Bio was usually pretty fun for them. However this time was different.

Her mood was instantly dampened when she walked into class and saw someone new sitting in her usually seat. A blond, short and white kid who looked far too pretty for his own good. A new kid most likely.

A new kid who didn't realize that Marí always sat by the window every single day. It was their spot. Still Marí was determined not to overreact. They marched over to the new kid and approached him with their best masking smile.

Remember eye contact. She told herself. Keep your tone light and breezy but not too lifeless. Smile. Appear friendly and non threatening. Try not to sweat. Try not to scream.

"Hi excuse me," Marí began in a sickly sweet tone. "That's actually my seat! Sorry!"

The boy instantly looked embarrassed and apologetic. "Oh I'm sorry!" He blushed. "I didn't realize there was assigned seating." He had an American accent, California maybe?

Wonderful. A white American boy. Just what they needed.

Marí chewed their lip and fought the urge to rock or tap. "There isn't actually," they admitted. "I just usually sit there. So can you please move?"

Now the new kid looked a little offended. A cold look settled over his face. "Well why should I?" He bristled. "This seat isn't really yours. It's not like it has your name on it."

Marí rolled her eyes in frustration. "I tried that already but then I got in trouble."

He stared at them curiously for a moment. Marí took the opportunity to break eye contact finally and scuff their heel against the floor. They were wearing the new black suede chunky heels with the gem stones that Marí had gotten when they went thrifting with their friends.

"María!" The harsh voice of her teacher snapped her back into reality. Everyone had arrived and taken their seats while she was arguing with the American and now everyone was staring at her. "Could you please explain why you are not seated young lady?" She snapped in her extra pretentious sounding posh English accent.

The one that said, "I'm better than you."

Marí tried not to growl at being called a young lady. They weren't feeling particularly female today. Not that Marí was going to bother explaining that to some old British hag.

"He won't get out of my seat!" Marí protested. Instantly laughter broke out around the classroom. Cruel mocking laughter that made Marí feel like her skin was crawling.

"It's ok!" The new kid cried out, practically jumping out of Marí's seat. "I'll move! I'll go sit over here." He grabbed his bag and moved to the back of the room as quickly as possible.

Marí smiled in spite of themself. His random act of kindness was surprising, but they were grateful. They took their seat near the window and sighed in relief.

Marí would always look back on that day with fondness no matter what. It may not have seemed like much to him, but it meant the world to her. After Bio class she had asked Kit to come eat with her and her friends. They had made their introductions and the rest was history.

They became close friends very quickly, bonding over movies and music. They sent each other playlists of their favorite songs and songs that reminded them of each other. Marí made Kit a queer playlist with songs by queer artists and told Kit that they were bisexual and a demigirl. They hadn't even told their friends that last part yet at that point.

Marí also told Kit that they liked to use she/they pronouns, but so far was only using them online. Kit asked Marí a lot of questions then confessed to Marí that he was also bisexual but he was still kinda getting used to it.

"I grew up in a shitty situation," Kit had told them. "I guess I still have a lot of shame."

Marí didn't hold it against him. She bought him queer literature and resources for queer history including "Bisexuality and Queer Theory" and her printed copy of the article published in the 90s called "The Bisexual Manifesto." She gave him advice on websites and people to follow online.

They also just talked. Talked about life and their experiences. Their feelings and their relationships with their sexualities. Bonding with another queer person was always special but spending time with Kit always made Marí feel so...light.

Despite how close they were getting, Marí didn't always want to touch him. They were touch averse in most cases unless they were very comfortable with someone. Sometimes it just depended on the day. On the days where Marí found they could not hug Kit they had invented their own way to show affection.

They would place a hand over their hearts and tap it, as if to say "I care about you" or "I love you." Sometimes Kit would say "tap my heart" as a substitute for actually doing it.

He introduced her to his close friend Janessa, the wayward vampire who was incredibly hot and kind of made Marí all nervous and tounge twisty at first. But as they got to know her, Marí realized that she was also incredibly kind, passionate and clearly cared at great deal about Kit. Janessa was a gamer who had named herself after a video game character. She drank cups of warm blood in novelty mugs with giant swirly sparkly straws and was pretty good at making people laugh.

Janessa, or Nessie as Kit had affectionately nicknamed her, was flirtatious and charismatic, but also brutal and deadly in a fight. She was full of surprises. And maybe, just maybe Marì was a little bit into that.

However as much as Marí didn't want to admit it, they were also were starting to realize that they were way more into someone else. Someone with perfect golden curls that Marí wanted to curl their fingers into.

Eventually Kit came out to Marí as genderfluid and requested that she use alternating he/they pronouns for them. They both made the decision to collectively tell their friends their pronouns. Marí, Kit and Nessie sat around her gorgeous leather couch and talked for hours about gender, identity and transness. Kit pointed put that they may never be able to fully explain their gender to the other two, just like Kit might have a hard time fully understanding Janessa's relationship with gender, or Marí's because everyone was different.

"It's personal Nessie," he had said. "Everyone has their own unique perspective on gender and every trans person has their own complicated feelings about gender and what their own gender identity means to them, and those feelings might not completely match up with another trans person's. But that's ok. You don't have to understand the other person but you do have to respect them."

Janessa's understanding of gender came from being a trans women. It was about a strict binary with clear lines and rules. Rules that Kit was starting to make a habit of fingerpainting all over and Marí could tell that it was stressing her out.

And Marí had no idea where the hell they fit in these rules. They had stopped playing the game.

But those two loved each other more than anything, and Marí knew they could work anything out. And sure enough approximately seven hours and four margaritas later (only two for Marí,) they had come to an understanding.

2014

She kissed Kit for the first time a month into the new year.

They had been trying on clothes in Marí's room and Kit was wearing one of their old dresses that Marí thought they looked amazing in, but Kit wanted to give it away. It was dark navy blue and sparkly with spaghetti straps, coming to about mid thigh. There were cut outs on the sides, filled in with black sheer fabric, and it had a low v cut at the neckline which was also filled in with black sheer.

Kit had been infodumping about one of the Marvel movies again, Marí couldn't remember which one, and she had kept getting distracted by his tan smooth skin peaking through the sheer fabric and fullness of Kit's moving lips. He smiled excitedly and Marí had stepped forward and kissed him.

Their first thought was that Kit tasted like chocolate. Their second was that they should have done this months ago.

Kit had melted into the kiss, smiling slightly against her mouth and pulling her closer. They kissed her feverishly, sliding their tounge inside Marí's mouth and moaning when she deepened the kiss eagerly. They moved against each other with almost lazy, comfortable precision, kissing each other for what could have been hours or days or maybe only seconds.

Marí couldn't have said.

When Kit finally broke the kiss and pulled away from Marí, his eyes were practically gleaming with joy and love. And that was when they knew.

I love him.

2015

I love him.

Ty's words ran in her ears. Repeating over and over again, maddenly bouncing around inside of her skull until she was forced to utter out loud,

"I love him".

They whispered it under their breath but Marí could tell that both Alyssa and Ty had heard them. It was so quiet you could probably hear a pin drop.

But of course. Of course he does. It was obvious. This whole time Marí had noticed there was something wrong with Ty. Just like there was something wrong with Kit. The way they stared after each other when they thought the other one wasn't looking. The loving and worshipful glances mixed with the bitter glares.

Marí had already known that Kit was in love with Ty of course. But the way they had told the story made it seem like they were positive that Ty couldn't be in love with them.

But then again maybe that made sense. Given Kit's history and who he was. But then Marí couldn't help but think of Ty and how confused he must have been. God it was a giant mess.

Speaking of...

The room was still silent. Marí found that she couldn't read Ty's expression as he stared back at her flatly. But his body was shaking, his fingers fluttered at his sides. She wanted to soothe him.

They stepped forward carefully. "I'm not mad at you," Marí assured him. "I was hoping we could talk?"

Ty's left eye twitched. "We are talking," he pointed out. Alyssa snorted.

"Ty, they mean about the proverbial bomb you just dropped a few seconds ago," Alyssa said with a laugh. Marí smirked to themself slightly.

It wasn't really a bomb. More like a flare.

She really needed to talk to Ty. The only problem was Alyssa had an annoying tendency to never leave his side. It wasn't like she had a problem with the girl. Of course not. But her presence meant that Marí hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Ty one on one.

They cleared their throat. "Alyssa could you please give Ty and I some space to talk?" They asked. Marí hoped they didn't sound too rude. Alyssa looked to Ty and he nodded slightly, signaling that he was ok with her leaving.

That was so strange to Marí. Their relationship. The way Alyssa, a werewolf who hated shadowhunters even more then Marí did, essentially took orders from him and clearly trusted him more than anyone else. But perhaps she wasn't one to judge.

After all, she loved Kit.

Alyssa left the room with a pat on Ty's back and a quick, "call if you need me." Marí shifted their weight back and forth as they rocked slightly from side to side as they waited for Ty to speak.

He stared back at her silently, most likely doing the same. Marí blew out a loud breath and forced herself to stay still, crossing her arms.

"Are you going to say something or should I?" Ty asked expectantly. Marí bit their lip and shrugged.

"I'm still thinking of what I wanna say," she admitted.

Ty smiled at her softly. "So am I."

There we go. Cracks in the armour.

"I'm sorry," Ty whispered suddenly. "I never meant to-"

"You don't have to apologize!" Marí blurted out. Whoops they had interrupted him. "Oh shit sorry you were still talking!" They reached for their hair nervously and realized that they were wearing that Morticia wig for their costume.

Great. Marí moved on to chewing on her knuckles.

"It's ok," Ty reassured her. "I don't really know where I was going with that sentence. And you shouldn't do that." He pointed to her hand.

Marí scoffed, "yeah well you shouldn't dig your nails into your palms." He glared at them and they laughed.

"Not so fun playing a game of Mirror Image is it?" They teased. Ty didn't respond, just stared at Marí solemnly.

"You know I really admire you," he said, aiming his gaze close enough to hers to create the illusion of eye contact. "I always have. I never wanted to hurt or upset you."

Marí wished for a brief moment that they could touch him and then shrugged the impulse off. "I know love," they cooed. "Me too."

Without really understanding why, she pressed her hand to her chest directly above her heart and tapped, just like how she did with Kit. Ty studied Marí for a moment and then followed suite.

Marí in spite of themself, actually felt bad for him. They could clearly see the toll the last three years had taken on him, specifically the last few weeks. Maybe his family couldn't see it, and they definitely knew that Kit couldn't, but Marí could.

Marí of all people could see past the mask because they knew what masking looked like. It wasn't just about appearing normal, whatever that word meant. It was about hiding your feelings. Taking that heart you wore on your sleeve and locking it up tight. But everytime Marí looked at Ty, they could see it. And it was bleeding.

Ripped and bloody and broken, just like her own and yet they both still had the sheer audacity to keep breathing. Marí was proud of them both.

"You need to talk to him," Marí prompted. "You both need to be honest with each other."

Ty furrowed his brow. "Honest? About what? He doesn't feel the same way." He had gone back to flicking his fingers as he stared at her, looking puzzled.

Bloody hell between the two of them, Kit and Ty were giving Marí the mother of all headaches.

They took a deep breath. "Yes they do Ty," Marí tried not to sound exasperated. "Kit is in love with you, believe me. They told me."

It hurt Marí's heart to have to say it, but it was true and Ty deserved to know the truth. And they knew deep down that Kit wouldn't really be happy, he wouldn't be Kit until he had Ty. And Marí had to make their peace with that.

Ty looked understandably confused. He ran a frantic hand through his hair. "But why are you telling me this? Why are you helping me?" He asked. "Don't you love them?"

She fought the urge to cry as tears gathered in her eyes. She found herself digging her nails into her palms despite chastising Ty for doing it a few minutes ago.

"I'm telling you all of this because I love them" she cried desperately. "Because Kit cries out your name in his sleep Ty! Because everytime he sees you, he stares at you like you are the moon the sun and the stars! Because everytime you speak they hang onto absolutely every word, and when you laugh-" Marí cut herself off.

They squeezed their eyes shut and took deep long breaths. Ty said nothing. Marí opened their eyes to see Ty staring at them in dismay. He looked like he was trying to think of what to say to help.

Marí shook their head. "I know Kit loves me. And they probably always will. We were close friends even before we started dating." Marí groaned and shook out their entire body this time, jumping up and down a few times as well to get rid of the tension. If Ty thought this was weird he didn't comment on it.

Marí wiped her eyes carefully trying not to smudge her mascara. "But you Ty?" His eyes refocused on her again at the sound of his name. Marí chuckled humourlessly. "Fucking hell, he is in love with you. And right now he is thinking that you hate him and I know it's tearing him up inside."

Ty stared at Marí hopelessly, looking overwhelmed and exhausted. "So what do I do then? What am I supposed to say?"

Marí shrugged. "I can't help you with that I'm sorry. It has to come from you." Ty looked even more panicked.

They gave him what they hoped was an encouraging smile. "Don't be scared Ty," they murmered. "It's Kit remember. They're not scary. You have nothing to worry about."

Ty didn't answer her. He had wrapped his arms around his body, squeezing tightly. "Marí do you remember those dead moon jellyfish we buried on the beach?" He asked.

She was a little confused as to why he was bringing this up now. "Yeah? Why?"

"That's what I feel like right now," Ty admitted. "Like I've washed up on the beach and now I'm just waiting for someone to come along and step on me."

Marí's heart sank. "Oh Ty," they breathed. "I promise that won't happen with Kit. I can't make any promises for anyone else, but I do know that Kit has absolutely no intention of hurting you again love."

Ty looked pensive. Marí could only hope that Ty would make the decision to trust them.

With a sudden jolt Marí remembered the party.

"Hey we still have the Halloween party to go to," she said, shaking Ty out of his stupor. "Do you still wanna go?"

To their surprise, Ty nodded. "Sure. I think Alyssa might kill me if I back out now."

Marí snorted. Alyssa Reyes could be pretty terrifying at times.

With surprise Marí found that their spirts were lighter having cleared the air with Ty and with the prospect of a party being renewed.

She smiled. "All right then let's head out!" Marí smoothed down the long black wig over her shoulders and quickly smoothed out the long skirt of her black slinky dress before turning and exiting the training room.

She knew that she would have to talk to Kit at some point and that conversation would be brutal. But at least they could have one last night together.

It's better this way. Marí told themself as they walked back towards the main living room where everyone was gathered. At least now Kit can be happy.

It's for the best.

It has to be.

So I'm actually planning on writing a part 3 from Kit's pov because the drama isn't over yet! 😏

Tag list: lmk if you wanna be added/removed.

@playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @clarys-heosphoros @queenlilith43 @arangiajoan @hardlymatters @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @tired-vin @phoenix-and-dragon @the-blackdale @adoravel-fenomeno @the-wckd-powers

#tsc #twp #kit x ty #marí the werewolf #the wicked powers #maría machado sotomayor #we stan autistic bonding #we stan queer bonding

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