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jezebelblues · 7 months ago

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𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 | 𝐇.𝐒 | 𝟏 *ੈ𑁍༘⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭, 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥.

pt 1, pt 2 (completed)

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐂𝐖: drug usage/selling, angst, college!harry, fem!reader, smut in pt2 if that’s what ur here for, allusions to violence, friends to lovers if u squint

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 13.8k

❏ i was trying to compress this into only being one part but i felt like each piece of them growing closer was too important to the plot to be deleted </3 but i’m posting pt 2 like right after this so !! btw this is so fratrry coded but bro is not in a frat. he’s just a broke college student that sells drugs fr

masterlist

off campus housing was a curse sometimes.

but, if you had the option between dorming it out or paying for an apartment yourself, maybe it could be categorized as both a blessing and a curse.

but for YN and harry, it’s just a curse.

a dorm wasn’t in the cards for them in general—it was hard enough drowning in loans for tuition itself, and adding thousands more for shitty campus housing was just overboard.

but still, the illusion of choice would’ve been nice.

they lived in carson hall, off campus apartments that were filled to the brim with students. there might’ve been a few tenants in the building that weren’t a student, but they were probably there for the same reason as everyone else—affordability.

$850 per month felt like a rarity, and it was pretty much unheard of in new york. so, if you were a broke student that couldn’t dorm, this was your saving grace.

if the walls in the unit weren’t brick, it was cheap drywall that had the paint chipping off. there was a radiator that broke every month like clockwork, sat right underneath a window with glass so thin it shook with the breeze.

there was no carpet except for in the main lobby, everything else was either tiled linoleum and creaky wooden floors installed in the 90’s. there was a communal laundry unit in the basement that required four quarters exactly, nothing else. sometimes it’d swallow the coins, sometimes it wouldn’t, and sometimes it’d eat their coins and wouldn’t turn on at all.

there was a maintenance man that lived on the first floor—living there for half the rent since he was on call 24/7 on the weekdays to fix anything the apartment complex needed—but you’d have to be the luckiest person on earth for him to respond. if the washer ate your quarters, chances are, you won’t be getting them back. and if the sink continued to drip water in rhythm with your heartbeat, you’d be better off watching a youtube tutorial on plumbing basics than calling for the maintenance guy.

but, it was four walls and a roof—not to mention, it was only a five minute walk from the dining hall (the heart of campus, obviously).

YN and harry didn’t know each other, not exactly. they lived on the same floor, and harry was the guy that was known for dealing to make rent and loan payments.

and YN was the girl that always had sleepy eyes and smelt of vanilla and cinnamon—sugar and spice.

but that was it between them, fleeting glances of acknowledgment and the lingering scent of vanilla laced with weed in the hallway.

all until the first knock tapped against his door at one-thirty in the morning.

it was one of those nights where the due dates of assignments pressed down heavy, like it was daring you to breathe under the weight.

harry’s radiator was hissing again, spitting steam into his tiny apartment, a kind of mocking applause for everything breaking down. his desk was cluttered with blueprints—half-sketched, smudged, unfinished—and on the counter, the last edible he'd cut sat wrapped in foil, waiting for whoever was desperate enough to buy it.

the knock was soft. hesitant. not the kind of knock that screamed cops or where's the party? harry almost didn't get up. whatever it was, it could wait.

but something about it—how it lingered, quiet but insistent—dragged him to the door. barefoot, wearing nothing but a ratty tshirt and sweatpants, he swung it open without bothering to check who it was.

YN.

the girl who always smelled like a fucking christmas cookie. she stood in the hallway like she'd been arguing with herself for hours, her arms wrapped around her torso to keep warm. she didn't say anything right away, just looked at him with wide, tired eyes.

harry leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "are y’lost?"

her voice came out softer than he expected. “i need…something.”

he raised an eyebrow, scanning her quickly—her pink sweatpants, the hoodie that was two sizes too big, the way she kept glancing at the floor like she hated being here. "that's specific. milk? a lightbulb? help moving a body?"

"for my roommate," she rushed, ignoring the bite in his tone. "she's—she's having a panic attack or something, some stupid argument with her boyfriend i think—and i don't have anything that can help."

harry stared at her.

her voice cracked, the desperation cutting through the cool front she was trying to hold. "it's late, and the pharmacies are closed, and i just—someone said you might have something."

"someone.” he repeated, pushing off the doorframe, his tone sharp enough to slice through her composure.

"please."

something about that word caught him off guard. not the word itself, but the way she said it—like she was embarrassed to use it, like it physically hurt to ask him for anything. harry sighed, stepping back. "wait there."

he crossed the room to the counter, digging through the shoebox that held the operation he kept as low-key as possible. the old baggie of edibles rustled faintly in his hands, and for a second, he thought about saying no. this wasn't his problem.

but he grabbed one anyway, turning back to find her still standing in the hallway, arms wrapped tighter around herself. he shoved the baggie into her hand. "take this and go."

she hesitated, looking down at it. "is it safe?"

harry's laugh came out sharp and humorless. "you knock on my door at one in the morning, asking for something t’fix a panic attack, and you're worried about FDA approval? yeah, it's safe. s’low-dose."

her fingers curled around the bag. "how much do i owe you?"

he shook his head, already tired of this conversation. "don't worry about it. just go."

YN started to turn, but her gaze caught on the cluttered desk in the corner—blueprints stacked in uneven piles, a half-empty coffee cup balancing on the edge. "what's all that?" she asked, her voice quiet but curious.

"none of your business."

he stepped forward and shut the door before she could ask anything else. the lock clicked, and for a long second, he stood there, staring at the closed door, wondering why the hell he'd helped her at all.

friday nights strained. not the kind that made you feel like you’d accomplished something. no, this was the other kind. the kind that made harry want to throw his phone into the east river and spend the rest of the weekend in bed, ignoring the world.

by eight pm, the texts started rolling in like they always did.

can u drop to sigma chi?

emergency. we need molly asap. paying extra if u can get here by 10.

it wasn’t glamorous. it wasn’t even fun. but it paid the rent.

harry sat at his desk, staring at the mess of blueprints he hadn’t touched all week, his phone lighting up next to him with another text. the math was simple: weed, molly, shrooms, lsd. nothing heavy, nothing messy, and no one under twenty-one.

he grabbed his backpack, already packed from the night before—a hollowed-out calculus textbook buried inside. it was beat to shit, but nobody looked twice at a guy carrying around a heavy book and a bookbag on campus.

the first stop was sigma chi. always sigma chi.

by the time he got there, the party was in full swing. the air reeked of spilled beer and too much cologne, bass pounding through the walls like a heartbeat that refused to die. harry slipped in through the side door, past a crowd of girls laughing too loudly and holding plastic cups like they were accessories.

the guy waiting for him was leaned against the fridge, his baseball cap turned backwards, a grin plastered on his face. “harry, my man!”

he didn’t answer. didn’t smile. instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small baggie, handing it over like he was exchanging a pack of gum. the guy shoved some crumpled twenties into harry’s hand, already too distracted by his phone to say anything else.

“you’re a lifesaver, bro.”

he left through the back door without another word.

weekends were always like this. frat houses, dorm rooms, random street corners. most fridays, he had ten stops, maybe more if people got desperate.

his phone buzzed constantly. texts rolling in every fifteen minutes:

can you meet by the bodega?

do u have anything stronger? asking for a friend.

the last one made him roll his eyes. he didn’t do stronger. stronger got people killed, got cops asking questions. harry wasn’t stupid. this wasn’t about partying or fun; it was money.

he started dealing during his first year at nyu. not because he wanted to, but because the scholarships didn’t cover everything, and student loans only went so far.

at first, it was just weed. his guy, jeff, lived in brooklyn—a family man with a college degree, a wife, and two kids. harry used to think guys like jeff had it figured out: the house in a decent neighborhood, the minivan parked out front, the soccer games on weekends. but his life was no more stable than harry’s.

jeff’s business wasn’t just selling weed—it was growing it, right in his basement. his wife knew, of course. they kept it far from the kids, locked up tight behind a door that might as well have been a vault.

he hadn’t started out as a dealer, either. he ran his own small business—some business marketing firm that couldn’t compete with the bigger guys. now, the basement was his fallback, extra income, and harry couldn’t help but see a version of himself in jeff. same fire, same hustle, same gnawing ache of more, more, more.

“this isn’t enough,” he had said one night, halfway through weighing a fresh batch. the house smelled faintly of citrus and pine, a scent jeff swore masked the weed smell. “you ever thought about branching out?”

harry frowned, leaning back against the workbench “branching out how?”

“psychedelics—shrooms, lsd. same crowd, bigger profit. no one’s getting hooked, no one’s overdosing. it’s clean.”

harry’s gut twisted. he didn’t like the sound of it—too messy, too big. “i dunno, mate. weed’s easy. i don’t want t’get in deeper.”

jeff leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “i get it. but you’re already in. and if you play it smart, you don’t have to worry about the cops, or junkies, or any of that shit. i know a guy in the bronx—mutual friend. you’d like him. solid guy, clean product.”

he hesitated, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table. “y’really think it’s worth it?”

jeff smiled faintly, shrugging. “depends on what you want. if it’s just enough to scrape by, keep doing what you’re doing. but if you want to breathe a little? yeah. it’s worth it.”

harry didn’t jump in right away.

it took a few weeks of thinking, weighing the risks against the reward. but eventually, he made the trip to the bronx. the guy jeff pointed him to was older, late thirties maybe, with a clean apartment and a habit of over-explaining. harry liked him immediately.

the product was good. better than he expected. shrooms, lsd tabs, packaged clean and easy to move. the kind of stuff that sold itself to the right crowd.

molly came later.

it started with frat guys asking for it at parties, offering triple what harry charged for weed. at first, he turned them down. molly was different—harder to control, riskier. but the money kept knocking at his door, and harry, tired of scraping by, finally let it in.

his guy in the bronx knew a supplier. harry kept it lowkey—low doses, clean product, no bullshit. but it still weighed on him, the way every step deeper into this life felt like standing on thin ice.

jeff always said this kind of hustle didn’t last forever. harry just hoped he’d find a way out before it swallowed him whole.

his voice stayed in his head more than he liked to admit—you can’t do this forever, kid. something’s gotta give.

but that was the problem, wasn’t it? harry didn’t know what would give first—his luck, his sanity, or the thin line he kept walking between survival and collapse.

the deeper he got into dealing, the more he saw how easy it was for people to lose themselves in it. not just the buyers—people like jeff, too.

there was this one night, months after harry started moving psychedelics. jeff had called him over, saying he had some fresh product he wanted harry to try. he drove out to brooklyn, expecting the usual.

but when he got there, he looked different. tired in a way that felt heavier.

“you good?” he had asked, leaning against the workbench.

he nodded, but his hands trembled slightly as he sealed a bag. “yeah, just a long week. car broke down, furnace is acting up… you know how it is.”

he did. too well.

when he left that night, the bag of weed tucked into his backpack, he couldn’t shake the thought—this doesn’t end well. jeff had everything harry thought he wanted—a family, a house, a life that looked solid from the outside. and still, it wasn’t enough.

he lit a cigarette as he drove back to the city, the smoke curling around him in the dark car. he couldn’t let this life be all there was. couldn’t let it pull him down the same way it was pulling jeff.

but even as he told himself he’d find a way out, harry’s phone buzzed with another text, another buyer, another deal.

just enough was never enough.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. he was tired. bone-tired. the kind of tired that lived in his spine and refused to leave, no matter how much sleep he got.

but he typed back anyway.

because this was life. grinding himself into the ground so someone else could forget their bullshit for a night.

and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t afford to.

the rain wasn’t letting up. the kind that soaked you through in seconds, cold and sharp like a thousand tiny needles stabbing your skin. the stairwell in the building was already a deathtrap on the best days—cheap tiles, no traction, old wood.

he was on the couch when he heard it. a thud, heavy and hollow, like someone had dropped a bag of bricks—or fallen. then the curses followed, muffled but furious, the kind of sound that pulled him out of the half-sleep he’d been drifting into.

he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. for a second, he thought about ignoring it. again, wasn’t his problem. but something about the sound got under his skin.

grabbing the sweatshirt hanging off the back of the couch, he pulled it on and opened the door, peering out into the dimly lit hallway.

that’s when he saw her.

sprawled on the stairs, her sweater soaked through, hair sticking to her face, and an armful of books scattered around her like shrapnel.

fucking christ, harry thought, leaning against the doorframe. he crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you always this graceful, or is it a wednesday night special?”

she looked up, and if looks could kill, he’d have been dead on the spot. her cheeks were flushed, probably from a mix of frustration and exertion, and her jaw was clenched tight enough to crack. “are you always this much of an asshole, or do i just bring it out in you?”

harry let the smirk grow into something closer to a grin. “you okay?” he asked, his tone half-mocking, half-genuine.

YN didn’t answer right away. she was too busy untangling herself, her knee hitting the step as she tried to gather the mess of books and papers that had spilled everywhere.

harry sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “hold on.”

he jogged down the stairs, crouching to pick up a book near her feet. the cover was soaked, the pages already curling at the edges. he flipped it over in his hand, inspecting the damage. “you’re gonna fail with this,” he said, holding it up. “this thing’s toast.”

she snatched the book from him, glaring. “you’re toast.”

he chuckled under his breath, bending to pick up another one. this time, it was a notebook—thick, overstuffed, with half the pages threatening to fall out. “what are you even carrying all this for?”

“this is college, is it not?”

harry straightened, stacking the notebook on top of the book in her arms. “you’re gonna wreck your back lugging all this around.”

“not everyone has money for a decent bag.” she muttered, not looking at him as she grabbed the papers from his hand.

that made him pause. his jaw tightened, his usual sarcasm flickering into something harder, heavier. he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it just as fast.

he shifted, handing her the last book. “here. try not to break your neck next time.”

she snorted, a bitter laugh slipping out before she could stop it. she pushed herself up, wincing as she shifted her weight onto her right leg.

“you sure you’re okay?” harry asked again, watching the way she was favoring her left leg.

“i’m fine.”

“right.” harry muttered, crossing his arms as she started up the stairs. he followed her halfway up, more out of habit than concern, and watched as she struggled to balance her books against the wet fabric of her sweater.

when they reached the landing, she stopped, glancing back at him. “thanks,” she said, the word sounding like it physically hurt her to say.

harry shrugged. “don’t mention it.”

as she turned to head toward her apartment, she added over her shoulder, “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked again, shaking his head as he watched her limp away. he didn’t respond, just leaned against the wall, waiting until she disappeared into her unit before heading back to his own.

he dropped onto the couch, dragging a worn notebook off the coffee table and flipping it open. but his focus was shot. all he could picture was her on the stairs—soaked, pissed, and too stubborn to admit she wasn’t fine.

her comment stuck with him, too. not everyone has money for a decent bag. harry hated how much that hit home.

the world didn’t give a shit if you couldn’t afford what you needed. if you didn’t have it, you improvised. it was why he was out here selling weed and molly to spoiled frat boys and girls with trust funds so deep they could drown in them.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. his phone buzzed on the armrest beside him, breaking the silence.

it was one of his regulars, some sophomore who thought a couple grams of shrooms would make her weekend transformative.

yeah. same spot. 9pm.

he tossed the phone onto the table, leaning back against the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. this was the life: fixing busted radiators, chasing down half-earned engineering credits, and grinding himself into the ground so some kid could take a trip they’d forget by monday morning.

later that night, he was back out, a ballcap sat over his curls, backpack slung over his shoulder, heading to the usual corner just off washington square park. it wasn’t raining anymore, but the streets were still slick, reflecting the city lights like oil spills.

he spotted the girl waiting for him, leaning against a lamppost with her arms crossed. she waved when she saw him, a little too eager.

the exchange was quick, the shrooms passing from his hand to hers, the cash tucked into his pocket in one smooth motion. no small talk, no lingering.

when he got home, the hallway was quiet, except for the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead. YN’s door was closed, no sounds coming from the other side.

he paused for a second, staring at it. he shook his head, unlocking his door and stepping inside. the idea that popped into his brain was stupid, irrational. he didn’t owe her anything. she was just the girl down the hall, who gave as much shit as she took.

but still, he dug into his closet, pulling out the old army surplus bag he’d stopped using after high school. it wasn’t much, but it was better than what she had now.

the next morning, harry slipped out of his apartment early, the bag in hand. he dropped it just outside her door, no note, no explanation, before heading out to his first lecture of the day.

when YN found it later, she stared at it for a long moment, her brows knitting together. she didn’t have to ask who left it. and even though she muttered asshole under her breath, she brought it inside with a faint smile.

because she needed it. and harry—whether he’d admit it or not—knew that.

the next time they saw each other, he was coming up the stairs, his backpack slung low, the smell of rain clinging to his sweatshirt. it was late—nearly eleven—and he was tired, the kind of exhaustion that sank into his chest and refused to let go.

YN was coming down, her new bag bouncing lightly against her hip. she was in scrubs and a college hoodie, hair tied back, but there was a tension in her face that hadn’t been there before. maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was the unmistakable look of someone dragging themselves through another brutal shift.

they almost passed each other without a word. almost.

but as they crossed paths, she stopped, her hand gripping the railing. “hey.”

harry stopped mid-step, turning to look at her. “hey,” he echoed, noncommittal.

she tilted her head toward the bag. “this you?”

he leaned against the railing, shrugging like it was no big deal. “needed something better, right?”

her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure out if he was messing with her. finally, she shook her head, letting out a dry laugh. “why, though? why do you care?”

he blinked, caught off guard. he didn’t have an answer for that—at least not one he could say out loud. instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging again. “call it charity,” he said. “or don’t. i don’t really care.”

YN stared at him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. then she nodded, her grip on the railing loosening. “thanks,” she muttered, her tone softer this time.

“don’t mention it.”

but before he could take another step, she smiled—the tiniest twitch upward. “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked at that, glancing back over his shoulder. “you’re welcome, cinnamon.”

her brows shot up at the nickname, her mouth opening to protest, but harry didn’t stick around to hear it. he was already heading back to his apartment, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

that should’ve been the end of it.

but the next day, when harry opened his door to grab the mail, there was a coffee cup sitting just outside, still warm, with no note or explanation.

he frowned, picking it up and staring at it like it might explode.

then, from down the hall, YN’s door opened, and she leaned out, raising an eyebrow at him. “drink it or don’t—i don’t care.”

he held up the cup, smirking. “what’s this? donations?”

“no,” she grinned, already retreating back inside. “just paying it forward, asshole.”

the door clicked shut, and he stood there, shaking his head, the faintest chuckle escaping him as he sipped the coffee.

their classes in south hall were evening ones, usually letting out at nine pm sharp.

YN stepped out of the biology lab first, tugging her sleeves down against the chill that crept into the building after dark. her bag was slung over her shoulders, the college crewneck rumpled from hours of sitting in the same chair. her jeans were stiff from the cold, her shoes scuffed with wear, and her hair fell loose around her face, sticking slightly to her cheek. she brushed it back absently, her eyes on the door ahead.

harry caught sight of her from the second-floor stairwell as he left his chemistry lecture—a rolling stones hoodie hung loose on his frame, sweatpants sitting low on his hips, his green sambas (that he bought second hand, his proudest find) practically falling apart at the seams.

he hadn’t planned on saying anything. hell, he wasn’t even sure she’d noticed him. but as he watched her push through the doors, her breath fogging in the cold, he felt something tug at him.

he hesitated for half a second before jogging down the stairs, his curls bouncing slightly as he caught up to her “hey.”

she glanced over her shoulder, her steps slowing just enough to register him. her brows furrowed when she saw him. “you’re in chemistry,” she said, like it was an accusation.

harry blinked, a bit confused as to what she was hinting at—but going with it anyway. “m’yeah. good observation, sherlock.”

“no, i mean,” she gestured vaguely behind her. “your class is upstairs. what’re you doing down here?”

harry shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “walking home. duh. our lectures must end at the same time.”

YN gave him a skeptical look, her pace picking up again as they stepped into the night. “you don’t have to do that,” she said quickly, her tone dismissive. “i’m fine.”

he fell into step beside her anyway, the straps of his backpack swinging slightly as he walked. “cool. didn’t ask.”

her jaw tightened, and she shot him a look. “seriously, i don’t need a babysitter.”

“good,” harry muttered, unbothered. “’cause I’m not volunteering.”

she sighed, tugging her bag closer to her body as they trudged through campus. the sound of their shoes against the pavement filled the space between them.

as they turned the corner, the streetlight flickered above, casting long, uneven shadows across the sidewalk. harry noticed the guy first.

it wasn’t unusual to be sketched out by randoms over here, their apartment was on the edge of campus—lots of stragglers where university police didn’t quite patrol.

he was leaning against a stop sign, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. his gaze was lazy, his posture too casual, the way people got when they wanted you to feel like they were watching you without actually looking.

harry stepped closer to YN without thinking, his shoulder brushing hers as he moved between her and the road.

“seriously?” she muttered, stopping mid-step to glare at him.

harry didn’t look at her, his eyes locked forward as they passed. “what?” he asked, voice calm. “said i’d walk with you. didn’t say i wouldn’t get in the way.”

she scoffed, but she didn’t pull away. he brushed it off, and in a way, she appreciated that—the way he acknowledged her nerves but didn’t say anything. the way he acted like it was just a miss-step rather than a reassurance.

when they reached the entrance of their apartment building, YN stopped, finally turning to face him. her arms were crossed now, her expression sharp. “you didn’t have to do that.”

“you’re welcome.” his eyebrows knit together in stifled laughter, looking straight past her as he opened the heavy door to their building, holding it open for her to walk through.

they went up the narrow stairwell quietly, each step creaking under their weight.

she pursed her lips, stepping past him to unlock her door. but just before she disappeared inside, she glanced back at him, her tone softer this time. “thanks, i guess.”

harry tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “don’t mention it.”

the door clicked shut behind her, and harry lingered for a second, staring at the empty hallway beyond. then he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, turned, and headed to his own door. his rings clicked against his keys as he unlocked it, the faintest smirk still on his lips.

the walk back from the hospital felt longer tonight.

the clock had just ticked past ten, but the streets were alive with people heading to bars, parties, anywhere but where she’d been. YN tugged on the sleeves of her hoodie, pulling them down farther, the fabric worn soft from too many washes. her scrub pants swished faintly as she walked, her badge clipped to her pocket, catching the glow of passing headlights.

her shift had been hell. the kind of night where you didn’t have time to think, let alone breathe. a kid came in after a bad bike crash, his face pale, his leg bent in a way it shouldn’t have been. then there was guy that coughed up blood over her sneakers—not to mention running around the er the entire rest of shift to do the work the nurses couldn’t get to.

her feet dragged as she pushed through the door to her building, climbing the stairs to the second floor one step at a time.

the music hit her first.

it wasn’t loud, just a faint rhythm seeping through the crack of harry’s door. something easy, mellow.

as she walked past his door, her steps slowed, her gaze flicking toward it. for a second, she lingered, her pulse ticking faster than it should’ve. but then she kept walking.

she tried to focus on her own door, just a few steps away, but her mind wouldn’t settle. work had been brutal. her roommate would be on a two hour facetime with her boyfriend, giggling about nothing. her friends were either pulling late shifts or at some frat house, three beers deep by now. and the quiet—god, the quiet—was going to eat her alive.

before she even realized what she was doing, she spun on her heel, walking back the way she came. her hand hesitated over harry’s door, her fingers curling into a loose fist before she knocked.

the door swung open after a moment, and there he was.

he stood there in loose jeans and an old band tee, his curls falling into his face like he hadn’t bothered to push them back. the rings on his fingers glinted faintly in the dim light behind him, chipped black polish catching her eye.

“cinnamon,” he grinned, leaning one arm against the doorframe. his voice was low, amused. “what’s up?”

behind him, she saw the room wasn’t empty.

lounging on harry’s couch was louis, a guy she vaguely recognized from her english lecture—he was always late, always cracking jokes that somehow landed. and in the kitchen, leaning lazily against the counter, was a tall guy she didn’t quite recognize.

she took the smallest step back, shaking her head. “sorry,” she mumbled quickly. “didn’t realize you had people over. never-mind.”

he raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from her to the empty hallway behind her. “y’sure? you look…” he trailed off, his lips quirking slightly. “rough.”

she glared at him. “thanks. really needed that.”

he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “you’re knocking on my door at ten o’clock, cinnamon. that’s gotta be for a reason, yeah?”

she hesitated, her fingers twitching at her side. the guy in the kitchen glanced over briefly, then went back to whatever he was doing, and louis didn’t seem to notice her at all. “forget it,” she muttered, stepping back again. “i’m fine.”

he didn’t move, his eyes narrowed as they locked onto hers. “bullshit.”

her jaw tightened, her shoulders straightening. “i was just gonna ask if you had anything. you know, to…” she gestured vaguely, avoiding his eyes. “take the edge off.”

his smile returned, slow and knowing. “didn’t peg you as the type.”

YN glared again, her cheeks flushing slightly. “for a dealer, you’re really bad at pushing sales.” she said flatly, spinning on her heel.

he chuckled lightly, stepping out into the hallway a bit. “hold on a sec.”

she paused, turning halfway back to face him.

he glanced over his shoulder, toward the couch and the kitchen, before meeting her eyes again. “come back in ten,” he nodded. “i’ll get rid of ‘em.”

she blinked, caught off guard. “you don’t have to—”

“i said ten.” he cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument.

before she could say anything else, he stepped back into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. YN stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door like it might open again. she bit the inside of her lip, fidgeting with her key and going inside.

and at exactly 10 minutes, she was back in front of harry’s door.

this time, she didn’t hesitate. she knocked twice, easier than before.

the door opened almost immediately.

harry stood there again, his curls pushed back out of his face this time. his expression was unreadable, somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “told you ten minutes.” he stepped back, leaving the door open for her. “c’mon.”

his apartment wasn’t what she expected, though she wasn’t sure what she’d pictured. it was small, dimly lit by a single desk lamp in the corner. the faint scent of weed hung in the air, but the room was surprisingly neat, except for a pile of papers and notebooks on the table.

lounging on the couch, louis was pulling on his jacket, his face lighting up in surprise when he saw her. “oh, hey. you’re…” he snapped his fingers, squinting. “chem lab, right? morning lecture?”

YN nodded stiffly, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. “english,” she corrected. “i see you there sometimes.”

“right, right,” louis said, grinning. he turned to harry. “new buyer? good taste, man.”

harry rolled his eyes, stifling his own smile. “out.” he muttered, shoving a hand toward the door.

louis smirked but didn’t argue. he grabbed his bag, tossing a wink at YN before stepping into the hallway. the guy in the kitchen followed, slipping past her without so much as a glance, the scent of cheap cologne trailing behind him.

he shut the door with a sharp click, locking it before turning to face her. “there. happy?”

she crossed her arms, leaning against the wall near the door. “i didn’t ask you to kick them out.”

“you didn’t have to.”

she sighed, her gaze shifting to the desk in the corner. the blueprints stacked there caught her attention—clean lines, precise calculations, a world that felt miles away from hers.

“you gonna tell me what you want, or are we just standing here all night?”

her eyes snapped back to his, the sharpness in his tone cutting through the haze of her thoughts. “got anything that’ll knock me out for a few hours?”

he raised an eyebrow, walking past her to the desk. he opened a drawer, rummaging around before pulling out a small baggie with a single edible inside. “low-dose,” he said, holding it up. “won’t knock you out, but it’ll take the edge off.”

YN hesitated, glancing between him and the baggie. “how much?”

harry shook his head, tossing it onto the counter. “on the house.”

“i’m not—”

“just take it,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “call it a favor. or a bribe. whatever makes you feel better.”

she stepped closer, picking up the baggie with careful fingers. her eyes flicked to his, searching for something she wasn’t sure she’d find. “thanks.” she muttered, her voice quieter now.

harry leaned against the edge of the counter, his arms crossed. “you look like shit, by the way.”

she huffed, shoving the baggie into her hoodie pocket. “and you’re still a dick.” she shot back, heading for the door.

“fair enough.” he muttered. but just as she reached for the handle, his voice stopped her. “hey, cinnamon.”

she turned, her brow furrowed. “what?”

harry’s smirk softened slightly, the easy confidence in his tone faltering just enough to feel real. “you ever wanna talk, you know where i live.”

YN didn’t respond, didn’t trust herself to. she just nodded once and slipped out the door, her footsteps fading down the hall.

the next day, it was closer to four pm when YN got home from work.

she barely noticed the faint buzz of her roommate’s call as she slipped into the bathroom, peeling off her scrubs and stepping under the hot spray of the shower. the water hit her like a reset button, the ache in her shoulders easing as the steam curled around her.

when she finally emerged, her hair damp and loose, she threw on a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized sweater—something warm, something safe. the apartment was quiet now, her roommate having left a while ago, probably off to see her boyfriend.

it was around six when the knock came.

YN glanced up from her laptop, her brows furrowing. she wasn’t expecting anyone. she hesitated for a second, debating if she even wanted to answer, but curiosity won out.

when she opened the door, harry was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk softened into something more uncertain. he looked like he’d been pacing before this, his curls slightly disheveled, his hoodie hanging loose over a pair of black sweatpants.

“hey.”

YN raised an eyebrow. “hey.”

“you any good at chem?”

she blinked, “chemistry?”

he nodded, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “yeah. like, the basics. stoichiometry, balancing equations, all that shit.”

she tilted her head, leaning against the doorframe to mirror him. “i passed it with like an 85% so, i guess?”

he smiled, “fantastic. y’busy right now?”

“why?”

“thought maybe you could help me out. i’ve got a test coming up, and i’m…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “not great at it.”

“you want me to tutor you?”

he beamed, sarcastic, knowing. “sweet of you t’offer. let’s go.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. she sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “fine. but if i’m doing this, we’re going to the library. your apartment smells like weed, and i can’t think in there.”

he chuckled, stepping back as she grabbed her bag from the couch. “fair enough, cinnamon.”

the campus library wasn’t crowded, the usual sunday night stragglers scattered across the tables in hushed clusters. harry led her to a table in the back, far from the main entrance, where the buzz of conversation faded into the quiet hum of fluorescent lights.

he dropped his backpack onto the table, pulling out a battered notebook and a copy of the textbook that looked like it had been through hell. “alright, professor,” he said, smirking as he slid into the chair across from her. “teach me.”

“this is gonna be painful, isn’t it?”

harry grinned, flipping open the textbook. “probably.”

she sighed, leaning forward. “okay, first question—how the hell did you even make it to college if you don’t know the basics?”

harry shrugged, unbothered. “charm and good looks.”

she groaned, dropping her pen onto the table. “you’re gonna fail.”

“no,” he drawled with a smile, “that’s why you’re here.”

despite herself, YN smiled, shaking her head as she reached for the textbook. “alright, let’s see what we can do.”

the first twenty minutes were pure pain.

she flipped through harry’s beat-up textbook, squinting at the faint pencil notes scrawled in the margins. “alright,” she muttered, tapping her pen against the page. “let’s start with balancing equations. that’s pretty straightforward.”

harry slouched in his chair, spinning his pen between his fingers like he was bored out of his mind already. (and he was. if he was honest, he didn’t need help with chem at all). “straightforward for you, maybe. i’m just here trying not to flunk out.”

she furrowed her eyebrows, shooting him a look. “you’re not gonna flunk out. you just need to—” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “try.”

“i’m trying right now. see? look at all this effort.” he gestured toward the open book in front of him.

she sighed, leaning across the table and grabbing the pen out of his hand. “no. this is you sitting there, being useless. pay attention, harry.”

“yes, ma’am.” he mumbled, sitting up slightly straighter. his voice carried the faintest edge of mockery, but he kept his eyes on her, watching as she wrote out a problem on a fresh sheet of paper.

after another ten minutes of stumbling through coefficients, YN thought she saw a flicker of understanding cross harry’s face. he pointed at the page. “so you just make the numbers match? like, both sides need the same amount of atoms?”

YN stared at him, deadpan. “yes. that’s literally it.”

he leaned back, running a hand through his curls. “jesus. why the hell does it sound so much harder in class?”

“because you don’t listen in class,” she laughed, “and i’m guessing you don’t read the textbook either.”

he grinned, leaning forward again. “why would i, when you’re clearly better at explaining it?”

she rolled her eyes, turning the page in the book. “charm and good looks only get you so far, harry. you’re gonna have to put some actual work into this.”

“oh, so you do think i’m charming.”

YN didn’t dignify that with a response. instead, she handed him the pen and pointed to the next problem. “solve it. no shortcuts, no guesses. i wanna see the work.”

he groaned but did as he was told, his brow furrowed as he scribbled on the page.

by the time the clock struck eight thirty, they’d managed to get through most of the chapter. YN had to admit—he wasn’t completely hopeless.

and all he could do was smile—she bought it. if engineering didn’t work out, he thought, maybe he could be an actor. or a pathological liar.

“see?” she said, leaning back in her chair. “you’re not terrible at this. just lazy.”

harry huffed a laugh, closing the textbook with a loud thud. “lazy? you wound me, cinnamon.”

“you’ll live. anyway, i think we’re done for tonight. unless you wanna keep going?”

they walked out of the library together, the crisp night air hitting them like a wall. the campus was quiet now, most of the students holed up in their dorms or off at whatever weekend plans they’d made.

as they reached the edge of the quad, he glanced at her. “thanks for helping me out.”

she shrugged, her hands tucked into her hoodie pocket. “no big deal. just don’t make it a habit.”

“what if i do?”

YN shot him a look, her brow furrowing slightly. “then you’re buying the coffee next time.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm in the cold air. “deal.”

they reached the entrance, and YN hesitated for a moment before heading inside. “night, harry.”

“night, cinnamon.”

as the door clicked shut behind her, harry lingered on the steps for a moment, lighting a cigarette.

he smiled to himself again, he couldn’t help it. he was proficient in math, one of his best subjects—bordering the edge of genius, basically. but she didn’t need to know that, not when he just stole a couple hours from her, not when it was the perfect excuse just to hang out with her.

it was wednesday when she next saw him.

the clock on YN’s laptop read 11:03 pm, the harsh blue light illuminating her tired eyes as she highlighted yet another passage in the dense textbook sprawled across her lap. the apartment was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle from her roommate’s room and the faint hum of traffic filtering in through the drafty window.

she hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch in over an hour, legs curled under her, a growing pile of sticky notes cluttering the coffee table. her focus was razor-sharp, though her back ached from the awkward position she’d settled into.

when the knock came, she didn’t flinch. didn’t even glance toward the door. she knew exactly who it was.

with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she set her laptop down carefully, nudging it closer to the stack of notes as she rose from the couch. her socked feet padded softly across the floor, her hand instinctively reaching for the lock. she swung the door open and leaned against the frame, her shoulder pressed into the wood as she tilted her head to the side.

“cinnamonnnn,” harry drawled, his voice almost melodic, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it had been hers all her life.

he stood there in a slightly oversized sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a pair of gray sweatpants that were smaller than the ones from the other day—joggers maybe. a green packers beanie was snug over his curls, though a few stray strands peeked out, curling against his forehead. his hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, and he rocked back on his heels like he had all the time in the world.

YN narrowed her eyes slightly, the faintest smile ghosting her lips. “harryyyy,” she mimicked, dragging out his name in the same exaggerated tone.

“you busy?”

yes. “no.”

his dimples deepened as his grin grew wider, like he knew she’d lie. “hang out with me for a bit then.”

she let out a quiet laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. “to do what? it’s almost midnight.”

“come walk with me.”

her lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping as she gave him a hesitant look. he didn’t push, just waited, the silence between them comfortable, expectant. “you’re such a bad influence,” she muttered, shaking her head as she turned back into the apartment.

“oh, yeah,” harry said, stepping forward to catch the door before it closed. “terrible.”

she tugged a sweater over her head, the fabric swallowing her as she slipped her feet into an old pair of sneakers. they were loose, the kind she could slip on without bothering with laces.

when she stepped past him, harry held the door open before letting it fall shut behind them as they ambled into the narrow hallway.

“where are we going?” YN asked as they descended the stairs, the cool air of the building’s lobby settling around them.

“you’ll see.”

she huffed, though the corners of her mouth tugged upward as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. he moved like the world waited for him, unhurried but purposeful, his long legs carrying him down the steps in easy strides.

when they pushed through the front door and into the night, the cold air hit her immediately, making her shiver as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

their path wound deeper into campus—the air quiet, save for the rustling of dead leaves underfoot and the occasional distant honk of a car. the faint glow of streetlights filtered through the thinning trees, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.

harry walked slightly ahead, shoulders hunched against the cool air. she walked beside him, somewhat, perhaps a step behind, though the edge of her elbow would brush against his arm every so often. it wasn’t an accident, not really.

their breaths puffed out in white clouds, swirling in the breeze before disappearing. the last of the dead leaves fell from the trees with a soft crackle, catching in the wind before tumbling to the ground.

his pace slowed slightly, letting her match him, and he nudged her with his shoulder—just enough to jostle her. she looked up, her brow furrowing as she glanced at him.

“what was that for?”

he smirked, his gaze flicking ahead. “thought you were fallin’ asleep over there.”

she rolled her eyes but let her shoulder bump into his lightly as they walked. “sure. ‘cause nothing screams excitement like following you into the middle of nowhere.”

he let out a low chuckle, his breath visible in the cold air. “you’re dramatic, you know that?”

“you didn’t answer the question earlier.”

“what question?”

“about where we’re going,” she said, her voice teasing. “you could be leading me astray so you can murder me without any witnesses.”

he turned his head to look at her, his brows lifting, “i did answer, you just didn’t accept it.” he paused, pursing his lips as if he was in thought. “it would be a good plan, though. quiet enough out here. no one’d hear a thing.”

she snorted, her steps faltering slightly as she tried not to laugh. “you’re a terrible murderer. you’d leave a trail of evidence a mile wide.”

“would not.”

“would too.”

he turned to her fully now, his eyes narrowing as he stepped backward in front of her. his hands were still stuffed in his pockets, his pace matching hers even as he walked in reverse.

“alright, then,” he said, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “if i were to murder you—and that’s a big if, by the way—how exactly would i screw it up?”

she bit back a smile, “well, for starters, you’d forget to hide the body properly. probably just leave me in the middle of the path, thinking no one would notice.”

he let out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking as he shook his head. “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it?” YN countered, raising a brow. “you’re the one who thinks this is a good place to kill someone.”

his grin widened, the faintest dimple appearing in his cheek. “you’re paranoid, cinnamon. that’s your problem.”

“and you’re too cocky. that’s yours.”

they fell into a rhythm again, walking side by side as the breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of city streets and damp leaves. their arms brushed again, neither of them pulling away, the warmth of the contact lingering longer than it should.

harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the smirk on his lips softening slightly. “for the record,” he said, his voice quieter now, “i know exactly where i’m going.”

she smiled, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “good,” she said lightly. “cause i’d hate to have to come back and haunt you if you got me lost.”

their steps grew softer as the buildings behind them thinned out, replaced by clusters of trees swaying in the light breeze. the path curved slightly, the faint hum of traffic fading into the distance.

he walked slightly ahead, his head turning now and then to glance at the towering oaks that lined their path. the trees began to part, revealing the outline of icahn stadium in the near distance. the track and field stretched wide beneath the faint glow of a single overhead light, casting long shadows across the ground. the bleachers stood tall and imposing, their sea of blue seats reaching into the sky like a wave frozen in time.

harry slowed to a stop as they approached, the chain-link fence surrounding the stadium standing between them and the field. he didn’t guide her toward the gate, knowing it would be locked after hours. instead, he stepped closer to the fence, pulling his hand out of his pocket and giving one of the links an experimental tug.

she watched him, her brow furrowing slightly. “if you think we’re going on a run,” she said, her voice flat, “you’ve completely lost it.”

he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as his fingers curled around the chain link. he glanced at her over his shoulder, “shut up and c’mere, cinnamon.”

YN hesitated for half a second, then stepped forward, the grass folding beneath her sneakers. the light breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the faint scent of earth and damp metal. he stepped back slightly, giving her room as she reached for the fence. without waiting for further instruction, she started to climb, her hands gripping the cold metal tightly as she hauled herself upward.

he watched her movements closely, his hands hovering near her hips in case she wobbled. “i got you,” he muttered, his voice soft enough to blend with the wind.

she didn’t respond, focusing instead on the rhythmic pull of her arms as she reached the top of the fence. for a moment, she perched there, the view of the stadium stretching out before her, before swinging one leg over and carefully lowering herself to the other side.

harry gave the fence one last tug, then started climbing after her. his movements were quick and efficient, as though he’d done this a hundred times before. his sleeve bunched at his elbows as he reached the top, pausing briefly to glance down at her. “how’s the weather down there?”

she glanced up, brushing her hands off on her pants. “you’d better not fall. i’m not catching you.”

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he swung over the top and landed easily on the grass beside her. “wasn’t planning on it,” he breathed, brushing his hands off before shoving them back into his pockets.

they stood there for a moment, the quiet of the field settling around them like a blanket. the overhead light flickered slightly, casting their shadows long and thin against the ground.

she stared at him for a moment, then sighed, shaking her head as she followed him. “you’ve got way too much energy for this late at night.”

“and you were too stubborn t’say no.” harry shot back as he walked ahead, his steps light against the rubber surface. “used to hate running, y’know,” he breathed, glancing at YN as he spun around. he walked backward with an ease that made her slightly nervous, like he’d trip over himself any second but never actually would. “hated everything about it—your legs aching, your chest burnin’, that horrible feeling in your throat after.”

she caught up, her pace steady as she smiled faintly, her breath visible in the cool air. “now it’s your thing.”

he paused for a split second, his eyes catching hers in that unreadable way of his. then, to her surprise, he smiled. “yeah,” he nodded slightly. “now it’s my thing.”

the bleachers loomed ahead, their steel frame groaning faintly in the wind. harry reached them first, stepping aside to let her go up. “go on,” he muttered, gesturing upward with a nod. “all the way to the top.”

“what, you’re not going to race me?”

he smiled, his hand brushing against the cold metal railing. “wouldn’t be fair. your legs are shorter than mine.”

she narrowed her eyes but couldn’t help the faint laugh that slipped out. “wow. okay. guess i’ll just take my time then.”

she started up the concrete steps, her hands gripping the railings on either side. the cold bit at her palms, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of her feet against the uneven surface.

harry followed a few steps behind, his stride naturally longer than hers. “this is painful t’watch,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “are you always this slow, or is it just for me?”

YN stopped abruptly, her hands tightening around the railings as she shifted her weight. her hips jutted out slightly, throwing him off balance as he climbed.

he cursed under his breath, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady himself. his fingers found her hips, his grip firm but fleeting, as though he realized too late what he’d done. “jesus,” he muttered, pulling back as quickly as he’d touched her. “bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

she turned her head just enough to catch the faint flush creeping up his neck. she smirked, leaning her weight into the railing. “sorry—shorter legs and all.”

harry just blinked before the corner of his mouth twitched. he stepped back, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “you’re a child.”

she laughed softly, turning back to the stairs and continuing her climb. “yeah,” she called over her shoulder, her voice teasing. “but you’re still following me.”

they climbed higher, the steps echoing faintly beneath their feet, but harry's pace started to falter again—restlessness bleeding into his movements. "oh, for god's sake," he laughed, his patience snapping like a brittle thread. his fingers drummed against the railing briefly before he stopped altogether, grasping onto her wrist.

his grin was lopsided, dimples flashing as he let go of her hand and flung himself past her, his long legs taking the steps two at a time as he rushed toward the top. only a second and a half later, she met him up there, finding him standing there with a proud grin, his hands resting on his hips like he'd just conquered something monumental.

“impatience isn’t a virtue, by the way.”

he kept his smile, his dimples cutting deep as he lifted his hand in front of her face, palm out. his fingers wiggled dramatically, “talk to the hand, sista."

she paused, staring at him like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or push him off the railing. her expression cracked first, laughter spilling out before she could stop it. she swatted his hand away from her face as they leaned into each other, his own giggles breaking free in a low, rumbling sound that shook through him.

their laughter folded into each other, her shoulder pressing lightly into his chest as she tried to steady herself, his larger frame giving way slightly under the weight of their shared amusement.

harry’s laughter softened as he reached up, his fingers tugging at the edge of his packers beanie. his curls bounced free as he pulled it off, the cold air nipping at his now-exposed hair. without a word, he stretched his arm around her, carefully plopping the hat onto her head.

“what are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with with something delicate as she adjusted it, the oversized beanie swallowing her hair and tilting slightly to one side.

“you looked cold,” he said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. his fingers lingered at the edge of the beanie for just a second before he gave her forehead a gentle push with the flat of his palm.

it wasn’t hard—just enough to tip her head backward a little, like an afterthought, his grin barely contained as she blinked up at him.

“seriously?” YN smiled, tilting her head forward again, a faint laugh escaping as she fixed the hat and gave him a mock glare.

he didn’t reply, already stepping to his left with an exaggerated flourish, gesturing toward the narrow row of faded blue seats that stretched across the top of the bleachers. “c’mon.”

he slid into one of the seats first, his long legs folding awkwardly into the tight space as he leaned back and let out a contented sigh. he patted the seat beside him without looking at her.

she hesitated for a beat, brushing her hair out of her face before following him into the row. the cold metal of the seat pressed through her sweats as she sat down beside him, her knees brushing against his for just a second as she settled.

she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. harry’s beanie slipped forward slightly, brushing against her eyebrows, but she didn’t bother adjusting it. instead, she rested her chin on her knees, her gaze drifting across the empty field below as the wind whistled faintly through the bleachers.

he shifted beside her, digging into the pocket of his sweats. his movements were easy as he pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lime green lighter. sliding a cigarette between his lips, he leaned back, flicking the lighter once, twice

nothing.

his fingers were stiff from the cold, the wind catching the flame before it had a chance to hold. he tried again, his brows furrowing slightly as he muttered something under his breath.

YN turned her head, watching him with quiet curiosity. “you good over there?”

harry’s lips quirked around the cigarette. “just peachy,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as he tried one more time.

without a word, she reached over, her fingers brushing against his as she took the lighter from him. “hold still,” she murmured, leaning sideways as she cupped her hand over the cigarette perched between his lips, shielding it from the breeze.

her movements were practiced, easy, like she’d done this a hundred times before. she flicked the lighter once, and the small flame sprang to life, steady this time. she lit the end of the cigarette, her hand still shielding it from the wind as she glanced up at him. “there.”

harry took a drag, the ember glowing softly in the dim light, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. his gaze flicked to her, an unreadable expression crossing his face before his lips tilted into a small, lopsided grin.

she shifted back into her seat and pulled the beanie lower over her ears, her chin finding its place against her knees again. they sat in the quiet for a while, the whispers of the wind weaving around them, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or harry’s exhales.

she looked him over, the way his curls danced around his face, the way his lips wrapped around the cigarette, how the ember’s reflection flickered in his eyes. she bit the inside of her cheek before she muttered softly, almost to herself, “you’re british.”

he let out a breathy chuckle, the sound slipping through his nose as he took another pull from the cigarette. he sighed slowly, the smoke curling up into the cold night air before he turned his head toward her, his smirk faint but amused. “good eye, sherlock.”

she kissed her teeth, rolling her eyes as she prepared to retort, her lips parting—

but harry cut her off before she could. “—cheshire,” he breathed, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that caught her off guard, soft and lilting. “born there, anyway. mum moved me and my sister here when i was thirteen.”

“for a job or..?”

he nodded, the glow of the cigarette tip briefly lighting his features as he took another drag. “she got an offer she couldn’t turn down. packed us up, left everything behind. started over.”

YN tilted her head slightly, watching the way his gaze lingered on the field below, distant but steady. “must’ve been hard.”

he shrugged, “it was… weird. missing home, trying t’fit in here. but she did what she had to do. mum’s always been good at that—doing what has to be done.”

there was a warmth in his voice, a quiet admiration that made her chest tighten. she didn’t push for more, sensing that he’d already said more than he usually would. “your accent is starting to fade,” she said instead, her lips curving into a small smile.

he smiled faintly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “guess so. comes back strong when i’m drunk, though.”

she laughed softly, shaking her head as she turned her eyes back to the field.

he shifted slightly in his seat, his arm brushing hers as he glanced over, his cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. “what about you?”

she blinked, turning her head toward him. “me?”

“yes, you. where’s home?”

she hesitated for a moment, “about an hour north,” she mumbled, her voice carrying the faintest edge of something wistful. “right on the border between here and connecticut.”

he nodded, leaning back slightly as he tilted his head toward her. “family?”

YN huffed a quiet breath, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “brother’s in the army. mom and dad work all the time. and i’m just here.”

his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes studying her for a moment, thoughtful and quiet. “just here?”

she shrugged, hugging her knees closer to her chest as she rested her chin on them again. “yeah. they’re busy, you know? always have been. it’s not bad or anything, it’s just… how it is.”

harry didn’t respond right away, the glow of his cigarette catching the faint flicker of emotion in his gaze. “you don’t go home much, then.”

“no. they’re fine without me. and i’ve got everything i need here. school, this place… the occasional packers beanie to keep me warm.”

he chuckled gently at that, the sound low and warm as he reached out to tug the edge of the beanie further down over her ears.

YN tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the horizon as she broke the silence with a question that felt heavier than the moment. “ever fall in love?”

he turned to her, his brows furrowing slightly at the unexpectedness of it. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, cigarette still lit between his fingers. “once or twice.”

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips twitching into a faint, almost knowing smile. “yeah,” she said softly. “me too. once or twice.”

his eyes lingered on her, studying the curve of her profile in the dim light. “what happened?”

“life, i guess. we grew apart, wanted different things.” she paused, her fingers idly tugging at her sleeves. “it wasn’t awful. just… wasn’t meant to be.”

he nodded slowly, his eyes drifting to the field below as he leaned back again, stretching his legs out in front of him.“same here.” he sighed. “things got complicated. fell apart before it could really go anywhere.”

YN turned to face him fully now, her cheek resting on her knees as she studied him. “do you think it’s worth it?”

“what, love?”

she nodded.

he was quiet for a beat, his features softening as he mulled over her question. “yeah,” he said finally, his voice low but certain. “for the right person.”

silence.

“—he treat you right?”

“what?”

he flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “the guy you loved. did he treat you right?”

she hesitated before she nodded, check still flush against her knees. “most of the time.”

his jaw twitched at her answer, “most of the time isn’t enough, y’know?”

“think you could do better?” she teased lightly, though there was an edge of genuine curiosity in her tone.

harry turned to her then, his eyes meeting hers, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest smirk. “yeah,” he said simply, taking another drag. “i know i could.”

her cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t look away. instead, she lifted her chin off her knees, her lips curving into a small, sly smile. “yeah right, harry.”

“i don’t say shit i don’t mean, cinnamon. not like that.”

YN didn’t respond, just shook her head faintly as she turned her head back to the field, her chest tightening in a way she didn’t quite know how to name.

he stayed quiet too, the silence settling over them again, but this time it felt heavier, charged with something unspoken that neither of them was ready to unpack.

he let the cigarette drop to the concrete, the faint glow of its ember dying as he ground it under his sneaker. the scrape of rubber against stone was sharp in the quiet, and then he straightened, towering over YN as her gaze followed him.

“let’s go,” he mumbled, his voice even but lacking the warmth it held earlier.

something had shifted.

it was subtle—barely a flicker—but she felt it. the easy banter from earlier seemed to pull back, replaced by something quieter, something more guarded.

she didn’t question it, though. not yet.

harry gestured toward the steps, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he waited for her to stand.

she sighed softly, pulling his packers beanie tighter over her ears as she rose, the cold biting at her cheeks while she fell into step beside him as they made their way back down the bleachers.

when they reached the chain-link fence again, harry stepped forward first, gripping the metal links as he tested its sturdiness like he had before. he didn’t say anything, only nodded toward the fence as he stepped aside to let her climb.

YN rolled her eyes but moved toward it anyway, her hands curling around the cold metal as she pulled herself up. harry’s hands hovered near her hips just as they had earlier.

she glanced down briefly to meet his eyes before she swung her leg over the top and climbed down the other side.

he followed quickly, his movements smooth and quick, landing on the grass beside her with barely a sound. they fell into step together on the walk back, the cool night air nipping at exposed skin as the distant hum of traffic filled the silence.

harry’s hands stayed buried in his pockets, his head slightly lowered as his long strides matched her shorter ones.

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, sensing the subtle shift in his demeanor. he wasn’t closed off, not entirely, but there was a distance now, like he was holding something back. "you okay?" she asked softly, her voice cutting through the silence.

"mm-hm,” he hummed, his tone even, but distant. "you?"

she nodded, even though something about his shift made her chest feel heavier. "yeah."

she didn’t press, didn’t push. instead, she let the silence stretch between them as their footsteps echoed softly against the pavement.

by the time they reached their building, the city felt quieter, the world around them settling into the stillness of the late night.

and though neither of them said a word as they split, the weight of the unspoken things between them lingered, threading itself into the space they shared.

another few days passed, and the walk back to the apartment felt lighter than usual.

YN had just said goodbye to a friend before rounding the corner to the building, her smile lingering as she adjusted the strap of her bag. it wasn’t often she felt this at ease.

but that lightness disappeared the moment she reached the stairwell.

as she climbed to their floor, her eyes landed on harry. he was standing at his door, his shoulders tense, his head down. his key trembled in his hand, the metal scraping against the lock as he missed the slot for what had to be the third time.

it was wrong. harry was steady. always steady. whether he was handing off a bag of weed or walking down the street like the world revolved around him, he had this uncanny knack for keeping his cool.

but not tonight.

she slowed her steps, her brow furrowing as she got closer. “harry?” her voice cut through the stillness, sharper than she intended.

his head snapped up. for a brief moment, she saw something raw in his eyes—panic, maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it came. his mouth twisted into a faint smile, the one he always wore like armor. “you’re back early.” his voice was rough, low, like he’d been grinding it against a wall.

she took a step closer, her eyes scanning him. “was about to say the same thing.” her gaze flicked to his hand, the one holding the key, the knuckles split and bruised.

“what happened to your hand?”

he stiffened, tucking the injured hand into his hoodie pocket. “nothing’.”

“bullshit,” she muttered, shoving her keys and phone into her pockets to free her hands. “let me see.”

he let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “don’t worry about it, cinnamon.”

the nickname barely registered; her focus stayed on him, on the tension in his shoulders, the blood crusting his knuckles. “harry,” she said, her tone firmer now. “you’re bleeding. just let me—”

“it’s fine!” he shouted, his voice cutting.

YN snapped her head back up, averting her gaze from his hidden hands, right to his eyes. his chest rose and fell, his breathing shallow and uneven. she didn’t speak, just stood there, watching the way his jaw tightened like he was trying to swallow something bitter.

he finally sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “fuck.”he mumbled, almost to himself.

she moved closer again, slower this time, her voice softer. “let me help.”

his eyes flicked to hers, guarded but not as sharp. his lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.

inside her apartment, the air felt too still, too quiet.

harry sat stiffly at her small kitchen table, his hoodie now pushed back to reveal the messy curls tumbling over his forehead. he cradled his injured hand in his lap, his jaw set as YN dug through her cabinet for the first aid kit.

“you really don’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice low.

“yeah, well,” she sighed, pulling the kit down with a thud. “i’m doing it anyway.”

when she sat across from him, the silence between them grew heavy. she reached for his hand, but he hesitated, his fingers curling slightly.

“harry.”

he huffed but relented, letting her take his hand in hers.

the damage was worse up close. his knuckles were split and swollen, streaks of blood staining the spaces between his fingers. she inhaled sharply, her brows knitting as she reached for the antiseptic.

“jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head. “what the hell did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the floor. when he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “ran into someone.”

she paused, the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball hovering over his knuckles. “like?”

“someone who didn’t want to pay up front.”

her stomach twisted. she pressed the cotton to his knuckles, and he hissed through his teeth, his fingers twitching under hers.

“hold still.” she murmured, her voice softer, airy.

he didn’t respond, just watched her work. her touch was careful but firm, her hands steady as she cleaned the cuts.

“you can’t keep doing this.” she said quietly, not looking up.

harry’s lips twitched, a dry laugh escaping him. “you worried about me?”

YN shot him a look, her expression somewhere between annoyance and concern. “maybe, harry. you ever think about that?”

his smile faded, and for a moment, his eyes softened—just a fraction, but enough for her to notice. “it’s nothing.”

“it’s not nothing.’” she countered, wrapping a clean bandage around his hand. “you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“maybe.” he whispered, watching her tie off the bandage.

“and you’re okay with that?”

his gaze flicked up to hers, and for a moment, something vulnerable passed between them—something unspoken but heavy. “depends on the day.”

she swallowed hard, her fingers lingering on the edge of the bandage before she leaned back.

“you’re an idiot.” she grumbled, standing to put the kit back in its place.

he grinned faintly, flexing his fingers against the bandage. “yeah, but you’re still patchin’ me up, aren’t you?”

she glanced over her shoulder, her lips pressing into a thin line. “someone has to.”

he stood, his frame filling the small kitchen as he neared the door.

“harry?”

he glanced back, his eyes soft as he looked at her expectantly.

“please be careful.”

his jaw clenched before he managed a tight nod, and then the door clicked shut behind him, leaving YN alone in the silence, the weight of his words—and his presence—lingering in the air.

it was thursday again, and the walk back from their evening lecture became an unspoken agreement.

it wasn’t something they talked about—there were no texts exchanged or plans made. but every tuesday and thursday, as the evening classes let out, they’d meet by the lecture hall’s exit. sometimes harry would already be there, leaning against the wall, pretending he wasn’t waiting. other times, YN would hang back near the doors, scrolling through her phone until she saw him.

tonight was no different.

harry was already outside when she came out of her bio lab, her bag slung over her shoulder and her hair a little messy from tying and retying it during the experiment. he fell into step beside her as they turned toward home, his bandaged hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his backpack slung low over one shoulder.

“that bad?” he asked, glancing at her as she adjusted her strap.

she sighed, shaking her head. “some idiot forgot to label their samples, so the whole lab got an extra hour of let’s go over the basics again.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “you lot are a buncha losers, huh?”

“says the guy who’s probably failing chem,” she shot back, grinning.

he shrugged, unbothered—simply because it wasn’t true. “aggressively coasting.” he corrected.

what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

she rolled her eyes, giggling despite herself. the conversation drifted, easy and familiar, as they made their way through campus.

it was when they turned onto the last block before their building that harry stopped.

she noticed it immediately—the way his body went still, his eyes narrowing as they flicked to the other side of the street.

a man stood there, leaning against a lamppost, his hands shoved into the pockets of a heavy coat. he wasn’t doing anything—not technically—but there was something about the way he stared at the building’s exit that set harry on edge.

“go inside.”

she frowned, looking at him. “what?”

harry’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving the man across the street. “just go inside, YN.”

her confusion deepened as she followed his gaze. “harry, what’s going on?”

he turned to her then, his expression sharper than she’d ever seen it. “i said go the fuck inside.” he snapped, his voice low, biting—the words cutting through the cool evening air like glass.

she flinched, her eyes widening slightly. but before she could say anything, harry was already crossing the street, his shoulders squared and his hands shoved into his pockets.

she stayed where she was, her heart racing as she watched the scene unfold.

harry approached the man with a deliberate calm, his posture loose but his movements sharp. she couldn’t hear the first thing he said, but the man straightened immediately, his eyes narrowing as he looked harry up and down.

the conversation wasn’t loud, but it was tense—harry’s voice low, steady, while the man’s tone was sharper, more aggressive.

she could only catch snippets.

the man stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides, and for a moment, YN thought it was going to escalate. but harry didn’t flinch. he held his ground, his voice even as he spoke again.

finally, the man pulled something from his pocket—a small bag, crumpled and poorly sealed—and shoved it into harry’s hand. he gave him a look, muttering something under his breath before turning on his heel.

he crossed the street, his shoulders tense, his face hard as stone. when he reached YN, he brushed past her—his shoulder catching hers, a silent signal that screamed follow me.

she hesitated, but only for a second before trailing after him. he didn’t look back as he pushed through the front door of their building, letting it slam shut behind them.

the silence between them stretched thin as they climbed the stairs, harry taking them two at a time, YN struggling to keep up with his longer stride.

“harry,” she started, her breath slightly uneven, “what the hell just happened?”

he didn’t answer, his hand gripping the stairwell railing tightly enough that his knuckles whitened.

“don’t ignore me,” she pressed, her voice sharper now. “who was that guy? why were you acting like—”

“drop it, YN.” he muttered, his voice sharp and clipped, but she wasn’t having it.

“no, i’m not dropping it!” she snapped, her tone cutting through the empty stairwell. “you don’t get to just walk away from this without explaining. i saw the way you looked at him. you knew him, didn’t you?”

he reached their floor and stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall, his back still to her.

“you knew he was trouble the second you saw him,” she continued, stepping closer. “so tell me why, harry. what’s going on—are you okay?”

he turned then, spinning on his heel so fast that she nearly bumped into him. his eyes were clouded, sharp, and for a moment, the force of his glare made her breath catch. “s’not your fucking concern, YN.” he spat, his voice cold and low, each word biting like frost. “it’s not like we’re friends. so just fucking stop.”

she froze mid-sentence, her jaw slack as the words sank in.

harry’s breathing was uneven, his hands balled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t look away.

she closed her mouth, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes stayed locked on his. after a long pause, she gave a single, curt nod. “got it.”

her voice was quiet but sharp, like the edge of a knife.

she stepped around him, her gaze never wavering as she turned toward her unit. the weight of her presence lingered, heavy and unforgiving, even as she unlocked her door and disappeared inside.

he stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway. his chest felt tight, his fists still clenched, but he didn’t move. he didn’t look for her.

because if he had, he would’ve followed her. and he wasn’t sure what he’d say—or if it would even make a difference.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles concept #harry styles au #college!harry #frat boy harry #fratrry #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles series

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fayelero · 12 days ago

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ⓘ 01. JUST FOR SCIENCE !

⤷ SMUT ﹫ nerd!tsukishima kei x fem!reader ﹫ mdni ﹫ university au!

⚠︎ mdni, (kinda rough?) fingering, dirty talk kinda, p with plot, established relationship .ᐟ.ᐟ

it was a req! but I weirdly couldn’t answer it so, here!!

Tsukishima had been deep in a study session at the university library when you sent the message. He almost didn’t check it—his phone buzzed against the table, and he rolled his eyes before flipping it over lazily. The preview alone made his entire body lock up:

“Babe I saw this vid and thought of u. Try it on me later?”

Attached was a screenshot from a TikTok that screamed chaos. It featured some guy, dead serious, explaining how to make a girl squirt—his voice flat, instructional: _“Press down right here on her lower stomach, tense your fingers hard, and shake—_like actually shake—if you do it right, she’ll flood.”

Tsukishima had paused, blinked once. Then again.

And again.

Of course you would send something like that.

He’d cleared his throat and tilted his screen away from Yamaguchi, who was mid-rant about some biochem professor being a demon in human form. Kei pretended to nod along, face schooled into neutrality, but his ears burned red hot. He tried to shove the image out of his mind—your voice asking him to try it on you, the mental picture of your thighs trembling under his hand, your face twisted in overwhelmed pleasure.

God, he was not going to survive the rest of this class.

⸻

By the time he got back to the apartment, his brain was a mess of formulas, suppressed hard-ons, and way too many tabs open on his laptop—half were lecture notes, the rest were very, very specific Reddit threads.

The place was dim and warm when he walked in, the lights low, the curtains drawn. You were already there, stretched out on his bed in nothing but one of his hoodies, scrolling your phone like you hadn’t just ruined him in the middle of a public academic setting.

He dropped his bag and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

You didn’t look up. “Learn anything in class today?”

Kei kicked off his shoes and stalked over. “Mm. Something like that.”

You smirked but barely had time to react before he was over you—knees pressing into the mattress, one hand bracing beside your head, the other pushing your thighs apart with no preamble. He didn’t even kiss you first. He just looked at you with a sharp, unreadable gaze and murmured, “Still want me to try it?”

You blinked. “Try wha—oh.”

Then it hit. You swallowed.

He leaned down and kissed the side of your neck, slowly. “Don’t get shy now. You asked for this, didn’t you?” His voice was low and lazy, but his fingers already curled into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down. “Sent me fucking tutorials in public.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “You liked it.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m letting it slide.” He ghosted his knuckles along your inner thigh. “You made me sit through a 90-minute lecture with a hard-on. You’re paying for that.”

Your stomach flipped. You spread your legs a little wider, feeling heat pulse through your core. He sat back and took in the sight like he was memorizing it—your body under him, already flushed and open.

Tsukishima rolled his sleeves up. “Let’s be clear—this is science.”

You snorted. “Science, huh?”

“I’m testing a hypothesis,” he said, dry. “Let’s see if your little video was telling the truth.”

⸻

He was careful at first—methodical. It was annoyingly hot how analytical he got about it.

Two fingers in, slow. A curl. A press.

He watched your face like he was taking notes in his head.

“That it?” he asked. “Right there?”

You gasped, hips twitching. “Yes—yes, that’s it—”

His glasses slid a little down his nose as he adjusted, leaning forward for better leverage. His fingers pressed deeper, and this time he added pressure with the heel of his hand to your pelvis. You cried out, thighs tensing.

“Okay,” he muttered more to himself. “Now… tense up the forearm…”

You could feel it—his entire arm stiffening. Then his fingers shook, a small, fast motion inside you that felt like a jolt of electricity.

You arched, moaning, nails digging into his wrist. “Kei—!”

“There it is,” he said softly, like he’d just discovered a new species.

He kept going, movements precise but brutal, and you were unraveling fast. He pressed down harder, rubbed exactly where you needed it from inside, and when your stomach jumped under his palm, he glanced up with a smirk.

“Feel that?” he murmured. “That tension right here—that’s your bladder shifting. But don’t worry. You’re not going to piss yourself.”

“Wh—what—?”

He was still talking. “Squirting is basically a form of female ejaculation—it’s expelled from the urethra, but chemically, it’s not urine. The Skene’s glands—sometimes called the female prostate—produce a fluid when stimulated—”

“Kei—!” you gasped.

“—and when the anterior wall of the vagina is stimulated enough, like this—” he curled his fingers harder, grinding them into that spot again, “—it builds pressure until the pelvic floor releases.”

You were close. Too close.

“I—I think I’m gonna—wait—I don’t know if—”

He didn’t stop. “It’s fine. Let it go. It’s just your body responding to stimuli—completely natural, really. Biomechanics at its best—”

You slammed a hand over your face, panting. “K-kei, just shut up—!”

He laughed, dark and low. “Oh? You want me to stop being educational while you soak my bed?”

“I’m serious—!” your voice cracked, and then your body tensed, thighs shaking, muscles locking up so hard you thought you might explode.

Then—

It hit. Hard.

A sudden rush, a high-pitched cry ripped from your throat as your body convulsed, hips jerking up against his hand. You felt warmth, wetness, everything crashing down in an overwhelming wave. Your legs refused to stop twitching.

You lay there gasping, limp, soaked, and stunned.

Kei pulled his fingers out slow, slick and glistening. His face was flushed, his glasses slightly fogged. He looked at his hand like a scientist who just cracked open a star.

“Huh,” he said calmly. “It worked.”

You swatted him weakly. “I can’t believe you talked through the whole thing.”

He smirked. “It helped, didn’t it?”

You groaned. “You’re the worst.”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your jaw. “And yet you still squirted all over my sheets.”

You rolled onto your side, completely boneless. “Shut up and take your pants off.”

He stripped in record time.

a/n : im sorry if its not good, i just can’t write for tsukishima, i find myself struggling to write for a character i don’t really like. (no hate!) so pls don’t ask me for tsukishima again cuz i lowkey think its bad :(

#⋆⋰☄︎ kie’s writes #haikyuu fic #hq x reader #hq smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima x you #hq tsukishima #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima smut #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x you #smut

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castielscaplan · 2 months ago

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Heartbeat

Summary: dean's in love with your belly.

Warnings: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Dean, Established Relationship, pregnant reader, Mild language, pregnancy themes, soft!Dean

WC: 627

Read on ao3!

A/N: idea came from a prompt from this list!

Your feet hurt.

That was the first thing Dean noticed when you walked through the bunker’s door—shoes in hand, a scowl between your brows, and your other hand bracing the small of your back. The pregnancy was nearing its final stretch, and your body had made its rebellion known in every possible way.

Dean was across the war room in two strides. “Hey, hey, come here.” He swept the shoes from your grip and helped you ease into a chair like you were made of porcelain. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“I went to the store, not war,” you huffed. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

Dean crouched beside you, hands already on your calves, fingers moving to rub the arches of your aching feet like it was second nature. He was obsessed with touching you lately—not in a weird way but more like he couldn’t believe you were real. Couldn’t believe this was real.

“I just don’t like you carrying anything heavier than a craving,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your knee before looking up at you with those damn forest-green eyes. “You okay?”

You softened. Always did with him. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He nodded, reaching up to cradle your belly with both hands. Your shirt was stretched tight over it now—his shirt, really, soft cotton with an old Zepp logo, permanently claimed by you months ago. His thumbs traced light circles on either side of the bump, reverent.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I can feel her kick now. Stronger than yesterday.”

You smiled. “She’s definitely your kid. Already throwing punches.”

His jaw ticked slightly, and there was that look again—the one you were starting to recognize. It wasn’t just awe. It was something deeper. He looked at you like he was scared the world would take you from him. Like he was scared of being happy.

“I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up,” he confessed, voice low. “Like this is all some dream I’m not allowed to have. You. Her. A home.”

You reached down, fingers sliding into his hair. “It’s not a dream, Dean. You built this.”

He leaned into your hand. “No. You built this. I just… I’m the guy who got lucky.”

You both were quiet for a moment. Then his hand shifted again, thumb brushing just under the curve of your bump.

“I’ve got this list,” he said suddenly, eyes still fixed on your stomach.

You blinked. “List?”

“Of things I wanna do before she’s born. Stuff I wanna be ready for. I, uh…” He looked a little sheepish. “I read all the books. Sam caught me watching a diaper tutorial on YouTube the other night. Thought I was watching porn or something.”

You laughed, heart swelling.

Dean grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanna be good at this. Better than I ever had. You know?”

You cupped his cheek. “You already are. She’s lucky, Dean. We both are.”

His eyes shimmered just a bit. He didn’t cry—Dean Winchester didn’t cry, at least not where you could see it—but you felt it in the way he kissed your palm, slow and grateful.

He stood and pulled you into his arms, careful but close. “Swear to God, Y/N, I’ve faced monsters, angels, Lucifer himself—but nothing terrifies me more than the idea of not doing right by you and her.”

You leaned your head against his chest, hearing the steady thump of his heart.

“Then stop worrying,” you said softly. “You’re already doing everything right.”

His arms tightened just a little.

And when the baby kicked again, right against his ribs, you felt him smile against your hair like it was the best moment of his entire life.

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creati-bunny · 6 days ago

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HOW TO KISS YOUR BOYFRIEND

YOUR INEXPERIENCE WITH ROMANCE AFFECTS YOUR COURAGE TO DO THE FIRST MOVE. By God’s graces, you were lucky to be the only person who receives romantic attention from Tsukishima Kei, who is commonly known to have little interest in anything; Kei knew that there is a first for everything, and right before he goes to college, he wants to experience what being in a relationship would feel like with you.

It is not his first time to be in one—but being in one with you makes it a little special.

And as to not disappoint his expectations, you find yourself huddled up inside your dorm, buried in your heavy comforter with a laptop in front of you. The brightness illuminating from the screen serves as the source of light that hits your face—your face was so focused, your fingers working non-stop to find the perfect tutorial.

🔎 how to kiss your boyfriend

🔎 kissing tutorial

🔎 how to kiss properly with tongue

One of the videos shown to you advised you to enclose your palm, and put your lips on the side. The woman in the video is practically telling you to make out with your own hand—you cannot help but feel off. The next video interests you as it was shown with a partner.

“Start with slow, gentle kisses and skip the tongue and the teeth—for now,” the woman speaks with a gentle smile on her face while the man beside her looks between you and her expectantly. They show you the way by pressing their lips together, no tongue yet. “Stay at a manageable level of saliva. Slobbery puppies are the last thing you want your date to think of you,” your eyes sparkled, knowing you can do this; of course, you were curious about the next technique. You fast forward the video, skipping the couple just meshing their lips together like dolls.

“Now, try French kissing,” you gulped, hearing her words come out of her mouth. Anticipation brewed inside you, your eyes focused on the screen. “Slide the tip of your tongue inside your partner's mouth and gently move it against the tip of his or her tongue.” They were making out in front of you, tongue swirling around her partner’s tongue—her hands were gripping the man’s shoulders to set the mood, hinting for more.

The radiation from the laptop starts to irritate the nerves all over your eyeballs. You can feel your head aching from the lack of food in your system. Droopy, unfocused, and worried are all what you feel at the same time—how the hell were you supposed to practice kissing Kei when all the videos that you have watched are practically making you look like an idiot?

However, you did not notice that your own partner just arrived in your dorm and caught you watching an unexplainable video of a couple kissing. Tsukishima looks at your unaware form in confusion, “What are you watching so intensely—?”

You screamed loudly, shutting down your laptop, almost throwing it out of the window. You glared at him, your heart beating erratically fast; you felt your stomach drop when you could hear the woman’s voice still continuing with a slight sound of smacking lips together. “Try deeper and harder strokes—!”

Tsukishima scrunches up his face in accusation, already thinking the worst and formulating a remark. “Are you seriously watching porn?”

You interjected immediately, “No!”

Kei puts the In N’ Out doggie bag on top of your desk, before shamelessly opening your laptop. He scans the unfinished tabs and titles on the screen with his golden-brown eyes under his glasses, before he lets out a snicker, not failing to irk you. “Pfft—!”

“Kei, shut up!” You buried your face on the pillow, not caring about hygiene on your face anymore. Kei’s snickers became the aggravating laughs you hate when he teases you—Tsukishima could not breathe from the comedic situation.

He keeps snickering, “You seriously do not know how to kiss?” Tsukishima relishes in the embarrassed look on your face, as you try to save your face by scowling.

“Oh, and you have?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he proudly admits with a grin.

You feel annoyed and a bit jealous that he already shared his first kiss with someone. You bit back your lower lip to hide your frustrations, not wanting to worsen your humiliation any further. “Whatever.”

Tsukishima grips the fat on your cheeks with one hand before leaning in closely with a teasing, handsome grin. “If you want to learn that badly, I can teach you.”

Your eyes softened, feeling a bit down and insecure at your inexperience. You gaze at his lips before going back to his eyes. “I do not want to disappoint you. It may not be your first, but it is certainly mine, and I—ouch! What the hell?!” At the latter part of your statement, he begins to pinch your cheeks—harder at that.

“…” Pinch. Pinch.

“Stop that!”

Kei cannot help but have a cuteness aggression with how you’re acting right now. It did remove his stress and tiredness because of you. “You’re rambling again, for no reason.” He pokes your nose in amusement, as if he wasn’t the reason you’re stressing out, making you sulk at his carefree attitude.

Your boyfriend leans in, his warm breath fanning over your lips—the previous teasing and unserious facade he had was gone and shifted into something more flirtatious. The air around you suddenly becomes hotter and intimate, him leaning against you while both of you are on the bed. “What are you doing?” You stuttered.

“What do you think?”

This was too much for your heart—he looks too handsome, he smells so good; you were at a loss for words. All you two have been doing is holding hands, cuddling, kissing on the cheek and forehead. On the lips? You made a point about how you do not know how.

“C’mere, I’ll show you how,” he whispered softly, his eyes already focused on your lips. Tsukishima takes off his glasses before he pulls you on his lap. His hands rest on your hips, wanting you to get comfortable—he coos at your flustered expression, knowing this was far more intimate than cuddling.

Your heart is beating too fast; you cannot speak. You do not even hide how much you look stupid right now. Tsukishima is having the time of his life; he’ll have this as one of his memorable moments. Kei leans in, taking his sweet time before pressing kisses on your jaw—Tsukishima knows how to make you melt to give in.

You lean your neck back before your lips are inches away from each other. Kei whispered teasingly, “You do not even know how to close your eyes?”

That ticked you off, “Fuck off.”

You roughly press your lips on his firmly. He slightly opens his mouth to lock his lips with your lower lip. Tsukishima rubs his fingers on your hips, guiding you patiently as he winces when he feels your tongue trying to invade his mouth already. “Damn, are you a puppy? You need to relax,” he mocks you while grinning on your lips—and it is the thing you’re afraid of before you try to pull away.

“I’m sorry—”

Kei didn’t give you the chance to pull away, completely locking his lips with yours. You let out a whine, embarrassed at initiating a French kiss; and he looks so hot giving you guidance. “I’ll guide you, so stop squirming,” Your breath hitched, seeing his expression darkened—out of delight and desire.

Tsukishima hummed pleasantly, sensing that you were adapting better to the kiss. He mumbled, “Open your mouth,” You followed his words with no complaint before you let out a muffled gasp when you felt his tongue slip inside your mouth, swirling around the tip of your tongue. You squirmed when the kiss became more intense, letting out a breathy whine when he took control of the kiss—you tried to nibble his lower lip, making him let out a noise that fueled your ego.

“Tch, don’t move too much. You might start something you’ll never finish,” he demanded with a husky voice, wanting you to stay still on his lap. You stopped breathing and moving in response to what he said.

The rhythm of the kiss started off awkwardly, yet it became the most amazing one that had you wrapping your arms around his neck like your life depended on it. You two were now making out; he shudders when he feels your fingers rubbing his nape. He grips your shirt tightly, wrinkling it within his grip.

You two broke off the kiss to catch your breath. A string of saliva leaves between your lips. You stared into his eyes, already aching for more, but he was controlling himself. You licked your lower lip. The heat in your lower stomach burned hotly, finally experiencing the magnificence of kissing someone you’re interested in.

Kei smirks at your dazed expression, “Now, was that so difficult?”

You huffed in response, knowing you had thoroughly and sincerely enjoyed it. Tsukishima pecks your nose, mocking you while grinning lazily. “Let’s do it again.”

image is by @Freaka_LoonyZ on X || credits to wikihow for the kissing tutorial

#creati works .ೃ࿐#tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #no beta we die like daichi #anime x reader #anime fanfiction #tsukishima x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #kei tsukishima #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #anime #anime fluff #tsukishima kei x you #haikyuu tsukishima

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nhmkhnh · 14 days ago

Text

LIKE A CHAMP

CHARACTERS: VI ;; ELLIE WILLIAMS ;; ABBY ANDERSON ;; CHLOE PRICE

PAIRINGS: ALL X SUB!FEM!READER (one for each scenario)

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni)

TAGS: nerd!char ;; dom!char ;; oral (r. receiving) ;; they eat like possessed ;; messy ;; freaky oral skill for the first time ♡

navigation.

she’d read so much about it. studied diagrams. highlighted sections. memorized articles. freaking annotated the “female pleasure handbook” like it was a holy text.

but none of it—none of it—could’ve prepared vi for the reality of having you spread out on her dorm bed, legs trembling, slick glistening in the glow of her laptop’s screen saver as you whimpered her name.

"jesus fuck—" she mumbled, almost to herself, as she settled between your thighs, eyes wide like a virgin in a hentai (which, okay, maybe she was, technically). her glasses fogged immediately. she didn’t care. just wiped them on her hoodie sleeve like she was prepping for a boss battle.

"tell me if i’m—fuck, okay—tell me if it feels good," she whispered, breath hot on your inner thigh. but before you could even answer, she dove.

tongue flat and trembling at first, nervous licks like she was still trying to map the shape of you—but vi was a nerd with a damn photographic memory, and the second she found your clit, it was over. she latched on like she was starved for it, making these greedy, wet noises that had your thighs clamping around her head within seconds.

she moaned—moaned—like she loved the way you shook. licked harder.

sucked like a champ.

and it wasn’t just her mouth. her big hands (the ones you’d ogled in class for months) held your hips down with this shaky but determined grip, pinky rings digging into your skin while her tongue circled, dragged, flicked—

"vi—vi—" your back arched. she whimpered into you.

you came. sudden. loud. a mess.

and vi? nearly fucking cried.

because you were still twitching, and she was still going, nose buried, hands tightening like she couldn’t stand to be away from the taste of you.

"fuck, oh my god," she panted against your cunt, voice ragged, flushed pink from nose to chest. "you taste so good. holy shit. did i do that? i did that, right? fuck—"

you tugged at her hoodie, dazed. "vi—baby, i came. you can stop—"

she looked up, glassy-eyed, lips shiny, pupils blown. "no. i-i wanna see if you can do it again."

then went back down like a goddamn legend.

and that night? vi learned two things:

1. she loves eating pussy.

2. she’s fucking terrifyingly good at it.

ellie williams

she’s sweating. hard. not from nerves—well, yes, nerves too—but mostly from being face-first in the wettest, prettiest pussy she’s ever seen in her entire goddamn life.

"okay," ellie mutters to herself, licking her lips as she stares, eyes dark and frantic. "okay. you studied for this. you trained for this. you watched the tutorials with the notebook and the captions on. you're built for this."

“ellie.” your voice trembles. “you okay down there?”

“y-yeah.” she adjusts her backwards cap with one hand like she’s entering the finals of the oral olympics. “just—gimme a sec.”

then she leans in.

her tongue starts off shaky—too high, too low, licking around like she’s still figuring out where to go. but then you gasp. her lashes flutter. she licks that exact same spot again.

and again.

“oh my fucking god,” she says under her breath, then locks in.

mouth sealed, tongue moving in tight, desperate little motions. sloppy. eager. like she’s been dreaming of this moment since junior year bio when you wore that short plaid skirt.

her hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise. you can feel how tense she is—shoulders flexing under her hoodie, hips rocking against the mattress from how riled up she is. she's moaning into you like she’s the one getting eaten out.

every time you whimper, she gets wilder.

when you arch your back, she pulls you deeper onto her face. when your thighs start shaking, she lets out this choked, needy groan and circles her tongue faster, hungrier, like she wants to break the damn sound barrier with how fast she’s going.

"fuck," you cry. "ellie—ellie, i’m gonna—"

she growls into your pussy. you cum so hard you nearly blackout.

and ellie? she’s fucking soaked. jeans wet, cheeks flushed, mouth still moving like she hasn’t noticed you finished.

you tug her up, breathless, heart slamming in your chest.

her face is drenched. chin wet, nose red, eyes wide and frantic like a deer in headlights.

"did—did i do it right?" she pants. “wait. was that too much? do i—can i do it again?”

you don’t answer. you just stare.

because holy shit.

ellie williams is a virgin. a nerd. a dork who plays guitar and stammers during group presentations.

and apparently?

a pussy devouring prodigy.

abby anderson

you knew abby was strong.

knew it when she carried your entire moving box haul up three flights of dorm stairs like it weighed nothing. knew it when her hoodie sleeves tugged tight around those god-tier biceps every time she flexed without realizing it.

what you didn’t know?

is that the same abby—nerdy, blushing, biochem honor student abby—would be so freakishly good with her mouth on your pussy. on her first try.

"is this okay?" she asks, kneeling on the floor while you’re sprawled across her bed, sweat-slick and ruined. her hands are on your thighs, holding you open with ridiculous gentleness for someone with arms like a demigod. her voice is breathy. hesitant.

you nod. more like whimper.

and abby—abby leans in with this reverent look, like she’s about to kiss something holy.

the first lick is soft. careful. a warm drag of her tongue that has her exhaling hard through her nose, eyes fluttering shut like she’s finally found a missing piece of herself between your thighs.

"jesus christ," she breathes. "you’re… you’re really sweet, huh?"

then she moans. loud. feral. like her brain short-circuited on flavor alone.

what follows is mayhem.

this sweet, shy, socially anxious jock girl turns into a pussy-drunk animal in real time—gripping your hips tighter, tongue moving with this wild, instinctual rhythm like she’s starving. her mouth’s everywhere—sucking, licking, messy as hell, nose bumping against your clit as her moans vibrate straight into your core.

she’s fucking losing it down there.

and you? you’re barely breathing. twitching. whimpering. cursing god and biology and everything that led to you being flat on your back getting ruined by a virgin who apparently made oral sex her one true religion.

"fuuuck," you cry out as your hips buck.

abby grunts, arms locking down like steel. "stay still, baby. i need—fuck, i need more—"

you cum so hard your ears ring.

she doesn’t stop.

your hands are in her braid, yanking, nails digging into her scalp, and still—she’s groaning into you, grinding her thighs together, tongue curling around your clit with terrifying precision like she’s been practicing in her head for years.

“abby—abby—please—” you whine.

she pulls back, chin drenched, lips shiny, pupils blown wide.

"you okay?" she pants, voice shaking. "did i… was that too much?"

you can’t speak.

she swipes her thumb across your cunt—gently—then sucks it into her mouth with this fucked-out sigh like she’s tasting honey straight from the jar.

“…can i do it again?”

chloe price

you always thought chloe talked a big game.

all that cocky smirking, the “yeah, i’ve done tons of stuff” energy, the cigarettes and leather jacket and endless flirtation—masking the fact that she’s never actually been between anyone’s legs before.

but now? now she’s got your thighs on her shoulders, face flushed, eyeliner smeared, and her voice cracking like a fucking teenage girl.

"holy shit. you’re so wet. are you—fuck—are you always like this?"

"chloe—"

"wait. waitwaitwait, i got this," she blurts out, slapping her hands to your hips like she’s steadying herself for a rollercoaster drop. her pupils are huge. she’s visibly trembling. still trying to act cool, even as her lips hover a breath away from your cunt.

then?

she dives in.

sloppy. enthusiastic. immediate mess.

chloe groans the moment her tongue hits you—like she’s tasting something she’s dreamed about a thousand times but didn’t think was real. her nose presses deep, her lips drag messily, open-mouthed kisses all over your clit like she doesn’t know where to focus—so she just does everything at once.

you jerk.

she moans.

"oh my fucking god," she rasps against your pussy, voice fucked raw. "this is so hot. i—i think i’m gonna die down here."

her hands are everywhere—clutching your thighs, squeezing your ass, sliding under your shirt like she can’t stand not touching all of you at once. her tongue gets more frantic by the second—circling, flicking, sucking like she’s chasing a high.

and the second you moan her name?

she loses all chill.

grabs your thighs like handlebars, drags you closer, then buries her tongue so deep into you that your back snaps off the bed.

“oh fuck— chloe—!”

you cum screaming.

and she rides it out like an absolute gremlin. groaning, humping the bed, tongue still going, tasting you like she’s tripping on something divine. one hand slips down her own jeans—desperate, needy—messy fingers working as she eats you through the aftershocks.

when she finally comes up for air, her face is destroyed. hair tangled. nose shiny. lip ring wet. and that stupid, perfect, smug little grin already back.

"guess i’m a natural," she pants, voice wrecked.

you try to speak. fail.

she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, glances down at you, eyes dark and full of mischief.

“…wanna see if i can make you blackout?”

#vi x reader #ellie x reader #abby x reader #chloe price x reader

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moonlightdreamzz · 2 months ago

Text

somewhere between yours, and his

chapter one — what we don’t talk about ☆ chapter two — half-truths and jungle juice ☆ chapter 3 — fuck!

chapter summary. jake throws a party. you throw on a dress. jungwon starts to spiral. sunghoon starts to see you. — there’s liquor. there’s smoke. there’s a room you never meant to end up in. and by the end of the night, the boy who thought he had time is realizing…he might be too late.

pairing. jungwon x reader x sunghoon.

warnings. heavy smut in this chapter. usage of drugs and alcohol.

genre. college!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, smut.

themes. love triangle, messy relationships and decisions, love or lust?

authors note. things are starting to heat up … aren’t they?

you don’t usually do all this.

the lashes. the body oil. the 360 lace frontal that took you three youtube tutorials, two edge brushes, and a silent prayer to get just right.

you’re a throw-on-some-sweats-and-hope-for-the-best kind of girl. you always smell good—doesn’t that count for something? you don’t have the time. or the energy. or the wardrobe.

but tonight? tonight feels like it needs something extra. not because of anyone in particular. not because of jake’s cousin and his face carved from god’s sharpest cheekbone.

not because of jungwon and the kiss that almost happened.

not because your heart’s been doing something weird in your chest ever since.

just… because.

you haven’t felt pretty in a while.

not cute. not passable. not “you clean up nice.”

pretty.

you look at your reflection, lip gloss in hand, lashes just a little too dramatic, edges laid with precision.

you’re not doing too much. but you’re not doing nothing, either. the dress is short. black. soft in a way that hugs without suffocating. you smell like citrus and money, even though your bank account says otherwise.

and for once, you feel like the version of yourself you only see when no one’s watching.

the music is already loud when you open the door.

low bass, party voices, and that faint smell of liquor and cologne that only happens when men are trying to impress someone.

you step out, and every single conversation in the room takes a half-second too long to resume.

jake does a double take, cereal still in his hand like he wasn’t just yelling about body shots two seconds ago.

jay’s mouth parts, eyebrows lifting like you just hit a high note no one expected.

sunoo lets out a low whistle and goes, “oh, we really partying tonight, huh?”

they’re not being weird. not creepy. just surprised. in awe. like you’ve been a background character this whole time and suddenly stepped into the spotlight.

“damn,” jake mutters, blinking.

you laugh, but it’s a little breathy.

you can feel eyes on you. not just theirs.

and then you find him.

jungwon.

he’s standing near the speakers, red cup in hand, dressed in all black like he wasn’t trying but somehow still looks so fine.

his mouth is slightly open. he blinks slow like his brain is buffering.

his eyes trail down—your face, your dress, your legs—and back up again like he doesn’t quite believe you’re real.

he doesn’t say anything.

neither does sunghoon.

he’s leaning against the wall near the kitchen, one hand in his pocket, his eyes locked on you like he’s watching something unfold.

his face doesn’t change. not much.

but you catch the twitch of his brow. the way his eyes linger a little too long. the way his jaw flexes once before he looks away—slow, deliberate.

you feel like an animal in a glass cage.

not in a sad way. just… observed. like the lights flipped on too fast and everyone forgot how to act.

you know you look good. that’s not the issue.

it’s the way they’re all looking at you like they just realized it. and maybe that’s the problem.

you shift your weight, let your hand rest on your hip. the room is too still. too charged. so you break it.

“we taking shots or what, pussies?”

jake barks out a laugh from somewhere near the speakers, and just like that, the moment snaps back into something you can manage.

“because why are y’all looking at me like i just landed here from another planet?” you say, stepping into the kitchen. “i know i dress down most of the time, but damn. do i need to start popping out more often or what?” you shoot back, already reaching for the shot glasses.

you pour with intention. one, two, three. slide them across the counter without even looking.

you don’t ask if they want them. you know they do.

“this one’s for you,” jake says, clapping sunghoon on the back. “welcome to… whatever this is.”

“whatever this is” being your house, your energy, your people. your life.

everyone cheers. the shot burns in a good way. you’re about to rinse the cups when jay’s voice cuts through the music.

“yo,” he says, looking at you funny. “i was just thinking…”

you raise an eyebrow. “that’s dangerous.”

“nah, for real,” he says. “if we’re trying to convince sunghoon we’re not lame, shouldn’t you make that drink?”

you blink at him.

“what drink.”

“you know the one,” sunoo chimes in. “the one that had us spiritually ascending at that one pregame.”

you pause. laugh under your breath.

you think about that night—sunoo crying over a bluetooth speaker, jake laying on the floor like the universe betrayed him, jay talking to the bathroom mirror like it was a therapist.

you smile. “y’all are lucky i love you.”

they start hooting like they’ve already won.

“i’ll make it,” you say, pulling bottles down one by one, “but only for us. i’m not playing bartender for this whole house again.”

as you start mixing, you feel someone move in behind you—close, but not too close. the energy shifts.

“you want help?” sunghoon’s voice is quiet. smooth.

you don’t turn around right away. you know it’s him.

“you trying to help, or you trying to hover?” you ask.

“can’t it be both?”

you finally glance back. he’s leaning against the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other gesturing to the bottles like he’s about to start something with it. his hoodie sleeves are pushed up just enough to show his forearms, veins catching in the light. his face is unreadable—but his eyes aren’t.

he looks at you like he’s already decided you’re interesting. you haven’t even started talking yet.

you’re about to respond when jake pops up again, clapping once like he just remembered something.

“fuck. we never rolled up.”

“bro, you always say that,” jay groans.

“no, for real—sunoo, jungwon, come help me. it’ll be faster.”

“how?” sunoo says. “you just want company.”

“nah, i need hands. come on.”

jungwon hesitates. you feel it more than you see it. you don’t turn. but you know he’s watching. you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck like a warning.

you don’t move. neither does sunghoon.

and when jake starts dragging them down the hall, jungwon doesn’t fight it. he follows. slow. quiet. glancing back once like maybe he missed something.

but the thing is—you’re still right here.

and sunghoon hasn’t moved at all.

jungwon doesn’t mean to look back.

he tells himself he’s just making sure no one forgot anything. that he’s being polite. aware. something logical.

but he looks anyway.

and there you are—your back to him, pouring something into a cup, laughing softly at whatever sunghoon just said. your hand grazes the counter. sunghoon’s leans just a little closer.

it’s nothing.

it’s not even a moment.

but it feels like one.

he doesn’t hear whatever jake’s saying about rolling techniques or blunt wraps. his chest is full of static. too loud, too tight. like something important is happening and he’s not supposed to be part of it.

he doesn’t think anything specific. there are no words. just heat. just pressure. just this awful, heavy feeling that you’re slipping further away.

“so what’s in this drink?” sunghoon asks, standing just close enough for you to feel the question against your shoulder.

you don’t look up. just smirk and drop a handful of fruit into the pitcher.

“can’t tell you that,” you say. “i’d have to kill you.”

he huffs a little laugh through his nose—just enough to surprise you.

you glance over and see the way his mouth curls, eyes lit up more than you expect from someone with a face that cold.

cute laugh.

noted.

weird thought.

ignore it.

you keep pouring, handing him the ice tray without asking.

“help me out,” you say. “just dump a few cubes into the mixer.”

“okay. show me how you do it so i can steal the recipe later.”

“you won’t get far,” you say, tipping the bottle with one hand, catching the rhythm like it’s second nature. “this isn’t a recipe. it’s intuition.”

“oh. you’re one of those.”

“one of what?”

he shrugs, sliding the ice into the cup without dropping a single piece.

“vibe mixers. no measuring. no notes.”

“exactly,” you say. “just vibes and chaos.”

he chuckles again. quiet, low. it’s not flirty yet. but it’s getting there.

“you a senior?” he asks, resting his elbows on the counter like he’s been here before. like he’s comfortable. like he’s not just visiting.

“junior,” you say. “we all are.”

“what’s your major?”

“psych.”

he raises an eyebrow. “oh. okay, so what am i thinking right now?”

you squint at him. “that was weak. be more original.”

“nah, i’m serious,” he says, fighting a grin. “i’m opening up. this is me being vulnerable.”

you fake-think for a second, stirring the mix.

“you’re thinking, ‘i didn’t expect her to be this cool.’”

he laughs—real this time.

“that’s crazy.”

“what?”

“that you’re right.”

you blink once. look away.

okay.

maybe a little flirty.

you pass him a spoon to taste the mix.

“go ahead. make sure it doesn’t kill you.”

he sips, then licks his bottom lip slow. nods.

“nah, you might actually be dangerous.”

you smile, but don’t give it too much.

“what about you?”

“engineering major,” he says. “i was at big college in seoul. transferred to ucla when we moved.”

“engineering. wow.” you lift an eyebrow. “you do have that mysterious ‘i fix things and then disappear’ energy.”

“i fix things and then disappear?”

“yup.”

he laughs again, quieter now. the kind of laugh that makes your chest feel a little too soft.

you look down at the counter. this is fine. it’s just a good conversation.

“how’d you end up living with them?” he asks, tipping his cup at the hallway where jake and the rest disappeared.

“me and jake took intro to psych together freshman year,” you say, grabbing another bottle without thinking. “he would’ve failed if i didn’t carry the group project.”

“sounds about right.”

“he owes me his life. so naturally we’ve been best friends ever since.”

you shake the drink. he watches your hands.

“after that, i met the rest of them through him. dorm life was getting too loud, too tight, too many people i don’t like sharing showers with. so we all got this house together junior year. and here i am. house princess or whatever.”

he nods like he really listened to all of that. like he’s still listening.

you slide him a glass. “don’t tell anyone what’s in this.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “you gonna make me one every weekend?”

you pause like you’re thinking.

“depends.”

“on what?”

“if you keep being cool.”

he grins.

“i’m always cool.”

you finally look at him again.

he’s close now. not uncomfortably. just… naturally. like he never stepped back.

you feel warm. part alcohol. part something else.

he takes another sip, eyes still on you over the rim of his glass.

“you smoke?”

you scoff, dramatic. “do i smoke?”

you toss the towel on the counter, hand on your hip. “i taught everybody in this house how to roll.”

he smiles like that’s the exact answer he was hoping for. “yeah?”

“ask jake. he was struggling with even crumbling the paper until i saved his life. wasting weed all over the place for no reason.”

“so you’re useful,” he nods, like he’s making a mental note. “i like that.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re lucky i’m in a good mood.”

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i’m just here to learn.”

you pour the last of the mix into a pitcher and lean back against the counter, arms crossed, your vibe relaxing with the buzz that’s finally hitting.

you study him for a second.

“are you even the party type?” you ask. “you’re jake’s cousin, so i assume it runs in the family, but…”

you tilt your head. “you also give introvert.”

he shrugs, sipping slow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i don’t know,” you say. “you just… you don’t move like someone who needs attention. you kind of stand in the corner and wait for people to come to you.”

he doesn’t respond right away. just watches you, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“so which is it?” you ask. “are you lying to me, or am i lying to myself, sunghoon?”

you say his name soft—almost out of habit. not performative, not on purpose.

but he hears it. and you feel it.

his eyes flicker. slow.

“say that again?” he says.

you blink. “what?”

“my name.”

you lift an eyebrow. “sunghoon.”

he exhales like he just got something he wanted but didn’t ask for out loud.

“yeah,” he says. “i like how that sounds coming from you.”

you try not to react. try not to smile.

fail.

you look down at the counter, then back at him. you catch yourself staring.

he’s talking again—something about the mix, the drink, the party—but it’s all background noise now. his voice feels too smooth, too steady. your head’s already a little light. your body a little too warm.

you blink, shift your weight. “what am i doing?”

you don’t say it out loud. just think it, hard, like maybe the force of the thought will reset you.

but it doesn’t.

because you like the way he talks. you like the way he’s looking at you like you’re not just another pretty girl in a party dress. you like the fact that he hasn’t once looked away from you, not even when you did.

and maybe that’s the part that’s messing with you.

just as you open your mouth—maybe to change the subject, maybe to say something dumb—footsteps echo down the hall.

they’re back.

the door swings open. jake first, followed by jae, sunoo, and then—

jungwon.

he doesn’t look mad. doesn’t look jealous.

he just looks.

like he’s trying to take in the scene and not let it show on his face.

“we got ‘em,” jake announces, holding up the plastic bag like a trophy. “three perfect rolls.”

you push yourself off the counter. “let’s not light up yet.”

“what?” sunoo asks.

“we’re already halfway to plastered,” you say. “if we smoke now, none of us are gonna make it to the second hour of this party.”

jake frowns, but nods. “alright. we’ll save it.”

and then—knock knock knock.

everyone freezes for a second.

“doors unlocked!” jake calls, already heading that way.

you don’t move.

you don’t have to.

you already know.

she walks in like she’s been here before. because she has.

jungwon’s ex—not official, but close enough.

pretty. tall. confident in that way girls get when they think the room already wants them.

your stomach turns, tight and sharp.

she spots him immediately. smiles too big. too comfortable.

he gives her a quick hug. a small laugh. you know that laugh.

sunghoon’s still next to you.

he doesn’t say anything.

but you feel his eyes flick toward you. then toward her. then back to you again.

he’s putting it together.

and for once, you’re not quick with a comeback.

you’re just standing there. breathing quiet.

you hate this part of yourself—the one that still reacts.

you’re not with him. you never were.

but the ache still shows up anyway.

the house is hot now.

not just warm—hot.

the kind of heat that comes from too many bodies, too much liquor, and music shaking the walls like it’s trying to break them.

you can’t remember when it got this packed, but someone turned off the living room lights and now it’s just pink LED glow and flashlight phone cams catching angles. there’s glitter on the floor. a bottle in everyone’s hand. sunoo’s standing on the coffee table screaming lyrics, and jake’s somewhere in the kitchen making more jungle juice with a funnel and a prayer.

you’re laughing too much. your cheeks hurt. your legs feel loose. the drink in your cup is sweet and evil and exactly what you needed.

sunghoon’s been floating in and out of your space. not clingy—just… aware.

you like that. you feel him watching, but not in a possessive way. just curious. like he’s still trying to figure out what to do with the fact that he likes being around you.

like maybe you weren’t what he expected either.

but you don’t think too hard about it.

not yet.

you’re mid-sip when you spot her again.

jungwon’s ex. or kind-of-ex. or whatever she’s pretending not to be.

she’s in the corner of the room, leaned up against the speaker, close—too close—to him.

you don’t even know when it happened, but she’s been inching her way back into his gravity all night. you keep your face neutral. sip slow.

jungwon’s not touching her. not really looking at her either. but she’s laughing too loud at nothing he’s saying, reaching for his hand when the beat drops, pressing her shoulder into his arm like muscle memory.

your throat burns as you swallow.

jungwon’s head feels like cotton. too much noise, too many people. too much you.

he’s not drunk enough to act stupid. but drunk enough to feel everything a little louder than usual. loud enough to know that watching you smile at sunghoon across the room is killing him. loud enough to know he can’t keep doing this.

she’s been trying him all night.

his ex.

you think he doesn’t notice how you look every time she talks to him. how your eyes go blank. how you laugh louder at whatever someone else says like you’re not trying to feel it.

but he sees it. and he hates himself for letting it go on this long.

“you good?” she asks, leaning into him like old habits.

he shrugs her off—gentle, quiet. doesn’t want to cause a scene.

“just tired,” he says. it’s not a lie. not the full truth either.

she pouts. “you sure?”

he looks over her head.

across the room.

at you.

you’re laughing at something sunghoon said. your face tilted up, drink in your hand, shoulders relaxed like you belong exactly where you are.

and maybe you do.

still—he looks down.

because he can’t stand how that makes him feel.

“yeah,” he says again, stepping away. “i’m good.”

she doesn’t follow.

he disappears down the hall.

the bathroom smells like mint mouthwash, weed, and cheap cologne. jungwon’s sitting on the edge of the tub, head in his hands. he’s not crying—he doesn’t do that—but his thoughts feel like they’re about to spill over.

jay leans against the sink, taking a slow sip from a water bottle you’re supposed to pretend doesn’t have vodka in it.

“bro,” jay says, pointing at him like he’s about to deliver a sermon. “no, actually—bro.”

jungwon lifts his head, eyes glazed.

“you are down bad.”

“i’m not.”

jay squints at him. “okay. okay. so explain to me why you’ve been staring at her all night like your soul left your body.”

he doesn’t answer. he runs a hand down his face.

“and then,” jay continues, stumbling just a little but catching himself, “then—you let that girl touch your arm? like that wasn’t gonna piss her off?”

“i didn’t let her do anything.”

jay stares at him for a second. then shakes his head. “you know what your problem is?”

“you?”

“you’re scared,” jay says, ignoring that completely. “you’re scared she’s gonna choose someone else before you even give her a chance to choose you.”

jungwon blinks. jaw tight.

“you think she’s gonna wait forever?” jay’s voice gets lower. not mean. just real. “she’s not.”

“i know,” jungwon mumbles.

jay leans in, his tone suddenly serious through all the liquor.

“look. i love you, okay? but you need to stop being scared and put your big boy drawls on.”

“wow.”

“no, for real,” jay slurs. “you love her, right?”

silence.

“you love her.”

“yeah,” jungwon says, so quiet he barely hears himself. this is the problem isn’t it? that he still can’t say it out loud? even to his best friend who wasn’t asking to inquire—but instead as a matter of fact.

“then go tell her,” jay says. “go tell her and stop being pussy. go get your girl. make tonight the night.”

he slaps jungwon’s knee and stands up like he just saved a life.

“fix your hoodie. put on some cologne. and when she comes in that room—because she will—you don’t hesitate. alright?”

jungwon nods, breath shaky.

jay’s halfway out the door when he turns around again.

“and if you don’t—i’m slapping the shit out of you tomorrow.”

then he’s gone.

jungwon sits there for another beat.

then stands.

goes to his room.

fixes the sheets.

sprays his cologne.

sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

you’ll come.

you always do.

you don’t even remember how you ended up here.

one minute you were in the middle of the crowd, someone’s phone flashlight spinning above your head, a bottle in your hand, laughter in your mouth—

and now…

you’re here.

back room. door halfway closed. music muffled behind the walls.

it’s dark but cozy, still warm from the people that were just in here.

and it’s just you. and him.

sunghoon sits across from you on the futon, blunt lit, fingers careful. he holds it out without saying anything.

you take it. the first hit burns, but in a good way. like it’s stretching your chest out. like it’s slowing everything down just enough for your head to feel quiet again.

you pass it back.

he takes a hit, leans back, exhales slow.

for a while, no one talks.

then—

“you’re quieter now,” he says.

you smile a little. “i’m high.”

“still,” he says. “different vibe.”

you shrug. “people wear different versions of themselves in different rooms.”

he looks at you for a second, like he’s reading that sentence over twice.

then: “so which version is this?”

you blink. exhale.

“the one that’s tired of overthinking everything.”

he nods. takes another hit.

“you don’t strike me as the reckless type,” he says. “but you also don’t seem like you’re playing it safe.”

you tilt your head. “what makes you say that?”

he shrugs. “just a guess.”

you reach for the blunt again and his fingers brush yours. your breath catches.

you hit. exhale. “are you usually like this?”

“like what?”

“you ask a lot of questions.”

“i like figuring people out.”

“and you think you’ve figured me out already?”

he smiles. slow. “not yet. but i’m getting there.”

you lean back, head tipped against the wall.

the buzz is thick now. warm. your body feels like velvet.

“you ever fall for the wrong person?” you ask suddenly.

sunghoon doesn’t flinch.

“i’ve fallen for people who didn’t know what to do with me,” he says. “not sure if that makes them wrong. just… scared.”

you look down at your lap. your fingers. your cup.

he watches you, quiet for a beat.

“whoever he is,” he says suddenly, voice low, “i hope he figures it out before someone else does.”

you glance up. he’s not smiling—just looking at you. eyes steady. clear. a little too much.

you don’t answer. you just pass him the blunt.

he takes it. holds it between his fingers.

“you want to know what i think?” he asks, thumb brushing ash from the edge.

you say nothing.

“i think you don’t see yourself the way you should. you don’t know your power,” he utters. there’s something…seductive in his tone. honey-like. “

you look at him.

feel something shift.

he leans in, not fast. not loud. just close enough.

“but i see you,” he says.

it’s hard for you to find words. maybe because there’s a part of you that knows if he says one more sweet thing, you’ll lose control. or maybe it’s because you want him to.

“and what do you see?”

“the reason i’m not going back to cali anytime soon.” he whispers.

and then you kiss him.

and he kisses you back.

his mouth is soft. softer than you expected. warmer, too.

he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. slow. focused. not careful—but not rough either. just… present. all the way there.

like he’s not thinking about anything else but the feel of your lips and the way your breath catches when he tilts his head and kisses you deeper.

your hand finds his neck. his fingers slip under your thigh.

he doesn’t rush it.

he touches like someone who’s done this before—but wants this to feel different. like he’s trying not to ruin the moment by needing too much too fast.

but you want more.

you pull him closer without meaning to.

he groans—barely audible—but you feel it in his chest.

you’re on his lap now, knees on either side of him, dress hiking up as you shift.

his hands land on your hips, grounding you.

then sliding up, slow, until his thumbs press into the dip of your waist.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. your lips are parted. your eyes a little dazed.

you don’t say anything.

you just kiss him again.

this time it’s messier. hungrier.

your hands are in his hair. his mouth is at your jaw, your neck, his breath hot against your skin. you feel everything.

every inhale. every exhale. every time his lips find a new spot and stay there too long. you feel his fingers on your thighs—tight, then gentle, then tight again.

he’s asking without asking, and you’re answering without words.

you reach for the hem of your dress. he stills your hands.

“you sure?” he asks, voice low.

you nod.

he searches your face like he needs to be absolutely certain.

then: “say it.”

your voice is quiet. “i want you.”

his jaw clenches.

he kisses you again—harder this time.

everything happens in pieces. fast and slow all at once.

your dress comes off. his hoodie hits the floor.

his hands are everywhere—your waist, your chest, the back of your neck, the inside of your thighs.

his mouth trails heat down your collarbone, across your stomach, back up again like he’s trying to burn the memory of you into every inch.

you tug at his waistband. he breathes out something between a curse and your name.

there’s fumbling. laughing. sighs that sound like relief.

he stretches you open with his fingers first—gentle, watching your face the whole time.

“relax for me,” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw. “you can take it.”

you whimper. he kisses your cheek.

“you’re doing so good, baby. just like that.”

and when he finally pushes in—

you gasp.

it’s not just the stretch. it’s the feeling. the weight of it. the heat. the way he holds your hips like he’s trying not to lose himself too fast. the way he leans close, nose brushing yours, breath shaky.

“fuck—” he exhales. “you feel so fucking good.”

you tighten around him. he swears under his breath.

“you okay?”

you nod, barely able to form the word.

“good,” he says, voice dropping. “keep lookin’ at me.”

you move together. slow, then faster.

you’re moaning into his skin. his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, your ass, your waist—like he needs to touch all of you at once.

he pulls back, just enough to see your face. your mouth open, eyes fluttering.

“this what you needed, huh?” he murmurs, breath hitting your lips. “you needed someone to show you.”

you can’t even answer. he knows it.

“so fucking pretty like this,” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek. “you feel everything, don’t you?”

you nod. desperate. breathless.

he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“yeah, baby. let me feel it.”

you’ve never done this before.

not like this.

not while high. not while drunk.

not while still trying to pretend it wasn’t going to happen.

but now it is.

now it is.

his pace stutters when you clench. when you whisper his name without meaning to.

“again,” he says, voice strained. “say it again.”

you do.

he says something into your shoulder—something you don’t catch—but whatever it is, you feel it.

the room is spinning.

the air is thick.

your body is loud.

and when it’s over, you’re both quiet.

breathing hard.

skin hot.

foreheads touching.

you don’t say anything.

neither does he.

and maybe that’s okay—for now

it’s 1:48 a.m.

jungwon checks his phone again, even though no one’s texted him. he’s been staring at the screen like it might buzz if he wills it hard enough.

it doesn’t.

he gets up, paces. smooths the sheets on his bed for the third time. they still smell like his cologne.

he still thinks you’re going to walk in and lay down like always. still thinks he’s going to hear your soft knock, that sleepy voice—“you up?”

he sits back down.

at 2:12 a.m he gets up again. walks into the hall. the music’s died down now—half the party’s gone, the rest are draped over furniture or passed out in random corners.

he finds jake in the kitchen, talking too loud to some girl he barely remembers inviting.

“have you seen—” jungwon starts.

“huh?”

“have you seen her?”

he doesn’t say your name. he doesn’t have to.

jake blinks, drunk. “nah, bro. i thought she went to bed already. wait—did we ever smoke those blunts?”

“okay,” jungwon mutters, already walking away. “you’re useless.”

he makes his way to your room and pauses at the door. doesn’t want to open it.

his hand is hovering over the knob like maybe it’ll open on its own. like maybe you’re in there and this is all a misunderstanding. you’ve just been asleep. just drunk. just tired.

but deep down—he knows.

and when he opens it and sees the empty bed, the stillness, the untouched hoodie on your chair—

something inside him buckles.

he closes the door slow.

walks back to his room like the hallway grew longer.

the second he sits down, his mind starts spinning.

she’s not in her room. she’s not in the hallway. she’s not at the party.

and then—

sunghoon’s not either.

he feels it in his chest. a slow, ugly bloom.

you’re not just missing. you’re together.

he stares at the floor. tries to blink the thought away.

no.

but it keeps coming back, sharper every time.

he remembers the way sunghoon looked at you earlier. like he already made up his mind. remembers how close you stood. the way you laughed, all soft and private.

he runs a hand through his hair—shaky. jaw tight. throat dry.

did they?

he hates himself for even thinking it.

but once the question forms, he can’t push it back down.

did they fuck?

he shuts his eyes. squeezes them tight.

it’s 3 a.m.

you’re still not back. you always come back.

you always knock on his door, even if the day was weird, even if you were mad, even if you didn’t say much when you crawled into his bed.

you always come back.

he stares at the ceiling. the light’s still on. his chest feels like it’s been hollowed out. and what hurts the most isn’t even that you might’ve chosen someone else.

it’s that he let you feel like he didn’t want you.

he left too many blanks for someone else to fill in.

and now?

someone else might have.

he turns on his side, pulls the blanket over his face, but the pictures in his head won’t stop playing.

you.

sunghoon.

your mouth.

his hands.

he wants to scream. wants to punch something. wants to call you, pull you back, beg you to forget whatever just happened. tell you it’s not too late. tell you he’s sorry for being scared. for being quiet. for acting like he didn’t care when all he ever did was love you so hard it scared the shit out of him.

but it’s too late for all of that now.

it’s 3 :48 a.m.

he’s still awake. you’re still gone.

and he doesn’t know if this time… you’re coming back.

he’s halfway to sleep.

face pressed into the pillow, body stiff under the covers he never pulled back. the room smells like you—but not enough. just a trace.

he should be asleep by now.

but he isn’t.

and then—

giggling.

soft at first. then louder. laughter tangled in whispers.

your voice.

his voice.

a thud against the wall.

“ow—shhh! you’re being so loud—”

more giggling.

another thump.

jungwon freezes. his chest goes tight. stomach flips so hard it feels like falling. he doesn’t move. just listens. eyes wide open in the dark.

outside the door—sunghoon.

“which room is yours?” he asks, half-whisper, half-laugh.

your voice again. warm. easy. happy. “this one—wait—stop hitting my head against stuff!”

“i’m trying,” he laughs. “you’re the one who wanted to be carried like a princess.”

“i didn’t ask for that!”

“yes you did.”

jungwon turns his face into the pillow. he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t move. but something splits open inside him. the sound of your laughter—soft and slurred and completely not his—echoes like a taunt.

he thought he had time.

he thought you’d always come back.

but you didn’t.

sunghoon kicks the door closed with his foot, still holding you against his chest.

“jesus,” he mutters, half-grinning. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

you’re already laughing, head lolling on his shoulder. “you’re bad at walking.”

“no, you’re bad at being light.”

you swat his chest. “don’t be rude to your passenger.”

he drops you on the bed—gently. carefully. your bra strap’s half off. your thigh’s still cold from where his hand was.

he looks around, then down at you. “i’m not gonna stay.”

you blink. “why not?”

he rubs the back of his neck, tone softening. “not yet.”

you stare. “not yet?”

“yeah.” he shrugs, still smiling. “we’re both drunk. it doesn’t count.”

you let out a breathy laugh, almost disbelieving. “so… what we just did didn’t count?”

“i’m saying…” he starts, then smirks. “contrary to popular belief, i am a noble man.”

you roll your eyes. “that wasn’t very noble what you just did to me.”

he bites back a grin. “or maybe it was.”

you throw a pillow at him.

he catches it.

then lays down next to you—not under the covers, just close, warm, still high off your laugh.

“i’ll stay till you fall asleep,” he says.

your eyes close.

he was supposed to leave the minute he knew you were asleep—and you’d think your little snores would have been his que. but for awhile, he sat there and watched you. wondering. feeling. he can’t help but to press a soft kiss to the side of your head before getting up.

sunghoon pulls your door shut behind him. quiet. careful.

he’s still buzzing. not just from the liquor, not just from the high—but from you. your laugh. your eyes. the way you said his name like it meant something.

he turns to head back down the hall—and almost runs straight into jake.

“you good?” jake grins, swaying slightly. there’s a red cup in his hand and a backwards cap barely clinging to his curls. “you look like you saw heaven.”

sunghoon smirks. “felt like it.”

“so?” jake wiggles his eyebrows. “mission complete?”

sunghoon laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “not what you think.”

“bro, don’t even lie. i saw y’all. the tension? that was cinematic.”

sunghoon leans against the wall, arms crossed. he exhales through his nose, smile still hanging on his face. “it’s not just that, though.”

jake’s grin softens into something more curious. “what do you mean?”

sunghoon pauses. lets the words sit for a second.

then shrugs. “i like her.”

“yeah?” jake tips his cup at him. “i mean… i kinda figured.”

sunghoon glances down the hall. “she’s different. cool as hell. smart. funny. and when she looks at you, it’s like…” he trails off, then chuckles. “i don’t know. you feel it.”

jake nods, a little quieter now. “you really like her?”

“yeah.” sunghoon’s voice is even. real. “i wasn’t planning on it, but… i think i may be here longer than the weekend.”

he says it so simply. so confidently. like he’s already decided.

jake grins again, a little drunker now. “look at you. falling for a girl on day one.”

sunghoon just shakes his head, smiling to himself. “you said be honest, right?”

“yeah, yeah. and i said i’d wingman. so just say the word.”

neither of them notice the door cracked open at the end of the hall.

jungwon’s standing there.

frozen.

he hears everything.

and suddenly the whole night clicks into place.

the missing glances. the sudden distractions. the way jake dragged him away from the kitchen for no reason.

he helped him.

jake—his boy, his roommate, his clueless ass best friend—helped sunghoon move in on the one girl he’s been in love with this whole time.

and jake didn’t even know.

jungwon doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe.

he closes the door slow. soft.

and this time, the ache in his chest is something he can’t swallow down.

taglist:

@climbingmandevillas @xoseraphiina @deliousberry

I tried to tag everyone else, but it’s not letting me!! ☹️ i’m sorry.

466 notes · View notes

fresidoll · 2 months ago

Text

★ TANGLED IN LOVE, STUCK BY YOU FROM THE GLUE. tsukishima kei

.ᐟ Content summary: Boyfriend Tsukishima headcanons.

.ᐟ Includes: Tsukishima x fem!reader

.ᐟ Word count: 1.4 k

.ᐟ Content warnings: none, just fluff, sfw, kinda realistic?)

.ᐟ A/N: i’m never understanding why people see Tsukishima as someone completely mean, without feelings and horny all the time. The title of this are lyrics of this song of beabadoobee btw.

.ᐟ ☆ Part 2 ☆

☆ His glasses have small stickers you put on them, sometimes they are in the lenses in a place where they don’t block his vision of course, or sometimes they are in the temples part of the glasses. Tsukishima never takes the stickers off, he lets them fall on their own and when this happens he always casually lets you know so you put on new ones. He doesn’t mind at all if the stickers are glittery, or pink, with strawberries or something girly, he doesn’t care as long as those stickers are chosen by you for him to wear everyday until they fall off.

☆ He learned origami out of boredom with youtube tutorials and learned to do several animal figures that he threw away after making them, usually he makes origami when he needs something to fidget with when he’s watching a tv show or a youtube video so the figures don’t matter. But then, he learned to make origami flowers and instead of throwing them away, he started to give them to you. The first ones he gave you were made in plain white paper and then he bought a pack of paper in different colors so the flowers would look more real. He usually hands you the origami flowers without comment and tries to be nonchalant as if it wasn’t a big deal but it’s obvious he gets flustered when you smile and tell him how pretty the paper flower is, he would grumble about how it isn’t a big deal and they are tedious to make, and yet you’ll receive another flower from him not too long after that.

☆ Tsukishima is not someone who likes PDA, so he won't be kissing you and hugging you in front of other people or in very public places, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t affectionate. In public he shows you his affection in small touches like holding your hand, staying close to your side, letting you cling to his arm and when he has to leave your side he’ll discreetly kiss your temple or your cheek. In private he would be a little more touchy but not too much because he’s shy, okay? In private he would be more comfortable in placing his arm around your shoulders or around your waist, he’ll rest his chin on the top of your head while hugging you and he’ll even peck your lips sometimes.

☆ The dates Tsukishima likes the most are picnics in the park, museum visits, going to the movies and having a movie night at his place. He likes the kind of dates that don’t require a lot of planning and are more spontaneous and in which you can be comfortable so you both enjoy each other's company, if you like dates like dinners and all that, he wouldn’t dislike them at all but the kind of dates that are more chill are his favorite ones.

☆ One of his favorite activities to do with you, is building lego sets. They don’t even have to be those expensive official lego sets, the cheap ones that are figures of anime characters or sanrio characters work perfectly fine by him. Usually you take turns in buying the sets either online or in a store, you always get one or two for each of the characters or things you like. Usually, the day of your lego date it’s in the weekend when neither of you are busy; you order food and get some snacks to eat, while building you talk and watch a show or youtube videos. Tsukishima actually loves to be doing something he enjoys to do with the company of someone he cares a lot for.

☆ He gets nervous and hyped everytime you go to his games.Your presence gives him a boost to do his best in the matches to show you how much potential he has, but at the same time he gets nervous of you being there in the public because he doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself in front of you. It makes him flustered everytime he hears you cheering for him, the tips of his ears get red and he tries to ignore the funny looks the rest of the team gives him or else, his face goes completely red. Even so, he actually smiles big and feels a little giddy when you hug him after a match, and tell him how amazing he looked and how well he did it.

☆ If you’re part of the team, he tries to focus on the match but at the same time keeps an eye on you and it’s quick to let you know what you should be improving during the game so the team can win. Of course, he doesn’t tell you what you should be doing better in a bad way, he just wants the team to win and wants you to exploit your abilities in the best way possible so if you don’t win, you won’t blame yourself. After the game, he will hug you and tell you you did a good job, he will tease you by faking to be arrogant when you compliment his performance but he will actually feel happy that you think he did good, it makes him feel good with himself to know that he was useful to the team.

☆ He's not the jealous type, but he is wary of other guys getting too close to you. He doesn’t like it when guys get too touchy or too close to you, it makes him uncomfortable and kind of self-conscious. He knows he isn’t the most nice people out there, or the best good-looking, he knows his personality it’s one of his biggest flaws and he’s afraid that you might realize all of this things and leave him for some guy that it’s better than him, that’s why he gets tense when other guys tries to flirt with you or gets too close. He has never tell you this because he thinks it’s embarrassing and dumb, and he can only hope that you don’t realize all his flaws, or that at least, you don’t mind them.

☆ He got matching bracelets for you. Tsukishima is not someone that likes matching clothes so he went with something basic like matching jewelry for both of you, but it made it meaningful so it wasn’t just an ordinary thing. He got two affordable bracelets first in the same color, then he bought two pendants that matched for the bracelets that would resemble you and him respectively, he went with pendants with the first letter of your names with a little fantasy diamond encrusted. When you were given the bracelet, you never took it off and neither didn’t he. It was an obvious but subtle way of letting everyone know that you two were together and that you belonged to each other, that was why Tsukishima bought the bracelets, he loves to see you wearing his initial and also loves the fact that everyone can see you are with him and only him.

☆ One of the songs that completely describes what Tsukishima feels for you it’s Glue Song by beabadoobee. The first time he heard the song, was kind of accidental but as soon as he heard the lyrics and searched for it’s meaning, he found a meaning to all of that he felt for you inside his heart. He can not describe all of what he feels for you or how important you are to him, but as the song says, he found himself being attached to you in a very unexpected way and soon enough, you became one of the most special people for him, it’s something he has never felt before. He can’t bring himself to be away from you, or to let you go, he just can’t even imagine it without feeling a heavy stung on his chest, so he is planning on spending his whole life with you, he knows it’s soon to be taking a long term decision like that one but he is sure that he wants to put a ring on your finger and spend his whole life next to you. You are just like glue and are stuck with each other, and if you ever consider to split up, Tsukishima would try his best to glue you two back together.

.ᐟ ☆ Part 2 ☆

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu hcs #୨🍓 HAIKYUU｡˚🍰HEADCANONS୧

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kxsagi · 8 days ago

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Bllk boys w a reader who's always changing hair color or/ and makeup?

“𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧”

a/n: i love sticking to routine so i admire when people go out of their comfort zones and experiment with makeup

ft. isagi yoichi, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, karasu tabito, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, kaiser michael

isagi yoichi

he’s trying to be cool, but lowkey stunned every single time.

he thought he recognized you until he saw you with silver hair and neon green eyeliner and froze like “wait… who is this?” then you laughed and said “it’s me, silly.” he nodded slowly like he believed it.

takes way too many pictures of you because he’s still trying to figure out which version of you he likes best. “this one? or the one with the smokey eye?”

lowkey scared to compliment you because he’s afraid he’ll accidentally praise a past look and you’ll switch it up the next day out of spite.

once spent an entire morning helping you pick the perfect lipstick shade. ended up with more lipstick on his face than yours. didn’t mind.

when you went full goth one week and dyed your hair black, he was like a proud dad who’s just happy you’re happy. “you look cool. cool, scary, but cool.”

shidou ryusei

he’s hype 24/7 and secretly jealous.

“yo, that hair’s fire!” is his standard greeting now. no matter what color you show up with, he’s hyped and can’t stop staring.

he lowkey wants to try switching up his look because you’re setting the bar too high. “bet i could pull off jet black too, right?” (you tell him please no but secretly you want to see it.)

makeup tutorials? he watches them with you, but only to roast the dramatic ones. “why do people put that much highlighter on their face? they’re gonna blind somebody.”

once convinced you to do matching streaks in your hair and was so proud he showed off to the whole team. he calls it “power couple dye.”

every time you change your style, he’s the first to scream “that’s my girl!!!” like a proud hype man in the stands.

nagi seishiro

he tries to be indifferent, but lowkey loves the attention.

“did you do something with your hair?” he asks casually every time. the answer is always different, but he tries not to look too impressed.

lowkey fascinated by how you can change your whole vibe with just makeup and hair. “it’s like you’re a different person every week.”

he’ll offer you one makeup tip, which is basically “don’t get it in my eyes.”

took a million selfies with you when you did that pastel goth look once. “don’t tell anyone i liked it. you looked like a video game character.”

teases you about being a “professional chameleon,” but secretly thinks it’s the coolest thing ever.

mikage reo

he’s elegant, but sometimes bewildered.

“you’re like an artist.” he says it so seriously every time you show up with a new look, like you just painted a masterpiece.

not totally sure what all the makeup jargon means, but he tries to learn because he wants to understand your craft. (bonus points if you teach him.)

when you showed up with fiery red hair and bold eyeliner, he almost dropped his glass of wine. “wow. you’re on fire.”

he’s a bit protective too. “don’t let anyone dull your colors.”

once made a small donation to a high-end makeup brand because “it makes you happy.” he thinks that counts as a romantic gesture.

karasu tabito

he’s amused and a little sarcastic.

“so, what’s the color this week? purple? green? ‘don’t talk to me’ black?” he asks with mock seriousness.

“you change your look more often than i change my socks.” (which is pretty often.)

lowkey admires your confidence. “i wouldn’t have the guts. i’m too lazy.”

you once dared him to wear lipstick for a day. he did it but immediately wiped it off when no one was looking.

sometimes pretends not to notice, but he’s secretly memorized every shade you’ve worn and can name your favorite lipstick brand on demand.

itoshi sae

he’s lowkey impressed, but acts like it’s no big deal.

“you don’t do anything halfway, huh?” he says, deadpan, watching you change your hair color yet again.

he appreciates how you own your look and never care what anyone thinks. it’s something he admires, even if he won’t say it outright.

he’s not the most expressive about makeup, but he notices the little things, like the way you do your eyeliner on a day you’re feeling confident.

once caught himself staring at you in disbelief because your hair color matched your eyeshadow perfectly. “that’s some next-level coordination.”

if he ever sees you struggling with a tricky makeup look, he’ll silently get you a mirror or some wipes and then walk away before you can thank him.

itoshi rin

his eyeliner is fear. yours is fierce.

rin notices every single change you make. he just refuses to comment on it until you ask. then he hits you with a grumpy “… it looks good,” while blushing like he just confessed his entire soul.

the first time you came home with icy blue hair and rhinestone liner, he stared for five straight minutes before muttering “you look like a final boss.” (that was actually a compliment.)

pretends he doesn’t care when you ask “should i go copper next?” but he always votes subtly. “do whatever you want… but the pink was nice.”

if you wear dramatic lashes and bold lips, he gets weirdly quiet and stares at you from across the room like he’s fighting demons. like sir? why do you look like you're losing a boss fight in your brain???

the day you gave him a full “e-boy eyeliner look” for fun, he groaned the whole time, but refused to wipe it off for hours. he even looked in the mirror more than once.

he's used to living in black and grey, so dating you is like watching someone splash color into his grayscale world, and he’s annoyingly obsessed with every shade you bring.

kaiser michael

he pretends to be unfazed, but you’re LIVING in his head rent-free with every look.

“another hair color? what happened to the purple?” “got bored.” “you’re a menace. and it’s hot.”

loves every single look you try, but especially the bold ones. full lashes, glitter shadow, hair that looks like you walked out of an anime? that’s his kryptonite. he’s down bad.

literally calls you his “goddess of transformation” and demands a grand entrance every time you walk into the room with a new style. “music! lights! look at her!!”

if anyone so much as blinks wrong at your look in public, he’ll throw hands. “jealousy is ugly, schatz. unlike your highlighter. which is blinding and perfect.”

has no idea how makeup works, but he’ll fake confidence. “yeah, the… contour? it’s really…contouring.”

once tried to dye his own hair to match yours as a joke. it turned out weirdly green and he had a spiral. you still tease him about it.

when you do a romantic look – soft tones, glossy lips, light blush – he melts. like visibly short-circuits. “ugh. stop being so pretty. this is a threat to my ego.”

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cosmicsmoony · 3 months ago

Text

remus always struggles to put his contacts in. his hands shake too much, his fingers are too big even for his huge brown eyes and he is forever scared he will poke himself blind. it takes 20 minutes to put one of them in place and by the end of the whole affair, he is already overstimulated.

so one day regulus sits him on their bathroom counter, cleans his hands and orders remus to stay still and do not blink. in less than two minutes remus is able to see without his glasses. and no tears were shed. (regulus watched some tutorials! if his boyfriend struggles, he finds a solution!)

and that's how intimate they are.

#romantic moonwater #moonwater #regulus black #remus lupin #remus x regulus #BOYFRIENDS

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lovegalor333 · 6 months ago

Text

topic two:

paige x youtuber gf mood board ⋆·˚ ༘ *

paige watches all your videos and posts them on her story

she likes taking your camera and leaving you sweet videos to find when you’re editing

she was so proud of you when you reached one million subscribers, bought you a tiffany necklace with the number 1 engraved

she enjoys being in your vlogs and mimics you lovingly when you’re doing a makeup tutorial

she pretends she hates having her picture taken but she secretly loves it and loves it even more when you post her in your ig dumps

will bring you coffee and snacks when you have a lot of editing to do

bought you blue light glasses because you look at a screen so much and started complaining with headaches

is down to film literally anything with you and even has her own ideas one being a sex tape but you refused

uses your camera to take fit pics but doesn’t know how to get the pictures on her phone so begs you to do it for her

chats: and when i say this is my dream life then what 😵‍💫

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #wcbb #paige x reader #paige bueckers mood board #mood board #sophs mood boards 🪽#wlw #lgbtq #fanfic #paige bueckers fanfiction

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blackynsupremacy · 9 months ago

Text

CLARK KENT HELPING

YOU TAKE OUT YOUR

BRAIDS HEADCANONS

pairing: henry cavill!clark x blackfem!reader

fandom: DC

this was brewing in my head while actually taking out my braids today. plus, i wanted to give my baby henry a shot at this.

summary: it’s that time again! time to take down those 1-2 month old braids to prepare for your next fresh set. the only problem is, it’s raining, you’re tired, and you know it’s gonna take forever. yeah even getting your hair taken down, washed, detangled, and dried can be a hassle. fortunately, your fiancé, clark kent, is always happy to help with the process.

contains: lots of words, some things are based on true events, self insert, fluff, romance, established relationship, you and clark are simps, you and clark being fine, nudity but no smut, clark being a green flag, cuddling, kissing.

taglist: @rosiestalez @afrowrites @afrogirl3005 @simply-the-best23 @jkr820 @zombiehe4rt @elitesanjisimp @sabrinasopposite @gxuxhdjdu @tryingtograspctrl @ellethespaceunicorn

(i know i didn’t ask if ya’ll wanted to be tagged, but y’all are mutuals that consistently interact with my posts, so this is how i’m showing my appreciation! thank you! let me know if any of yall want to be tagged in my next blurb. again thank yall and i love my mutes)

• work was work today.

• it’s raining like hell.

• but good news, you’re getting your hair done this weekend! ain’t nothing like a fresh set of braids.

• the bad news, you gotta take out the old braids, wash/condition/detangle, and blow dry your hair all before your appointment. (yk how these new hair stylists be)

• girl, you’re dead tired, but you know you need to start asap!

• good news again though! your man clark kent is already home and you know he’s always down to help with your hair.

• ya’ll have been dating for 4 years before he popped the question a month ago on your anniversary.

• one thing about clark kent, he’s gonna hype up your hair no matter what style.

• he believes you’re stunning whether you have braids, twists, a lace front, locs, a slick back ponytail, a silk press or, your natural. he loves it!!

• he loves to watch you style it on your own or if you’re following along to a youtube tutorial.

• you’ve taught him a thing or two like taking down braids, detangling, applying edge control, and even helping you to wash and condition it!

• he catches on pretty fast and follows your instructions to a tee.

• his love language is acts of service and when it comes to your hair, he wants to make sure he does it properly.

• he told you he wants to continue learning because he can see himself helping out with your future daughter’s hair, so why not start with his future wife?

• this man is going to be the death of you.

• you see clark sitting on the couch with his laptop. as soon as he hears the door shut followed by your sigh of exhaustion, he’s already putting that to the side and zooming in your direction to take your bag, umbrella, and jacket off your hands.

• this man is teeth rotting sweet. how’d you get so blessed?

• he greets you with a warm embrace and plants a kiss atop of your head. he peeps that new growth, but he won’t mention it until you do.

• you both take a seat on the couch and have a brief conversation about each other’s day. you sigh again and run a hand through your hair one last time.

• “it’s about that time, clark. i’m getting my hair done soon and i need to start taking my braids down, but i’m so tired!”

• you whine and lean your head on his broad shoulder before you peer your “please help me” doe eyes into his blue ones that were hiding behind his glasses. he doesn’t hesitate to keep that eye contact either. it’s so intense yet intimate. you almost look away because even after 4 years, clark can still get you a bit flustered from time to time.

• “baby, would you like to help me out again? i promise you’re not gonna have to do all the work. i just need some assistance to get this done faster.”

• you playfully pout and bat your lashes. you already know the answer, but this brought you joy. you knew he was waiting for an opportunity to help with your hair again.

• he shows off those pearly whites before he enthusiastically responds, “i’d never thought you’d ask. you go change into something more comfortable, i’ll handle the rest, and we can get started.”

• he lays a chaste kiss to your lips and pats your behind to signal for you to handle your business and you don’t hesitate to do so.

• by “handling the rest”, clark gathers the necessities: 2 pairs of scissors, a detangling comb, 4 hair ties for sectioning, a plastic bag from that one drawer in the kitchen, your satin bonnet, and an order of chinese takeout placed on doordash.

• clark was waiting on the couch and he gleamed when he saw you come back clad in a white tank, no bra, grey cotton shorts, and one of his oversized, plaid flannels.

• as soon as you found yourself comfortable on the couch, clark handed you a pair of scissors and ya’ll got to work at cutting the braids shorter before you both section off your hair into 4 parts and start unbraiding from the front.

• you started on the right side, while clark took over for the left.

• you obviously know of clark’s abilities, his extraterrestrial heritage, and his intense duties as superman. he makes sure his powers can be of help in the most important areas of his life, one of them being your relationship.

• he’s had some practice with unbraiding and his fingers moves like clockwork. he moves at a delicate, quick pace and uses his keen eye to make sure your hair doesn’t get tangled or pulled, so there’s no unnecessary breakage. braid by braid, each one is removed out of your head and into the empty, plastic grocery bag that’s placed between you two.

• he’s seen you sometimes get it tangled and you would be quick to just cut it off, but with his aid, you’ve been doing that less frequently.

• after about 30 minutes, clark can already hear the doorbell ring and footsteps walking away. the food’s here.

• he opted for contactless delivery this time because he knew he just had one more braid….and done!

• he urges you to give your hands a break from unbraiding your side and to wash them because your dinner has arrived. he chuckled as you perked up hearing that because you were hon-grey!!

• he also takes it upon himself to gently place your satin, royal blue bonnet on your head.

• it’s his absolute favorite because it’s patterned with his iconic red and gold family crest!

• you have a friend who owns a small business of designing bonnets, durags, and head scarves with the cutest patterns imaginable for black nerds like you.

• they got some with superheroes, anime characters, hogwart house symbols, disney, you name it!!

• 2 years ago, you asked them to commission a bonnet to match his heroic attire.

• this was to show him that you’re proud of his kryptonian roots and that you 100% support him being one of the world’s most selfless heroes along with the other members of the justice league.

• you sometimes worry for his life, but he always tries his best to make it back to you in one piece.

• but girl, that bonnet had him geeking when you showed it to him!! his face heated with a bright hue of pink before he plants a billion kisses all over your face. his voice never ceasing his appreciation and eternal love for you.

• you both chill for a few minutes to eat and watch some tv.

• you stretch your hands, placed your bonnet on the coffee table and resumed to unbraiding the last strand on the front before sectioning it off with a hair tie and starting on the back of the right side. it seems that time moves slower (or faster) as your fingers meticulously unravel each braided strand.

• clark is half way done with his entire side. his brows raise at the sound of your soft groan of what seemed to be pain and exhaustion.

• “babe, my fingers are starting to cramp and so are my arms.” you gripe and pause your movements to massage out the stiffness in your fingers.

• clark also pauses what he’s doing. he delicately grasps your hands into his, sprinkling tiny pecks on each aching knuckle. his pink lips lingers on the rock that adorns the fourth knuckle of your left hand before those baby blues gaze into your own eyes.

• you could clearly see your worn reflection in his pupils, but you lovingly smile as you know what he’s about to say.

• “c’mere, beautiful. let me take care of the rest while you sit and relax. it’s just a few more and it’s nothing i can’t handle, so it’ll be my pleasure.”

• that’s true. clark’s an invincible kryptonian. unless your hair was laced with some green k, a cramp within the joints of his digits wouldn’t be possible. if you ask, he would one day take out your braids all by himself without you having to lift a finger and he’d be in pure bliss of taking that burden off your plate.

• he spreads his thighs apart. the large palms of his hands encircle around your waist to shift your body in between his legs before his fingers get back to tenderly remove the last remaining braids.

• as he does so, you simply enjoy each other’s presence. ya’ll would be cracking jokes, planning suggestions for the wedding, your jobs, and a myriad of other topics to kill time.

• about 30 more minutes pass by and your braids are finally out! he leans back feeling accomplished and marvels at how much your hair has grown over the month.

• “may i?” he politely asks. his expectant eyes glancing into yours for approval.

• “of course, kal.” you grin. it’s like seeing a child light up in a candy store, he’s so elated.

• you feel more at ease and lean into his touch as his fingers lovingly caress through your natural hair and scalp.

• you know that he just wants to feel your hair in it’s natural state. it’s not out of a fetish, but out of pure fascination, so you let him!

• you love that even though you’ve been together for 4 years and he’s helped you with your hair on multiple occasions, the curious kryptonian wonders why he always has to ask you before touching your hair.

• as a journalist, he’s gonna conduct his own research.

• he educates himself and he understands the history of that one boundary in your community, so he always asks you before touching your hair or he waits for you to offer.

• he’s not even human and he understands the basic human decency of not to reach out and touch someone’s hair out of nowhere.

• you sigh in relief and thank clark with a kiss before you go to dispose the plastic bag of worn out braids to the kitchen and into the large garbage can. you turn around and lean up against the sink.

• now it’s time to wash, condition, detangle, and dry.

• clark already knows the next step. he stands from his position on the couch and stretches his back muscles. he moderately saunters to the arched threshold that separates the kitchen and living room. his tall stature works in his favor as he casually raises his arms with his hands gripping the arch that’s a few inches above his head.

• you know exactly what pose i’m trying to poorly describe to the best of my ability. it happens to be one of those non-sexual turn ons that men do without them realizing.

• you go into a bit of a hypnotic state as you stare at his bulging biceps. you also take notice of how his white t-shirt raises up to expose a small section of his sculpted abdomen. the raven tresses on his skin that perfectly matches the messy curls on his head form a trail straight down to his—

• the trance is broken by the baritone voice of your fiancé.

• “my eyes are up here, angel. were you even listening to me?” he flirtatiously quips and tilts his head with a playful smirk curving on his lips, lowering his arms to cross them over his chest.

• like some suave lady killer, he approaches you and places his index under your chin to shift your gaze to his.

• girl, not you getting caught in 4K! you know that man is fine, but you got to finish off your hair. there’s no time to waste when it comes to that, so you must stay focused.

• you can’t help, but feel the heat of embarrassment rush on your melanated cheeks and giggle nervously before you confess.

• “i’m sorry, clark! after all of these years, you still get me sprung. now, what were you saying, boo? ”

• “it’s no worries, (n/n). don’t doubt that you’ve got the same effect on me too.” he blushes himself, beaming at the compliment and pecks your forehead, nose, and lips before he resumes his question.

• “would you like to wash in the sink or shower?”

• he bursts into a joyous laugh as you don’t hesitate to choose the shower.

• of course he was hoping you’d say that, but you shut down the idea because you just want to kill two birds with one stone, wrap this up, and cuddle in bed.

• he understands where you’re coming from and it’s no pressure at all. you both love when you two get down in the bedroom, but you share a common belief that spending quality time is the key to true intimacy.

• he takes your hand and leads you both to your shared bathroom.

• he puts his glasses on the sink, switches on the shower and checks for the perfect temperature that’s not too hot for your scalp, but not too cool for your body.

• you go to obtain large drying towels, african net wash cloths, and disposable shower caps. you then seek out the shampoo, conditioner, and detangling cream to nourish and clean your hair.

• you return to the bathroom with the items and clark gets your second opinion on the water temperature. you get a feel and let him know that it’s just right before you both strip of your clothes until you’re both completely naked. you make sure your engagement ring is placed in the velvet box it came in and set it on your drawer before you both step under the running water.

• clark reaches up to detach the shower head. before making a move, he asks if you need any further assistance in this step and you gladly accept, closing your eyes as he handles the shower head to pre-rinse both of your heads for a well deserved cleaning.

• as he puts the shower head back where it belongs, you let him know that you want to do the shampooing for both you and him.

• yep, clark uses your products on his hair!

• one time after your fifth date, he hugged you and his sensitive nose stealthily picked up on the natural, sweet, and intoxicating scent of the hair lotion that seeped into your scalp. he thought at first it was your perfume, which he loves too, but he was mistaken!

• “my god, you smell amazing.”

• clark takes you out to dinner and feeds your ego! okay, kal-el!

• he couldn’t get enough of it!

• this aroma— it was like something fresh and made from natural ingredients without any harsh chemicals.

• it reminds him of the homegrown warmth and love that his parents, jonathan and martha raised him up in back in smallville.

• if it wasn’t so soon (or the fact that he hasn’t told you his secret then), he would literally fly you out there in 10 minutes.

• when you moved in together, he would sometimes sneak a bit of your shampoo and conditioner in his hair routine once or twice a week until you finally caught up to him!

• you scolded clark a bit for using your products without permission because you would’ve let him use a little if he’d ask and plus, that stuff was expensive!

• he looked genuinely remorseful and apologized. “i’m sorry, (f/n). it was wrong of me to sneak like that, but i just wanted to use it because it’s like i’m taking a part of you with me everywhere i go. that way even though we’re apart, i don’t feel so alone in this universe anymore.”

• that almost had you crying and throwing up. he’s as big a simp for you as you are for him, so you couldn’t stay mad at him!

• you had an agreement to share or double up as long as you both are putting in for it.

• it was definitely no problem for clark because besides it’s sentimental value, it does wonders for his hair! it looks healthier, shinier and it feels softer compared to those 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner concoctions that he’s been using since high school.

• he loves your weekly beauty supply store excursions. he doesn’t care if the 6 items in your cart is $35, he’s paying for it all!

• clark’s aqua pupils observes from behind as you pour a generous amount of shampoo into your palm, rubbing the other against it, and massaging the bubbly, white substance through your scalp. your fingers work to make sure every single hair on your head is lathered in the coconut scented liquid and he notices that you’re careful not to tangle it.

• his own trance is broken by a “your turn! now lean down a bit, my love.” you’re now waiting for him to follow through, leaning his head down and forward to make his now drenched, dark hair right in your view and in your reach.

• he exhales at the contact of the cold shampoo descending on his scalp. as your fingers massage through his hair, his eyes close and a smile of ecstasy plays on his lips.

• your touch, the scent of the product, and the fact that if he opened his eyes again at this very moment, your breasts would be right in his face is clark’s idea of his personal heaven.

• you both take turns to rinse your own hair and each others to double check that all of the suds of the shampoo are gone.

• you repeat the process again, but this time it’s with conditioner. once that’s applied, you both put on the shower caps to let it rest and do its thing.

• you both use that time to talk some more and thoroughly clean your bodies of the filth of the work day using the african net wash clothes and aromatherapy body wash.

• after one last rinse of ya’lls hair, you cut the water off and grab the towels set out to wrap around your soaked bodies and dripping hair before walking to your shared bedroom.

• fortunately, you and clark have your own respective hair dryers, so that step doesn’t take too long before you take on the final boss: detangling.

• still clad in your towels, you and clark apply the detangling cream through your scalps. as he uses his comb to effortlessly rake through his noir mop, you just kind of stand and stare at the detangling brush in your hand.

• if you’re tender headed, you’ve probably lived the nightmare over and over with your heavy handed mother tugging the comb through the knotted ends, jolting your head and neck forward as you whined in pain. of course she got mad at you for that and said that it didn’t even hurt.

• you’re grown now! with your own bills, home, car, job, and man. there’s way more stressful things in the world than getting some knots out.

• you start the teeth of the comb from the root of your hair and hear the wet stickiness of the detangling cream as it glides to the end.

• okay, we’re getting somewhere! no pain or the pulling of knots for the next few strands near the front. now let’s start on the back. comb one, comb two, comb three—

• “ow, ugh!” you yelp. cringing as you hit a knot at the end.

“ woah! sweetheart, are you alright?”

• clark immediately halts his actions and puts his comb down. he takes one step behind you to examine the situation.

“please, lord, don’t tell me it’s tangled that bad.”

• you attempt to comb without breaking your hair out and the more you try, the more painful it gets. your arms and hands started to stiffen again.

• you lowkey wanted to cry because you just want this to be done and sleep peacefully in clark’s arms for the rest of the night.

• you immediately ask clark for help and he once again, comes to the rescue. he was gentle and comforting, but straightforward when it came to getting those knots.

• he talks you through it to make this a little easier.

• “i’m so sorry, honey. this is gonna hurt a bit, but we’re gonna knock these out and go straight to bed in no time, okay? i love you.” he kisses your temple before he proceeds with the task.

• several minutes of detangling are over! clark gets a second shower of kisses all over his face as you thank him again.

• you discard your towels and replace them with your nightclothes. clark’s shirtless with his sweats and you’re comfortable in another one of clark’s shirts with a fresh pair of cotton shorts.

• you put your hair in an afro puff ponytail and as always, you let your fiancé do the honors of placing your superman patterned bonnet on over your hair like a king crowning his queen.

• he looks at you with such pride and joy. seeing you happy feels so good it hurts. it makes him feel as weak as when he’s around green k. maybe even more.

• clark wouldn’t feel too comfortable to wrap his hair up just yet, so you suggested he uses a satin pillowcase instead.

• speaking of pillows, you look at the clock and realize it’s gotten late. you and clark shut off the lights and retire your exhausted bodies into your bed.

• you lay in a fetal position and turn to face him. kryptonians don’t usually need that much sleep as humans do, so you weren’t surprised that he was still awake.

• you both gaze and admire each other in comfortable silence. your hand reaching to his jaw. your brown toned fingertips caress the pale yet angelic face of the man you love. he closes his eyelids and leans into your warm touch.

• like a magnet, you drew closer to his face until your, full yearning lips rested on his. it doesn’t take him a second to melt into it, his hands clinging to your waist to rest your figure on top of his. your palms find themselves to rest on each side of his jawline.

• between each kiss, the moonlight illuminates the wide smiles you exchange to each other.

• after you two get your fill of each other’s affection, you lay your head on clark’s chest with his arms still acting as a shield around your back. he pecks your temple and is pulled in by the music of your steady heartbeat. he looks down to see your eyes pointed toward his and your hands folded flat on his chest.

• “thank you, clark. thank you so much for your help, your patience, your kindness, your love, and your compassion. not to mention that you are so fine, you still get me giggling like a schoolgirl at my big age! whether you’re superman, clark kent, or kal-el, i just thank you for being you. i love you, clark kent and that’ll never change.” your lips curve with a beaming smile.

• “(f/n), you need to know that everything i do, i do it for you and i’d do it again. you’re the most beautiful person and i’m not just talking about your stunning beauty. your heart is golden. despite everything that we’ve been through, it’s always been you. you understand me, you give me grace and hold me accountable, you still believe in me when i don’t even believe in myself. that’s how i knew i had to ask you to marry me, so i love you more, (f/n) kent and that’ll never change.”

• “look at us! we’ve only been engaged for a month and it sounds like we’re exchanging vows already.”

• “that sounds like a great start to me.”

• you both laugh and he gives you one last lingering kiss on your lips. your heads drop and your eyelids close before you take your peaceful slumber in each other’s presence.

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