[11:59 PM] One minute to midnight; one minute to his birthday, you thought. Holding the sunflower you had just taken from the garden close to your chest, you felt a lump beginning to get formed inside your throat, tears threatening to fall from your tired eyes. The image of the boy became clear inside your head; his smile, his hand brushing against yours as he gave you that same flower you held tightly against your body, his voice as he said “remember to take a petal off once the clock hits midnight”. Twelve o’clock, you gulped, shaky fingers delicately holding one of the yellow petals before pulling at it. Happy birthday, Yanchen, was what you repeated over and over, no longer trying to hold back the tears that wanted, badly, to stain your cheeks. It was like this every year; you’d try to hold onto your last peaceful memory of him before one of the facility doctors came to take you back to your room, your eyes never blinking as they stared down at the yellow beauty among all that green.
[it’s still the 5th here, so happy birthday to my little and special sunflower :3]
Genre: Fluff [with a tinny bit of angst? Maybe? Of course]
Alternative Universe: Yes [College!AU]
Inspired by: A conversation I had with @linkeai
Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism
A/N: Hello, I need to stop writing about YanChen, I know, but this won’t happen :))) so suck it up
A cloud was formed one day, a little and thin cloud, in the middle of a bunch of big and heavy ones. The little cloud felt lonely, so lonely that, instead of interacting with the other clouds, it looked down. It looked down, and it saw a beautiful garden full of sunflowers; the only problem was that there was a lonely flower — just as lonely as the little cloud — and the cloud thought that maybe, maybe, another flower would be a great company. And so, the cloud practiced how to make it rain; it practiced and practiced and practiced until it finally happened, until the droplets were able to fully leave its fluffy airy surface and successfully land on the nourished ground. Unfortunately, the efforts made by the little cloud were too much, and instead of making another flower bloom, its heavy drops of water ended drowning the lonely sunflower — at least now, the little cloud wouldn't have to worry about a lonely flower anymore.
"I'm sorry, what did you say? I couldn't hear you over the noise." YanChen motioned his head towards the window, where she could clearly hear the heavy droplets of water hitting the old and frosted glass.
It was a cozy Friday afternoon, and, thankfully, a holiday; all the girl wanted to do was cuddle her boyfriend and sleep — she was running on a three-hour sleep per day, after all —, but it was hard considering he just had to remind her that they had to 'practice' on that day.
The girl could still well recall the first time she saw YanChen drunk. One of their mutual friends — ZhengTing — had decided that maybe a little party would do them all good at the beginning of their junior year of college; perhaps calling it a party was a little too much, considering there were only about ten or eleven people in there — she should just call it a friends gathering, a small one. A drinking game was everything they didn't need; as if some of them were already not drunk enough, XuKun thought it was a good idea to start a drinking game, and YanChen — always someone easily influenced — drank a lot, a lot for a first time drinking alcohol, a lot for a drinking game, and definitely a lot for someone whose girlfriend was almost in tears begging him to slow down. One the next day, when he woke up covered in somebody else's puke, and with the owner of said puke laying beside him, and not his girlfriend. YanChen's memories hit him like a high-speed truck; the secrets of friends which he ended up letting it slip from his mouth, the embarrassing things he did, and, of course, the way he pulled his girlfriend to the closest room, and tried his best to get her to agree to have her first time at ZhengTing's house, with a drunk boyfriend; he regretted it all, and he apologized — his words as he begged for forgiveness serving as little needles poking the girl's skin as she felt warm tears wetting her somehow cold face. She forgave him, of course, accepted every single word that came out of those delightful lips, and kept them safe inside her mind, just in case she needed them later; well... she did.
Soon, she started to notice how his tone of voice had become louder during some meals they shared with their friends at college, and how he would have a mint gum in his mouth every time she saw him. She started to realize how his calls at 1 AM had become recurrent, his voice way too dragged, some words being pronounced in a way of incoherency, way too many 'I love you's even for a very affectionate guy. She will always remember how two months went by — as fast as the wind taking the dust away from the floor —, and how, on a chilly day, she walked — humming to a random song that had just come to mind — to YanChen's room, because he said she could grab one of his sweaters — the boy was just so sure that she would get her hands in the beige cotton one laying across the edge of his kingsized bed —, and imagine her surprise when she opened the closet doors, hands going from each piece of clothing, trying to find her favorite sweater — a light pink one, the one he was wearing when they shared their first kiss —, and her eyes landed one empty Vodka bottle; one turned to two, that turned to three, that turned to four, and she could feel heavy tears already almost falling from her eyes. YanChen stepped inside of his room, wondering why his girlfriend was taking so long to grab a sweater that was being disposed over his bed — realization hitting him, a bit too late, that maybe that was not the sweater she was looking for —, and the tears that he saw staining the girl's face, as she held one of his hidden bottles with shaky hands, hurt more than anything right at that moment, his own tears wetting his cheeks once his eyes couldn't catch a glimpse of hers looking back at him. She started to sob, demanding an explanation — one which she actually was already really aware of, but she needed to listen to it coming out of his mouth, maybe it would hurt less —, her voice getting higher as each sound would leave the boy's mouth. YanChen losing his composure; his talking turning into screaming, his free hand gestures at nothing turning to hands grabbing her arms, fingers curling against the glass bottle, arm muscles making their best to throw the said bottle at the wall — his strength being such that the object missed the girl's head only by a few centimeters —, his voice coming out strained and painful as he said he didn't want to do that anymore, but he couldn't stop either. She remembers how they were so close to breaking up after that. He said he'd look for help. He promised it.
She will forever be able to recall how YanChen backed off from his first AA meeting; calling her in tears, breaking down, asking for forgiveness, trying to word how much of a weak man he was. They were both weak; he couldn't go to the meeting, she couldn't bear to keep him around as long as he was still drunk. He needed help, and she would not be able to help him alone. She threatened to break up — choking on her own words and tears, silently begging him not to give up on their relationship because of the alcohol, and audibly begging him to tell her what was he trying so desperately to drown with the sips of alcohol he'd take every single day. He got his head back in place, and two weeks later, with his hand in hers, he walked into the building, — not so — ready to the first of many of his AA meetings.
YanChen called her at 1 AM one day — it had been eight months since he first decided not to drink anymore, and she picked up truly afraid that all that nightmare would start again, afraid that he had gotten back to his old drinking-and-calling habit —, his smile being able to be perceived through his voice, the man relating how his AA sponsor had texted him — at a rather unfortunate time — to say he could be completely considered a sober man. He was so happy, it felt surreal, and with his happiness, it came hers, of course.
YanChen was starting to get into a bad place again, and before he could throw out all the progress he had already achieved, he sat down with his girlfriend talked it out. The shared words and tears for hours until they finally came up with something to help him, something to make him distracted whenever he needed, something that would keep his mind occupied enough for him not to have bad thought; they decided to practice his English skills. It may sound ridiculous, stupid, but it was everything he needed, something in what he would be able to concentrate every now and then, and, of course, have just yet another reason to spend time with his girlfriend.
They started out with songs, which seemed easier since he would already listen to a lot of songs in English — and his shocked face, once he found out the meaning behind some of those songs, was especially cute, and would, sometimes, lead them into practicing something else —, and, after a month, the couple started reading books; well... not really. She came up with a system: he would choose a book, a random page, and she would read a sentence out loud, asking him to repeat it. It was an interesting experience; on happy days, he would smile and laugh even more, and on bad ones, he would have something else to think about — the combination of her sweet voice, and her eyes fixed on his would calm him down, would ease his mind —; thankfully, it all worked out, after all.
All of that brings us to the aforementioned cozy Friday afternoon.
When she saw it on her phone, that the holiday would be full of rainy days, a possible thunderstorm on Saturday, she wanted nothing, nothing, more than to just have her boyfriend all to herself, for the three days — the girl already smiling to herself when she went to sleep on Thursday, YanChen by her side his breathing finally at a steady pace, thanking God that she wouldn't have to go to her parents' house for the holiday —; and so they planned it all. On Thursday morning, they planned how they'd text their friends and family, saying that their internet connection was bad — the girl putting her phone into airplane mode as soon as she had texted her parents, not really up to explaining that YanChen would spend the holiday on her place —, and how they'd put their cellphones and laptops away for the next few days; they planned how YanChen was in charge of going to the grocery store and buy all kind of good-tasting junk food he could find, and how she would clean the house after college; they arranged how he'd get to her place around eight in the afternoon, and how they'd watch the first released movies of the Star Wars series — believe it or not, his first movie marathon. Before she closed her eyes on that night, she took one last glance at the book he had taken to her place — his shirt, which had been blindly thrown over the book, covering a good part of it, making it a bit too hard for her to see the title, but The Fault In Our Stars was one of her favorite ones, so, of course, she could recognize it —, and she was sure the holiday had started in just the perfect way.
The rain came earlier than they have expected — she woke up to YanChen sitting close to the window, his skin beautifully radiating with the few sun rays that would shine through the heavy grayish clouds, his smile breathtaking once his eyes landed on her, the noise coming from the rain hitting the roof of the house muffling her lazy and sleepy 'good morning, handsome' —, and the girl secretly hoped her boyfriend would drop the idea of practicing his English skills for the day, but he was so excited about the idea of learning phrases from a book he had picked out himself, that she decided to just smile and go along with what they had prior agreed.
"I'm sorry, what did you say? I couldn't hear you over the noise." Upon listening to his words, her eyes didn't even bother to leave the pages of the book she had in hands, her ears quick to hear the rain pelting the window, a small smile making its place on her lips.
"I said 'we're almost done', and then I repeated the sentence 'my parents stayed in my room forever until it was morning'.
"Hm... could you separate it and say it in two parts, perhaps?" His confused expression made her chuckle and, repeating slowly every word, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, hoping that he would get it right — just like all of the phrases he had repeated on that day. "My parents stayed... in my room forever until... until it was morning. Is that it?"
And the girl smiled, nodding eagerly, and moving a bit on the bed, giving YanChen's lips a quick peck.
"That was great, baby. Your pronunciation is getting better and better each day that we practice."
Laying on his stomach, his chin propped over his left hand — the right one playing with the fluffy blanket under their bodies —, his eyes carefully looking at his girlfriend, YanChen smiled. It wasn't a secret to anyone how much he liked to be complimented — it would always burst his ego —, but what people didn't really know was how the boy would few a million times better if the girl he loves was the one complimenting him, how his smile would be so big that the muscles surrounding his jaw would ache.
YanChen moved his body so fast, that all the girl could do was stare at him once she felt and heard him moving. His left hand was placed right on the side of where she sat, his right one was quick to find her face; one of his knees was bent in the middle of her legs as his sinful lips found hers. As the book fell from her hands, all she could do was breathe out a laugh, her hands slightly pushing him away.
"What are you doing, YanChen? We need to finish the practice."
"No, we do not. You said we were done." His hands went to her thighs, resting on top of them.
"Not really. What I said was that we were almost done. Besides..." Her right hand traveled to his hair, her fingers caressing the soft black locks. "how did you get so worked up out of nowhere?"
"You just look really good whenever you're concentrating on the books we're reading." His eyes were focused on her lips, his teeth biting at his own bottom lip, his face way too close to hers. "I just never told you because we normally do this in our campus' library, and, when we happen to be alone in the library, I just kiss you and you give in to it."
Realization suddenly hit her, and it felt impossible not to smirk upon her new discovery; her free hand going to his chest, her fingers gripping at his shirt and bringing him closer to her.
"Is this why you wanted to practice your pronunciation today? During the holiday? When we're alone at my place?" He nodded, a bit numb, her lips way too inviting. "You do know you don't need a cheap excuse to make out with me, right?" And then she licked her lips, knowing just what effect that had on the — practically drooling — boy standing right before her.
Just like that, it was like something had clicked inside of him. his hands went from her thighs to her waist, his strength being more than enough to pull her to his lap— the man was sitting over his ankles —, his finger smartly going to her ass, bringing her body as close to his as possible. The moment his lips touched hers again, all the small amount of sense she still had was quick to leave her mind; his mouth perfectly fitting hers.
About a minute went by before consciousness made its place back into the girl's mind.
"YanChen..." Was all she could mutter as their lips parted away, and she regretted it the minute her eyes caught the slight smirk being formed in the boy's lips.
"Already saying my name like that?" And saying that — one of his thumbs lightly brushing over her bottom lip — only earned him a slap on his shoulder, his girlfriend rolling her eyes and telling him to shut up.
"I was serious. I wanted to sleep, you know? But no, you wanted to practice, so let's practice." Her hands started to roam around the bed — the girl still sitting over his thighs — looking for the long-forgotten book.
"Sleep? You woke up at midday." He couldn't hold back the urge to roll his eyes.
"Right, but what time did we go to bed? Oh, yeah, around six AM." Her know-it-all smirk made itself present on her pretty lips.
"Do we need the book for that?" His hands found her wrist, lightly gripping at them.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I've been learning some sentences alone. Do we need a book to keep practicing?"
"Really?"
All of her attention went back to him; she was intrigued, to say the least, but all she got as a response was a quick nod.
"Can I say them so that you can tell me if my pronunciation is good?" His voice tone was slower than usual, and perhaps she should have taken that into consideration before agreeing to all of that.
His right hand went back to her waist, the left one going up to the side of her face, firmly holding it in place.
"Well... I learnt a lot of things. Things like I want to kiss you, I really want to kiss you." Her breath got caught in her throat as the words reached her ears. "Is my pronunciation good for that sentence?"
The girl could only nod, her eyes glued to his lips — and she wasn't sure if that was because he was saying those words or because his lips still looked a tiny bit swollen from their quick kissing. The hand that YanChen wasn't keeping on her face went up to one of her breasts, his fingers barely brushing over it before he took them back to where they were.
"Or things like I can't keep my hands to myself." And maybe it was because she hadn't been able to allow herself to blink ever since he started showing her his progress — too scared to lose even one movement coming from her boyfriend's lips —, but she felt her eyes tearing up when she finally closed them; taking a deep breath. "How was my pronunciation for that?"
"G-Great."
In one sweet move, YanChen bounced one of his legs, the girl failing to keep her balance, and ending up falling flat against his chest. The man took his time to get dangerously close to her lips before taking his mouth to her right ear, his words coming in the form of a sweet whisper.
"Are we done practicing now, babydoll?" The recently-learnt word, recently-learnt pet name sent shivers down her spine. As her nails scratched his nape, her hands pulling him even closer to her body, their lips crashing together.
As YanChen moved both if their bodies together, carefully laying her over the blanket with which he was afore playing with — her lips quickly getting him high as the alcohol would long months ago —, the boy smiled, consciousness taking its place inside his mind.
The reason for his improvement was something way beyond the English practicing sessions the couple would have. Each day — even if for just a couple of hours — would only draw him away from the nefarious alcohol, and closer to the girl; closer to the love of his life, and far from the only thing that could ruin it.
Maybe the little cloud practiced enough, and after trying it again, its raindrops were finally making a flower bloom.
A/N: I wrote a fluff for my comeback, y’all. Anyways, I hope I can keep up with my work from now on; as you must have guessed, my hiatus is done, my veggies c: I totally recommend the book mentioned in the story
There was something about that library and Friday mornings, it wasn't the books, the quietude, the people; it was just... something.
Friday mornings were always amusing to her.
Ever since she started college, it was always her, and her two friends; the trio would always be together — and she was just so sure that her whole class thought of them as boring and overweening, but, oh well, not their fault, mind you, they were super nice and polite —, to an extent that seemed rather annoying if observed from the outside of the little group. All of that came crashing down once they came back from their summer break. Of course, after YanJun spent over a month texting her about how he had started to develop feelings for their mutual friend, the girl could have imagined that they would start to date pretty soon; but all the time they used to spend together, was, practically, thrown away, since she wasn't exactly comfortable with sitting with them and staring at how YanJun would push his tongue in the other girl's throat. Their friendship was still the same, except... except they weren't that together anymore. The group projects would still be made among the three of them, but breaks and lunches would be spent mainly apart — not that the couple minded having her around, they didn't mind it at all, but, again, it wasn't at all pleasant to stand in front of the lovey-dovey couple during five of the days of each of their weeks.
The worst day of the week would always be, no doubts, Friday; on Fridays, they had a free period as their first one, and, since she didn't live so close to the university campus, the girl didn't have the choice of going there only for her second period. She would always walk, awkwardly, with her favorite couple. Well, yes, Fridays were definitely the worst.
One week after the classes had started, the girl had decided that the best way to spend her free time on those awful Fridays would be listening to some music while reading a random book inside her the library of her department building. She could still remember how, on the monitored visit, they made sure to pinpoint how each department only had the books that corresponded to each majoring; so, when she entered the library on that hot Friday — her fingers brushing slowly and carefully through the dusty books —, and saw a random and normal book, the girl didn't have to think twice before grabbing it. Her feet moved her body along the quiet — and fairly empty — library, her eyes searching for a table, not so close to, but not so far from, the exit; searching for a place to sit far from the rays of sunshine that came from the glass windows, but close to the misplaced wooden window — which would provide just the right amount of breeze on that summery day. She found it — not actually having to look for it for too long —, and sat down, pulling her earbuds out of her purse, and opening the book. Playlist for the Dead, by Michelle Falkoff, already seemed like a good book from the first pages — probably due to the mentions of Star Wars, and the immense love the girl had for the series —, and a few well-written words were all she needed to smile, forgetting about the quiet environment around her, and letting go of soundless singing along to the song coming from the earphones.
After a few Fridays, a few hours, a few chapters, and a few pages, that's what the first awaken hours of one weekday had turned into. Saying goodbye to the couple of friends she had encountered only a few minutes before departing, walking into the library and greeting the attentive librarian, going straight to the fifth bookcase to her left, grabbing the pretty blue-color-covered book, and sitting down by the same gray and rounded table.
Friday mornings had become monotonous to her.
Friday mornings were always monotonous to him.
YanChen's weekdays were always the same. He'd wake up — nag, roll his eyes, and mentally, sometimes audibly, calculate how long it would take before he could go back to sleep —, and take a shower; he'd, then, wake his housemates up — because some stupid rule made him responsible for waking five people up —, and wait patiently until ZheYuan had finished making some tasty — not really — breakfast for all the six of them. It would normally take him about one to one and a half hours before he could leave his place — every single day asking God why, why in hell, did he have to wake Zhou Rui up, and cope with his moody morning habits if the man didn't have to go to their university at the same time as him —; but on Fridays, especially, YanChen had the option of staying home for a bit longer, and maybe not having to deal with his classmates — on Fridays, he also had his first period free —, the only thing getting on his way was the thought of having to survive to both Zhou Rui's and ZheYuan's annoying yelling about some odd game that had just been released. All of that made YanChen spend the first period of his Fridays stuck inside a library, studying with his three best friends — the rest of his housemates —; well... he couldn't really call it studying, since he was never able to actually pay attention to anything he had noted down with LinKai's maddening complaint habit. He had asked himself about a million times before just why did he not go somewhere else, the answer was always the same: I'm used to it, and they always need my notes.
On one specific Friday, though, YanChen averted his eyes from the blue random circle on the wall right beside their table, and his sight ended up landing on a book; a pretty, and somewhat colorful, book among all the dirty and old ones on the third shelf, from the top down. Just as he started to analyze the font used in the title of the book, fingers blocked his sight; his eyes traveled from the book to the fingers, from the fingers to covered arms — which was odd, considering they were still on summer, but he decided to blame the unstable air conditioner that most classrooms had on that department —, from those arms to... to the most beautiful face he had ever seen in his life. He saw how the girl had her earphones on, how her bottom lip was captured between her teeth as she pulled the book away from its place on the shelf, and YanChen caught himself grinning.
From that Friday on — even upon childish jokes coming from his friends —, he would pay more and more attention to the girl. He noticed how she almost never wore colorful clothing — how, sometimes, the light blue book pressed against her chest was the only thing not black, nor gray, to get in contact with her body —, and how she would always move her head along to the beat coming from the song being played on the earbuds — sometimes a slow movement, a frown on her lips, and sometimes a quick one, whilst the girl smiled —; YanChen's ears would be able to catch onto how her fingers would make a weird and pleasing noise when they brushed against the pages of the book — even with the boys around him making fun of him, he could hear it above their stupid waves of laughter —, and his mind would soon notice how she would, discreetly, wipe away some lonely tears that would fall from her pretty eyes — even from afar, he knew her eyes were the stars missing from his night sky — every now and then, and he called himself dumb for not being able to understand if those tears were being caused by the words typed across the pages, the musical notes coming from her earphones or from some random unknown matter.
The boy loved that, after three weeks, he would no longer wake up and be already eager for the day to end, but, instead, on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, YanChen would think to himself that Friday was just around the corner, and, on Thursdays, he would go to bed with a huge smile on his face, wondering if the book would make the girl smile, cry or both on the next morning. It was in the fourth week that he realized how close the anonymous girl was to finishing the book, and that, maybe, it was about time for him to do something about that whole situation.
Friday mornings had become amusing to him.
YanChen would check on his phone every twenty seconds, impatiently waiting for the girl to walk through the big door of their department library; it was exactly 8:24 in the morning when she stepped in, happily greeting the librarian. It was time to work on his plan.
Just as they had previously agreed — because, due to some odd sign coming from the universe, a thunderstorm right as the plan was disposed to him, YanChen thought it would be a good idea to follow XingJie's ideas —, YanKai got up and ran into her direction, purposely tripping on his own foot and falling by her feet, and, just as all of them predicted, being the good and well-mannered girl that she seemed to be, she hurriedly asked him if he was okay; while the younger pretended to have sprained his right ankle, it was YanChen's turn to get up — carefully, but quickly, ripping apart a piece of the already-written-on sheet of paper. He could swear his heart and his lungs were having a heated discussion inside of his chest — one arguing over the other about which one should be the first to stop working — as he walked to the bookcase; it was weird, but, as his long fingers grabbed the eye-catching book, the boy smiled, the thought of finally touching the same book as her invading his mind. He had only a few seconds — knowing just how much of a bad lier YanKai was — to open the book, smell the pages, close it, place his little post-it note on the cover, and return to his seat; seeing him there, was all YanKai needed to stand up from the dirty floor, walking back to his table and leaving a confused girl behind.
As every Friday morning, she walked to the fifth bookcase to her left, her eyes scanned the third shelf, from the top down, and her hands held the book; perhaps it was due to how she'd always do all of those same steps before sitting down to read, but her vision didn't catch the blue note on the cover of the book — or, most likely, it was because the note and the cover of said book were colored by the same color. Only when she touched the 'shuffle' word displayed on her phone's screen, was when her eyes went back to the book; adjusting her position on the chair, her fingers started to tremble as they reached for the note.
Friday mornings are never the same after I first saw you, please text me XXX-XXXX-XXXX
He smiled. He smiled and my eyes softened. He smiled and I felt a knot in my throat. He smiled and I wished time would stop.
He smiled. He smiled and suddenly life had colors. He smiled and suddenly I saw something truly special, right in front of my eyes. He smiled and suddenly I smiled back.
He smiled. He smiled and my migraine vanished from my head. He smiled and all the internal bad thoughts that were clouding my mind went away. He smiled and I could swear I had never seen someone so beautiful.
He smiled. He smiled and I could feel my whole body scorching. He smiled and I couldn't send enough oxygen to my lungs. He smiled and I suddenly couldn't feel my legs. He smiled and I felt numb.
He smiled. He smiled and my heart rate increased, blood pressure went up, and breathing pace gained certain velocity. He smiled and I felt adrenaline and cortisol running through my body. He smiled and I felt butterflies.
Requested: No [but @yanchen-enthusiast and @linkeai there you go]
A/N: Yeah...
An increasing on my heart race, blood flushing through my veins faster than normal; low blood pressure, I'm feeling cold now, my hands start to shake, soon my whole body's shivering; tears start to form, and soon my vision is way too blurry from holding the wet droplets inside my eyes, not wanting those to stain my cheeks, chin, and wherever surfaces they might want to fall into.
Sitting down with my back against the headboard suddenly wasn't enough to make me feel better — which I would say it's strange, but all of this had never happened at times like this, at times past two in the morning —, but, unfortunately, I didn't have a great range of options besides that one; so I simply settled there, quietly bringing my knees to my chest, trying my best to keep my sobbing to a minimum volume.
Okay, it's official, I can't take it anymore, I need to get out of here, I need to go somewhere else, anywhere else; I just... Can't wake him up.
Tears, tears, my dear, and beloved tears, please stop falling down my face. Strength, strength, my awful and sunken strength, where are you when I need you the most? I need to move out of the bed, you know?! I finally have my shivering under control, but the quieter I try to move my legs from under the sheets, the colder my skin feels against it; I should've slept with pants on, I guess...
Sitting on the edge of the mattress never felt so weird; my feet were far from the floor, as always, but I felt the same butterflies on my stomach as if I was right at the top of a roller coaster. A blink of my eyes were all the time I needed to take a shaky, but simple, breath, and, of course, to feel an arm around my waist; well, his arm around my waist.
“YanChen, just go back to sleep.”
But, without a doubt, my words would never come out without my nose starting to run, making me sniff, and startling him, who wasted no time in fully sitting by my side, turning on the nightstand lamp, and putting on this worry-full expression.
He didn't even have to ask me what was wrong, his eyes were enough; and by the time more tears streaming down my cold cheeks, I already had my face buried on his chest, on his white sweater.
“I-I can't breathe, I...” But he didn't wait for me to finish, he already knew, didn't he?
“You're so cold.” And as fast as they had wrapped around me, his hands left my body to pull the pink blanket around it. “Your hands are shaking.” His big hands held mine so tightly but yet so fondly, like always. “It's going to be okay, I'm here, you're here with me.” Our bodies fitting each other like two puzzle pieces as I smelled his cologne, lazily smiled, without possible a priori realization, and cried more.
Yes, he knew. He knew what to say, and how to say it; he knew how to hold me, and how tight his grip should be; he knew how I'd feel if he cried with me, and so he held his tears; he knew I had never had an anxiety attack in the middle of the night, but he knew it was not the time to ask me about it; he knew how much I love his smile, so when I looked up at him, he smiled his worries away, just for me; he knew how much I love him, so he just kept whispering over and over again just how much he loved me; he knew how the sound of the rain could always calm me down, and so he made weird noises that, somehow, sounded a bit like the rain; he knew how much I hated when he saw me crying, so he slowly stretched his arm and turned off the light he had afore turned on; he knew how much the contact with his body would calm me down just a tad more, so he carefully pulled me to sit on his lap; he knew just how much staying still, added to all the crying, would give me a headache, so he started rocking his body back and forth, making sure to maintain a steady rhythm; he knew it hadn't been a nightmare, so he didn't stand up to show me that there was nothing under the bed; he knew it wasn't something I had seen on the internet, so he didn't bother picking up my phone to look at it; he knew how there was this one specific song that would help me during times like this, but he also knew that nowadays his voice would be better than any musical note. YanChen, he... he knew everything. He knew my problems; he knew my weakness, he knew me. And for that, I'll always be thankful.
Requested: No, but it’s dedicated [?] to @evanismyking and @linkeai
A/N: Straight pwp, I’m not even sorry. I had this idea while listening to Talking Body by Tove Lo this morning, and, again, I’m not even sorry.
You never actually thought that going to your boyfriend's house would be such a ride of emotions and feelings. He called you as the sun was disappearing on the horizon, and you didn't waste more than thirty minutes to get ready and go to his place.
As soon as he opened the door, you were greeted by that incredibly beautiful smile YanChen would have most of the times you were around, and you, instantly, smiled back; hugging him, and having him pulling you inside of the house, you started chuckling as you smelled a similar scent.
“Did you buy McDonald's food again?” You asked, detaching your body from his and looking at the counter in the kitchen, earning another smile as an answer, “Did you buy it for me too?”
“Of course, babydoll.” YanChen's arms were soon wrapped around your body, as he placed his chin on your shoulder, looking at the food as well.
“We can eat after we play, is that okay with you?” You turned around, pecking his pouty lips, as he nodded before letting go of your body, walking back into the living room.
You followed him, taking in your hands the game case, and getting confused as to why he had bought that game.
“Why did you buy this game? I thought you only liked zombie games.” You sat down next to him, holding the controller he was handing you.
“A friend of mine wanted to play it a while ago, like, about two years back? She bought it but ended up leaving it here after the first time we played it; I play it a lot.” He started to set the game for two players.
“She?” You weren't that jealous, only curious.
“She's moved to another city, plus she's got a boyfriend, PLUS I haven't seen her in a really long time.” YanChen smirked and pecked your lips, making you smile.
“You're so cute.” He blushed upon hearing your words. “What's the name of the game?”
“Brave World; it's a shooting and strategy game. I think you'll like it.”
You lost the game. It's not like you were playing against YanChen, the both of you were on the same team, but he had months and months of experience, while you had just learned which button to press in order to shoot someone; needless to say — and without your boyfriend's help — , you were quick killed, and was a pouty and whinny mess at YanChen's side, as the boy could only laugh at you and keep playing ever so gracefully.
You hated this, not playing, not having something else to pay attention to. Once you lost, you were decided to pay attention to the game, to your boyfriend's avatar, but one look at YanChen was all you needed to change your mind. He had his legs kind of spread, his knees bent; his cotton long leaves lilac t-shirt had the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, and he would tense his thighs' muscles every time the enemy team would be close to his avatar — and you loved riding his thigs. You watched as he would bite his bottom lip — he'd been biting at it for quite some time —, and as the veins in his forearms would pop out every time he would move his thumbs on the controller. Something inside of you snapped; maybe it was his position as he sat there, or how his hair was styled in a perfectly messy way, but you were certain that it was just him. Him being so fucking hot beautiful would always make you feel those known butterflies in your stomach, and, at that exact moment, those butterflies were flying to somewhere else.
“Can I give you a blowjob?” You eyes watched as his body became taut, his fingers no longer moving on the controller, his teeth leaving his lip, and his mouth being slightly open.
It took YanChen a couple of seconds before he turned his head, looking at you.
“Pretty please...” You pouted.
“W-What?” He left the controller on the floor and turned his whole body to face you, kneeling down.
“If you don't want me to, then it's completely okay, I won't force you t-” He was quick enough to hold your face in his right hand, his thumb stopping over your lips.
You looked him in the eyes for four seconds — you actually counted it, just to see if it would make you less nervous —, before lowering your sight to his hand, opening your lips a bit more, and touching his finger with the your tongue; your lips wrapped around the tip of his thumb rather quickly — only enough to tease him a bit — before pulling away with a kiss noise. The sigh that left YanChen's lips was audible enough for you to chuckle, turning your face to the left, and giving a quick kiss to his index finger, before he pulled his hand away from your face.
Simply as he knelt before you, he stumbled back into his initial position — back against the couch, legs bent apart —, muting the tv before looking back at you.
“Do what you do best, babydoll.” Maybe it was the nickname, maybe it was his eyes darkening as every second went by on the clock, or maybe it was the stupid smirk he had on his lips, but all you knew was that you knelt in the middle of his legs at the speed of light.
Kissing YanChen, at moments like that, felt like he was touching you in all the right places — when he actually had his hands on your face —; each time his bottom lip moved, you felt as if his left hand was harshly gripping your waist; when his upper lip moved, it felt like his other hand was grabbing your ass and pulling your body closer to his; when his teeth locked your bottom lip between them, though, was the moment you couldn't help but moan, closing your legs and bending your torso forward, gripping his shoulders and pressing his body further against the gray couch.
You pulled away from his lips, eyeing every single feature of his sculped-by-the-gods face — as if trying to memorize each one of them —; his eyes were only half opened, his lips were swollen and red — you were so sure you could kiss them for days nonstop —, and his hands had dropped from your face and hair to the floor. His chest would move rapidly as he became, eventually, more and more breathless when your fingers drew small circles on his chest, before both of your hands went to open his denim pants. Your right hand was back in his head, fingers curling around the dark locks of his hair as you pulled his head back, your other hand going past his underwear.
Oh boy, you would never actually be able to put in words how much you loved seeing him so powerless under your touch, but it surely gave you a rush of confidence every single time he would lock his jaw, groaning and licking his lips afterwards. You moved your hands slowly, and YanChen couldn't really point out if that was the reason behind his desperation, or if it was because of a growing headache he had developed as you kept on pulling at his hair — not that he didn't like it —, but he didn't want you to stop, and the feeling of being lightly tortured would only turn him on more and more.
When you decided it was already enough, you took your hands out of his pants, pulling them and his underwear down as much as his position would let you. With your face in front of his, you smirked and chuckled as he tried — failing — to have your lips on his, his disappointed groan bringing you joy. You gave one harsh bite to his golden neck before adjusting your position in between his legs — kneeling a bit further from his torso and bending over, trying to keep your ass up as much as possible — YanChen just always had a thing for your ass.
You appreciated how he looked at you through his eyelashes every time you'd do this; you liked how he'd always grab your hair — not too much to actually dominate your movements, but enough to make your head hurt, and to a smile to be formed on your lips — pulling at it, and loved how his palms and fingers would get sweaty, making your hair a tad clammy; you loved his quick and sudden thrusts into your mouth, and loved how your eyes would start to tear up, your saliva turning thicker; but, over all of that, you would become incredibly insane as the sounds he was making would reach your ears — your name, how much he loved you, how much of a good babydoll you were for him, profanities, or simply random and incoherent whispers, groans, moans, and, last but not least, screams.
For a single moment, your head went back to your biology classes, and to how your teachers would always tell you to never suck someone off without a condom; but the view you would always have, the feeling of his flesh against your tongue and lips, and the sinful way he'd always paint your rosy mouth and throat white, would always make you forget the useful advice. You took him out of your mouth, your left hand reaching out and grabbing his chin, making him look down at you; he understood what you wanted, and, after receiving a quick nod, you went back to doing what — as YanChen himself would say — you did best. Another thing you'd always love was how submissive he could turn if you pushed the right buttons, if you twisted your hand on a certain way, flicked your tongue on another, and looked up at him with your pretty eyes — god, he always loved your eyes. And, like that — with just the right amount of pressure in your suction, right amount of drool coming out of your mouth, right amount of moves of your tongue against his slit, right amount of force as your left hand played with his balls, and just the right amount of speed as your other hand would go up and down his dick —, YanChen came undone under your touch, his mouth falling open — teeth stopping from biting his bottom lip —, a rather high pitched moan being released, his hands going from your hair to your head, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Such a good boy, sunshine.” And by your trembling voice, YanChen was sure you had almost reached your own high just by sucking him off, another one of his stupid smirks appearing before your sight.
Veggies... we’re 555 now, oof, I’m literally crying [no, it’s not only for the meme]
I really can’t thank you all enough for this; I know, I know, this ain’t much for a lot of you, but I never even thought I’d get 100 followers, so this is a really big achievement for me.
Just, thank you so much, even though I don’t talk to most of you, you mean a lot to me, every single one of you.
I’ll just mention “a few” of you who inspire me, whose blogs just make me happy on a daily basis, the ones who keep up with my sh*, practically, every day, the ones who just shower me with love [and I, honestly, don’t know why], and etc...
I-I’ve reached 100 followers... And... This can’t be real... It’s been less than a month, how can this be, huh?
I’d like to do a quick shoutout to a few accounts that have inspired me to start this one. Thank you @scriptura-adrepticius, @incorrect-nine-percent-quotes and @yanjuniverse for inspiring me into getting back to writing imagines after such a long time, really, thank you so so so so so much
Before I say by-bye, I’d also like to thank some particular people. One is @infinityanjun , thank you for being my first follower ever, right on the day in which I created fccsvegetable, really, thank you (〃ω〃), and thank you @xiaogayy , @panda-sekac , @hopeless-lovex0 , @whu-zhengting , and @tol4rry for always appearing on my notifications even though I’ve never spoken to you before.
