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starsstuddedsky · 7 months

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Persimmon Problems

jaemin x reader

summary: fantasy crushes are all fun and games until it stops being a fantasy and he’s really talking to you. but what are you supposed to do when he invades every part of your life?

genre: fluff, angst, university au, non idol au, he’s not a frat boy but he’s basically a frat boy, inaccurate depictions of student council, I don’t actually know what this is

warnings: swearing, drinking, implied sex (it’s pg-13), lmk if I missed any

wc: 18.3k (oops)

a/n: ahahaha remember that jaemin dream… yeah. anyways so I’ve looked at this for so long that I don’t even know what this is anymore, all I know is that I can’t keep working on it. also I still don't know what a persimmon tastes like so.. yeah. I really wanted to try one but if this stays in my drafts any longer I will go insane. I hope you all enjoy!!!! as always I'd love to hear what you think :)

You’ve never had persimmon before but you think maybe it’s the best word to describe Na Jaemin. He is a persimmon in your palm, an unknown flavor to be discovered if you dare to bite. It doesn’t help that he chose to wear orange today, the sweater a shade away from pink.

There’s a pinch at your side. “You’re staring again.”

You glare at Renjun, who doesn’t bother to look up from his laptop, working on the graphic for the student council. “Was not.”

“Whatever,” he says. “Just don’t let the pretty boy distract you from paying attention because I needed to finish this yesterday.”

“The only one distracting me is you, and you aren’t pretty.” You pretend his silence is agreement instead of him trying to force you to take notes as Professor Bae closes up the lecture.

It’s not that you can’t focus around Na Jaemin–your perfect notes at the end of class prove just the opposite. Jaemin simply exists in another world. There is your corner, mostly filled with student council responsibilities and never ending university work, and there is Na Jaemin, honorary member of every frat on campus. Not that you’ve been thinking that much about him, but his Instagram shows up in your recommended often enough for you to know that he goes to parties nearly every weekend. The sliver of overlap in the Venn diagram of your world and his only includes Microbiology on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1 to 4, and that’s enough for you. To fantasize about him from here, a fruit you’ll never have the opportunity to try.

Jaemin starts to turn around and you quickly turn to Renjun, resisting the urge to peek at him out of the corner of your eye. You look at the shapes on Renjun’s computer instead.

“That looks like shit.”

“Trust the process,” he says.

“You spent the entire lecture working on this, you are aware we have a lab where you actually have to do things right?”

“You don’t think you can handle it on your own?”

“Stop trying to bait me into doing all the work.” You close your laptop, standing and stretching. You see Jaemin out of the corner of your eye, a blob of black hair shuffling down the aisle toward the door to the classroom. The orange-pink sweater is actually a cardigan, large cream colored buttons keeping it together. That’s when you realize you’re staring again. Shit.

“Are we eating before lab or do you seriously think you’ll finish that thing in the next thirty minutes?” You ask Renjun, who still hasn’t moved.

“You want to be president when you aren’t even pressuring me into posting the election announcements that were supposed to go out yesterday?”

“I want to eat something before we have to stare into microscopes, so what do you want?” You wonder if he’s focused enough to miss you grabbing his wallet out of his bag.

“Whatever you want is fine and if you use my card it will literally decline.” You curse and toss his wallet back into his backpack.

“Should have taken that class with Chenle, his card never declines.”

“That’s because it’s his parents’ black card.” He finally looks up from his laptop at you. “Are you getting the food or not?”

You open your mouth to say something extremely witty and/or smart, but your stomach rumbles. “I’m going to fire you when I’m president.”

“And who else will put up with your bullshit?” he calls as you walk down the aisle. You prepare a mature response (sticking your tongue out at him), walking backwards. Directly into someone—bouncing off their chest, more specifically.

Hands grab your shoulders before you can react, straightening you before you have a chance to fall. “Woah there.”

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” you say as you turn around and find Na Jaemin staring at you. Apologies spill out, even as he smiles at you, a true, knees-to-jelly, threat-to-sunshine smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says.

“Sorry,” you repeat. Your brain struggles to diversify its vocabulary with him looking at you, smiling with his eyes in full focus. His eyes are so dark it’s difficult to distinguish between his pupils and his irises. Staring, again, the third time in an hour. Why can’t you be normal around him?

“I was blocking your way out anyway, so it wasn’t all your fault.” He steps back, letting you out of the aisle. At least, giving you the space to do it, since your feet decide not to work. He tilts his head at you, sending your brain into a spiral of predictions, ranging from he’s going to ask you out (rather fantastical) to he’s going to tell you that you have something stuck between your teeth (horribly realistic).

Instead, he says, “You’re YN, right?”

“Yeah. How did you know that?”

His smile widens when you say yes. “Student council vice president, right?”

You don’t trust your voice so you nod.

“I’m Jaemin,” he says, extending his hand for a moment like he wants to shake hands but he pulls away at the last second. “Your picture is on the website.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth going through the motions on its own since your brain’s whiteboard has been wiped completely clean. The only thing left is NA JAEMIN in giant bold letters, bright red marker and all.

“Yes, it is,” he says. Does he know the effect his smile has on people? Legally it could be considered a weapon. He pauses a moment longer, like he wants to say something else but instead he turns away, walking back to his seat, waving at half the class because of course he does.

You don’t have to turn around to feel Renjun staring at you. You don’t feel like hearing his judgy comments, even when they’re only passed on through his eyes. Whoever said eyes are the window to the soul was right—Renjun’s give you a clear view of the most judgmental person you have ever met. You leave the class without looking back.

Very few places nearby campus sell edible food, and even fewer are ever empty enough to be able to grab food and eat before the three hour lab starts. Today is even worse than normal, as if everyone has chosen to be hungry at the same time as you. You end up at a 7/11, grabbing Takis since they’re the only chips Renjun will eat. You grab an iced tea, tapping your finger in line as you wait. Getting the food was enough of a distraction to keep you from thinking about Jaemin but as you wait for the person in front of you try to get a discount using a coupon that expired three months ago, you go over every millisecond of the interaction–and god, you were so awkward. All you really did was apologize to him, you couldn’t even move. You have got to grow up, stop acting like a middle schooler with a crush.

The cashier finally gives up, giving the person a discount and waving them out. You set your food down and smile at her. She does her best to put a customer service smile back on her face, though you can see the exhaustion. You thank her as profusely as you can.

By the time you make it back to the lecture room, there’s barely five minutes left of break.

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Renjun says, grabbing the bag out of your hands. You keep your iced tea on the side farthest from him, glaring at him until he tilts the bag so that you can reach it too. “We are going to make Donghyuck cook tonight, I need real food.”

“Agreed,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spew hot chip dust everywhere.

“And I took pictures of you embarrassing yourself in front of Jaemin, so please try to replace me as your social media correspondent.” He smiles at you over the purple bag.

“You’re horrible, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Music to my ears, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, Renjun’s graphic does look good, though still not good enough to warrant how much time he spent on it. The messy shapes don’t look half as bad when they’re the right color, and all the information is listed (not in Comic Sans, though it’s only a matter of time before he tries to use it again. You have yet to find out if he actually likes the font or just wants to be annoying). He posts it an hour after the lab, which wasn’t half bad. Your percent error was under 50% for once.

It’s a Friday morning, no classes since your university actually listened to the student requests for a three day weekend, which the student council (you) takes full credit for. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you are responsibility free. Instead you sit in cheap plastic chairs rented from the events and planning committee and under a tent that’s in serious danger of blowing away.

You cling to your ball cap, NCIT STUDENT COUNCIL embroidered on the front. The papers in front of you whip around, the weights on top of them holding steady. At least it isn’t raining, though the thick clouds overhead get darker every minute.

Realistically, there’s no reason for you to be here. All the information about running for student council is posted online and with over 30,000 students, only a small portion of the student body actually care—none of whom are walking around campus at 11 in the morning on a Friday. You pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders. Just another fifteen minutes and then Jisung will relieve you. Mark should be the one freezing his ass off since he’s the one that insists on upholding tradition, but as president he takes advantage of avoiding work whenever he can.

Only two and a half months before that privilege is yours. Assuming you are elected, of course, but there’s no real danger in losing that. You’ve been a part of the council since freshman year, appointed as vice president as a sophomore. Few people have more qualifications, and fewer are actually interested in the position. Usually the competition comes from within the cabinet, but none of the rest of the guys have said anything about the running, though that might be because you haven’t shut up about the position since freshman year. Either way, the position is all but yours, and there is absolutely no reason you need to sit here when you could be studying for midterms.

A strong gust of wind blows from in front of you instead of behind and this time you are too slow. Your cap flies off your head, tumbling across the empty quad. You shuffle after it, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly over your shoulders, which helps protect you from the cold winds. Unfortunately, said cold winds don’t stop blowing, and your hat blows faster than you can shuffle. It reaches to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the squad by the time it finally stops.

Moving as fast as you can wrapped up one dry day away from mummification, you try to snatch the cap before it gets blown away again. You bend down to reach for it but a pair of sneakers appear in front of you and a mitten-clad hand grabs it before you can. You stand up and find Jaemin, wearing bright red earmuffs that have a green headband to make it look like a pair of cherries. He holds your hat out, smiling when he sees you (when he recognizes you?).

“What’s wrong? Hat got your tongue?” He waits, with an expectant smile. The boy next to him, wearing more layers than you, shakes his head. “Sorry,” Jaemin says, “bad joke, I know, but I couldn’t help it.”

Even the most lovesick part of you can’t defend him on that one. You take your hat from his outstretched hand, sticking it back on your head when you realize what your hair must look like after crossing the quad with all the wind.

“It’s Jaemin, from microbio,” he says, as if there’s actually a chance you don’t know him.

“Thanks, Jaemin from microbio.”

He flashes a smile that warms you better than any sun. “My pleasure, Vice President.”

“You can just call me YN,” you mumble.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You swear he winks, though maybe it’s the wind blowing in his eyes.

The boy next to him nudges Jaemin with his shoulder, keeping his hands tucked safely in the pockets of his jacket. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “This is Jeno, he’s–God, I guess he’s my best friend.” He glances at Jeno, unimpressed. “The position is temporary.”

“Thanks!” Jeno says brightly.

“Jeno, this is the vice president of the student council,” he says.

“YN,” you say, “I’d shake your hand but…” You show your hands, stuck keeping the blanket wrapped around you.

“It’s alright, I lost my gloves, so my hands are stuck here.” Jeno lifts his jacket with his hands in the pockets, just to prove his point.

“Hey, I didn’t get a handshake,” Jaemin says.

“Did you need a handshake?”

He tilts his head, showing off his jawline, not that you’re paying attention to that at all. It simply calls attention to itself, and who are you to ignore a jawline that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo (not the ninja turtle). He must be cold with so much skin exposed.

“I’ll settle for some advice,” Jaemin says. Right, maybe you shouldn’t be comparing his face to famous works of art mid-conversation (save it for the Instagram stalking like everyone else).

“Advice?”

“I was actually looking for you anyway.” Jaemin glances at Jeno before meeting your eyes again. “The student council election is open to anyone, right?”

“The presidency is open to seniors that are enrolled here, but yeah,” you say. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I’m going to apply.”

You blink at him. “For president? Of student council?”

“Yeah,” he says. Jeno shuffles beside him, stuffing his hands impossibly deeper into his pockets.

President… but that’s your position. If it wasn’t for the senior-only rule, you’d already be president. You rose through the ranks, suffered through a vice presidency with Mark to get here–it’s your position.

“Do I apply there?” He asks, pointing at the table you’re supposed to be sitting at.

“The application is online,” you find yourself saying, “you have to submit a resume and go through a qualifying process, and submit your proposals for campaign policies and a whole bunch of other stuff, it’s all on the application information.” You’re about halfway through your own application, though it’s mostly copying and pasting from the document you’ve been working on since you joined student council.

“You can scan the QR code on this blanket, it’ll take you to the application.” You hold it straight, cursing Renjun in your head for being so creative with marketing. You look like an idiot, waiting for him to scan your shoulder.

“Cool,” Jaemin says, pulling out his phone, but instead of scanning the code, he hands it to you, a new contact profile with your name already in it. You glance between the phone and the smiling boy. “Can I ask you if I have any questions?”

Jaemin is asking you for his phone number. To help with his campaign, against you. Your brain works in overdrive, trying to determine how you are supposed to feel. Your heart doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the internal turmoil. You put your number into his phone and hand it back to him.

“Sure,” you say, even as your brain screams at you not to. “Whatever I can do to help.”

He grins and your brain fully malfunctions, gears popping, cartoon sparks flying. “Thank you, YN.”

“No problem,” you mumble, knowing that’s not true at all even without a functioning brain cell. You should have let him call you vice president when you had the chance–this is so much worse.

“I should go back,” you say, taking a step backward, a gamble considering your history of walking backwards around him. Trying not to linger in Jaemin’s presence is like a planet resisting the pull of gravity to the sun–no matter how hard you try, you can’t beat physics.

But maybe he isn’t the sun because when you take another step, Jaemin takes a step to follow you. Are there stars that revolve around planets? But Jaemin doesn’t revolve around you, he doesn’t even exist in your solar system. Maybe a black hole is a better metaphor, sucking you in from a galaxy over. You should stop making metaphors based on middle school astronomy.

You peer at Jaemin as he continues across the quad, walking leisurely beside you as you shuffle. Jeno trails behind slightly, risking the cold to pull out a phone.

“Are you following me?”

Jaemin looks at you over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “You think you’re that special already?” Before you can answer, he laughs. “But, yeah, I am. I can’t leave you all by yourself out here, anything could happen.”

“As opposed to by myself at the table?”

He shrugs. “There’s two chairs. I could sit with you.”

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, looking him up and down. He’s got a puffy jacket (bright red, probably to match with the earmuffs) and jeans. “You’d freeze in five minutes.”

“You could–”

“Are we going to Doyoung’s or not?” Jeno calls from behind you.

“Right,” Jaemin says, “I definitely did not forget about that.” He glances at you. “Rain check?”

“I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to keep me company freezing my ass off,” you say, “but seriously, I wouldn’t let you stay anyway.” You reach the table, turning to face him.

Jaemin pouts. “Why not?”

“For starters, I don’t want to be responsible for the hypothermia you’re bound to catch,” you say, “and it’s a student council thing. You’re not a part of the student council.”

“Not yet.”

Right. The standard, crush-threatening-the-dream-you’ve-spent-three-years-working-toward-situation. “Also, no offense, but I barely know you.”

“Offense taken,” Jaemin says, holding a hand over his chest. “We’ve taken half a class together!”

“We’ve spoken twice if you count today!” You say. Does he really not get it? “At the very least it would be awkward.”

“I take full offense to the idea that I could ever be awkward,” Jaemin says. He folds his arms over his chest, eyeing you. “I’ll prove it to you.” Your gut twists, sending off the warning bells, but there’s no way Jaemin is actually flirting with you. He probably hates the idea that someone doesn’t immediately trust him with their heart and soul. He doesn’t need to know that you already do. That’s why there’s simply no way he’s flirting with you–it simply doesn’t make sense.

“Dude, we seriously need to go,” Jeno says. “Doyoung is spam texting.”

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I’ll see you in class.”

“Bye Jaemin,” you say. You watch him walk away with Jeno, throwing his arm over his friend’s shoulders. He doesn’t look back at you.

What just happened?

Jisung approaches so quietly you jump when you turn around and he stands in front of you. “Was that Na Jaemin?”

“Yes–wait, how do you know him?”

Jisung avoids your eyes, turning to watch the pair of boys trudge away. “Renjun talks.”

You’re going to kill him. But first you need to defrost, so you hand the blanket over to Jisung and jump a few times to warm yourself up, trying in vain to make up for the loss.

“What was he doing here?” Jisung asks, wrapping himself so tightly his feet are bound together. One strong push would send him tumbling over, probably unable to get up. If only it was Renjun.

“He wants to be president.”

“Of student council?”

“Apparently.”

“Huh.” Jisung sits back. “Aren’t you supposed to be president?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Jisung stares at you.

“Have fun!” You say. The air without Jaemin is so much colder. Maybe your toes have frostbite. “It’s cold!”

Jisung grunts, huddling down and you don’t spare a second look at him. There’s a solid chance he’s texting Renjun already, since your best friend has decided to be a dirty gossip. You walk along the sidewalk and try to tell your heart that no matter how pretty his smile is, Na Jaemin is bad for you. Your heart reminds you that he saved your hat.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, fully expecting to see a message from Renjun but instead a string of numbers show up. you better save my number :). You stare at your phone until it fades to black, which is why you know the exact moment it starts to snow. Though it’s March and the groundhog didn’t see its shadow, a snowflake falls on your phone, melting quickly. You walk home in the snow, thoughts of Jaemin piling up a snowbank that no plow can clear.

For breakfast on Tuesday morning, you have an untoasted bagel with a side of impending doom. You woke up with the feeling, a knot in your gut that usually only appears before exams or after you drink too much coffee, but today has chosen to warn you of unknown horrors yet to come. It has to be the dream you had, only you forgot it the moment you woke up.

[Bitch #1] You’re just trying to avoid jaemin.

You don’t know why you expected Renjun to support you. Unsurprisingly, he found out about Jaemin’s intent to run for president before you made it back to your apartment, and dedicated an hour to lecturing you over FaceTime, then spent the entire pregame on Saturday side eyeing you.

Jaemin’s message sits at the bottom of your recent texts. He hasn’t sent anything since Friday, though neither have you. You close your phone and try not to think about him, an impossible task. In the end you can’t think of a valid excuse, and go to your morning lecture. It’s one of your favorite classes (world history of medicinal developments 1200-1600) but today your mind drifts, still trying to figure out why today feels so off. Are you forgetting an assignment? You’ve checked the syllabus for all of your classes and the reminders your professors sent out but nothing has slipped past your the list on your planner. You check your outfit after class to see if you put something on backwards but you look fine. By the time you head toward microbio, you’ve resigned yourself to a day of inexplicable anxiety.

You should have trusted your gut.

You take one step into the room and the knot in your gut twists itself into a mess that spells out leave now while you still have the chance.

In your normal spot at the back of the classroom, sitting beside Renjun, sits Jaemin, grinning and waving at you like he’s been sitting there the entire semester.

You walk carefully down the aisle of desks, stopping in front of him. “You’re in my seat.”

Jaemin doesn’t seem to notice Renjun’s snort, opting to smile at you. “Hello YN, it’s nice to see you.”

“Hi Jaemin,” you say, “you’re in my seat.”

He rolls his eyes, sliding his backpack to the side and slipping into the next seat over. “I was just getting to know Renjun.”

You glare at your best friend, sitting beside him. “I’m sure he’s been lovely.” Renjun smiles innocently, turning back to photoshopping a graphic of the student council.

Jaemin pulls out his laptop, sitting leaning back into the chair. Is he planning on sitting here for the whole class?

“What are you doing?” You ask softly. Renjun continues to click around, not even pretending not to eavesdrop.

“I told you, I could never be awkward,” Jaemin says.

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, shrinking in your seat. Does he really not notice the class staring at you? Okay, maybe staring is an exaggeration, and it’s not the whole class, but the people he normally sits with keep glancing back at you and whispering to each other.

Professor Bae walks in and they turn back to the front, saving you from (more) embarrassment. From the corner of your eye, you watch the boys at your sides—Renjun doesn’t bother to open the notes doc he shares with you, opting for continuing the edit, which you can’t really complain about because it’s the series of posts you asked him to make. Jaemin pulls up a cartoon series, Teen Titans, volume off with the subtitles on.

“Is this what you do every class?” You whisper.

Jaemin looks away from his fake typing for a moment. “She grades for attendance, not participation.”

“Are you even passing this class?”

Jaemin grins. “Sweetheart, I skew the curve.” Just to prove his point, he pauses the bickering superheroes and pulls up the grade review for the class. True to his word, his scores are well above average, rivaling your own. With the exception of Renjun, you haven’t met anyone who’s gotten similar grades.

Jaemin smiles, switching back to the show. He exudes confidence, and why wouldn’t he? Not only hot and popular, he’s smart too, smarter than you—it takes you hours of studying, exam cram sessions, paying attention in class—he doesn’t even hide that he isn’t paying attention, and from his reputation alone, you know he doesn’t spend as much time studying as you. Does he know what he’s getting into with student council? Even the laziest of presidents put in several hours of work a week.

Jaemin laughs at the show. Renjun finally glances at you, raising his eyebrows at Jaemin in a silent question. You shrug, mouthing, I don’t know either. He purses his lips and turns back to photoshop. You’re sure the second Jaemin steps away he’s going to be on your ass again.

Belatedly, you realize you’ve spent far too much of the class thinking about Jaemin. Professor Bae has already moved on from weekly announcements to new topics, meaning you have a date with YouTube review videos tonight. Thank god Professor Bae actually cares about her students and has recorded lectures. You just have to hope you didn’t miss one of the exam hints she only drops during class.

Jaemin and Renjun stay quiet for the rest of the class period, though it does little to help you actually focus. Between Jaemin existing next to you and the inevitability of Renjun’s judgment, it’s hard to stay focused on virus identification. You take half the notes you usually do.

But can you really blame it on them? It’s you that loses focus, you that is distracted by Jaemin beside you when he doesn’t actively try to pull your attention. He may have disrupted the balance of the universe by sitting beside you, but that doesn’t mean you have to fall off the scale.

Professor Bae announces the end of lecture a couple minutes early. You swear you see her raise her eyebrows at you and glance at Jaemin before disappearing into her office for the half hour break before lab. Is it too self-absorbed to wonder if she’s taking things the wrong way? But what is the wrong way? None of it makes any sense except that maybe Jaemin is too stubborn for his own good. Funny how a week ago he didn’t know your name and now you can say he’s ‘too’ something.

“So what do you normally do during break?” Jaemin asks. “Other than bounce off the chest of your roguishly handsome classmates.”

You roll your eyes to keep him from noticing how flustered his comment actually makes you. “Go over the prelab in case someone forgets to do it–”

“I always do it!” Renjun says.

“–but usually get snacks and do homework. Lately Renjun has been doing a lot of student council work during class, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to manage his time.”

“Says the one who asked me to design a scheduler for them.”

“Just because you’re good at Canva doesn’t mean you’re on top of your work.”

Renjun shakes his head. You can tease him all you want, at the end of the day, you know that it doesn’t really matter. The truth is, he just doesn’t need to study as much as you. Sort of like Jaemin, and absolutely nothing like you.

“What do you normally do during break?” You ask.

Jaemin purses his lips. “Well, my lab partner rarely does the prelab, so usually I let him look at mine.” From the row where Jaemin normally sits, a guy in a striped yellow polo glares back at you.

You glance between him and Jaemin, who turns away from his partner to look at you. “Should you go over there?”

“Probably.” He doesn’t make a move to get up, instead tilting his head and smiling at you a little. “You’re very interesting, YN.”

You cough, breaking eye contact to fiddle with the A key on your laptop which is in serious danger of falling off. “Well, your lab partner is probably going to try and inject you with a virus during lab if you don’t go over there.”

Jaemin laughs. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to you later.” He stands up and glances at Renjun, who finally looks away from his laptop. Jaemin nods at him and flashes a smile at you, showing perfect rows of white teeth, and finally turns around, backpack half open in his hand.

You tear your eyes away from him, turning back to Renjun, who sits with his elbow on the armrest, chin in hand. He softens his eyes and looks up at you. “You’re very interesting, YN.”

“Shut up,” you say, pushing his elbow out from under him, though he doesn’t fall like you wish he would.

He shakes his head. “I do not like that guy.”

“Really?” You frown. “Why?”

“The fact that you’re even asking me that.” He sighs. “He’s just not my favorite type of guy.” He glares at you before you can tease him. “You seem to exclusively be attracted to shitty men, and then I become associated with them through proximity and it’s overall not a fun time for me.”

“Okay first of all, you barely know Jaemin,” you say, “and second of all, nothing’s ever going to happen with him.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows.

“Seriously,” you insist, “he’s literally Jaemin, and I’m… not his type. You can hate him all you want but don’t do it on my behalf.”

Renjun stares at you a little longer. He doesn’t believe you, and he’s probably right not to. But he turns back to his computer and doesn’t argue back.

“I didn’t do the pre lab, though,” Renjun says, “that was a lie.”

“I’m going to kill you and make it look like an accident.”

Jaemin doesn’t show up to class on Thursday. You stare at your phone, the single message in your conversation with him. Curiosity and something bitter boil together, making it impossible to think logically. He acts so friendly around you it would be easy to mistake him for a friend, but it’s not like you don’t have friends. You wouldn’t have a second thought about sending a text like this to Renjun or Donghyuck–but you’ve never felt butterflies when either of them looked at you.

So when your phone dies, you slip it into the pocket of your sweatshirt instead of trying to fight Mark for a charger (ever since “someone” stole one, he’s been overprotective of the cords). It’s movie night anyways, it’s not like you need your phone.

“Wait,” you say, “since when are we watching Endgame?”

“We literally just voted,” Donghyuck says, “You could have tied it for Lilo and Stitch but you weren’t paying attention.” He glares at you.

Mark throws an arm over your shoulders. “It’s all good, YN can just make the popcorn.”

“It’s hitting buttons on a microwave.”

“Oh, would you look at that, the movie’s starting!” Mark says, pushing you off the couch and towards the kitchen of his apartment. You glare at him, but the guys have made you watch Marvel movies enough times that you are glad for the excuse to escape any part of it. It’s bad enough you can hear it from the kitchen.

The shelves in Mark’s apartment are tall enough that he keeps a stool in the kitchen so that he can reach the highest of them. Of course that’s where he keeps his popcorn, so you jump as high as you can, snatching the box. Except you pull a little too hard and the box flies clean out of your hand, your feet slipping out from under you. You tumble to the ground, narrowly avoiding banging your head on the faux marble countertop.

A moment later, Donghyuck appears standing over you, box of popcorn in one hand. “You could have just used the stool.”

“That’s so much work.”

“And yet it keeps you off the floor.” He holds out his free hand and helps you stand. Your tailbone hurts a little but otherwise it seems you dodged major damage.

“You okay?” Chenle shouts.

“Fine,” you shout back. You wonder what the odds are that they’d let you bleed out to finish the movie—probably higher than what you want to calculate. At least Donghyuck is as anti-Endgame as you.

He sets the box on the counter, pulling the plastic off a bag and putting it in the microwave for five minutes. You would’ve just used the popcorn button but Donghyuck insists it tastes better this way. He turns around, leaning against the counter and studying you.

“So,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows. “‘So’ what?”

“So, Jaemin.” Donghyuck stares at you, eyes unreadable. He’s been like this ever since you met him—pulling people apart with his eyes and extracting the most important bits, all with a smile on his face. He knew Shotaro was going to drop out before Shotaro did.

“He’s…” A friend? A crush? The guy you wish would stay out of your life so you could keep daydreaming about him?

“He’s sort of famous,” Donghyuck says. “Or infamous, depending on who you ask.”

“And if I ask you?”

Donghyuck smiles like this is going according to his script. “He’s lots of fun to party with. I don’t know anyone that doesn’t like him.”

“But?” You jump when the first piece of popcorn pops.

Donghyuck pins you down with his eyes. “But he isn’t the boyfriend type. I mean, I’m not best friends with the guy, but it’s pretty obvious, and I talked to—”

“Stop.” You hold a hand up. “I know exactly what kind of guy he is, I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m not saying you’re an idiot, I just—”

“Donghyuck, I get it.” You stare back at him. “I really do, but I promise I know what I’m doing.” Okay, maybe that last part is a lie, but you know what you aren’t doing. You don’t expect a single thing from Na Jaemin.

“I heard he’s running for president.”

“Come on,” you say, “you think he can beat me?” Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. He won’t call you out on it, but he doesn’t have to. Your lie doesn’t even convince yourself. Jaemin has it all—grades, good looks, and, most importantly, popularity. Yes, he can beat you. Easily.

“Why are you helping him?”

“Jisung can’t keep his mouth shut, huh?”

“Renjun was actually the one that told me, but that’s not the point,” Donghyuck says.

“He hasn’t even asked for help,” you say, “and it’s not like I’m going to give up. I just…”

“You like him,” Donghyuck says. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to try to deny it but you won’t fight a battle that’s already lost. But you won’t admit it either.

“I know what I’m doing.”

Donghyuck chews on his lip for a moment. “Just be careful,” he says, “I do care about you. A little. Just a tiny bit. And from what I know, Jaemin is a good guy, but I don’t want you to get hurt because he isn’t what you want him to be.”

“Gross, stop acting like we’re friends,” you say.

“Never mind, I take it all back,” he says, “and I won’t be your vice president.”

“Too late.” You shrug. “You already signed a contract.”

“Fine, I’ll veto everything you propose.”

“You don’t have the power to do that.”

He tossed his hands up. “What is the point of being vice president?”

You beam at him. “Doing the shit I don’t want to do!”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue back but he pauses, sniffing at the air, and that’s when you realize the popcorn has long since stopped popping. Behind Donghyuck, smoke rises.

He curses, pressing the button to open the door only to take a wave of smoke straight in the face. At least the bag isn’t on fire. You laugh as he waved his hand in front of his face, coughing.

“Dude, what is that smell?” Mark shouts from the living room.

You spend half the movie bickering with Donghyuck while trying to get the sharp smoky scent out of Mark’s kitchen. By the time the Avengers have all the infinity stones again and are in the final battle, you are curled up on the floor with a blanket, the popcorn bowl confiscated by Chenle when he realized how much you and Donghyuck ate while making it (it sort of tastes like smoke anyways). Two Marvel movies later, Mark shakes you awake and sends you and the rest of the guys out.

You’re so tired by the time you get home, you plug your phone in and fall asleep. That’s why you don’t see the message until your alarm goes off the next morning.

[Na Jaemin] you busy?

For the past three weeks, you’ve tried meditation. Renjun swears by it, but you’ve seen him lose it over half a quesadilla, so it doesn’t exactly instill confidence in you. Still, you set aside ten minutes every morning to listen to the podcast he sent you. It’s meant to be calming, to connect you with yourself, and usually you do feel better, at least for a few minutes.

You peek at your phone, checking how much time in the lesson is left (3 and a half minutes). No new notifications.

Jaemin’s message gave you a heart attack when you woke up. He sent it at 8:12pm, probably right after your phone died. So seeing his message first thing in the morning woke you up pretty fast. You sent an apology that you definitely didn’t rewrite fifteen times, and now you wait.

But no, you’re meditating right now. Clearing your mind, not thinking about a single thing except the air that floods your lungs, letting your heart beat twice before releasing the air again. You peek your right eye open. No new notifications.

The narration ends and you sigh, laying back on your bed and checking your schedule for the day even though you’ve memorized it. In half an hour you need to be in the library to meet with your study group, then a council meeting, some space for lunch (which will undoubtedly end up crashed by Chenle or Donghyuck), then more homework in the afternoon. Tonight you’re supposed to go to a party thrown by one of Mark’s friends from grad school—depending on whether Renjun can find out if he’s a poli-sci major or not.

You jump when your calendar disappears and the incoming call screen pops up. You stare at Jaemin’s name for a couple seconds before your brain begins to function again, and you slide the button at the bottom of your phone to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“YN,” Jaemin says. His voice is a little deeper than normal, raspy like he just woke up. “I was starting to think you’d blocked me.”

“Sorry, my phone died last night and Mark doesn’t let anyone use his chargers.”

Jaemin laughs, the phone distorting the quality, sounding choppy and un-Jaemin. “Damn, does the student body know he treats his council like this?”

You laugh a little but can’t think of anything else to say. The silence stretches longer as Jaemin doesn’t speak either. The ceiling of your apartment has a constellation of holes, evidence of the former tenant’s antics. You have yet to figure out exactly what it could be—stabbing the ceiling with a broomstick? What does Jaemin’s ceiling look like? He’s so hard to pin down, like the more you get to know him the less he makes sense. He’s the type to have a messy room with clothes tossed everywhere and a bed that’s never made, yet he’s also the type to keep it neat, put up diagrams to match the college aesthetic of studying even if Jaemin himself is allergic to it.

“So,” Jaemin says, apparently realizing you aren’t going to say anything else. “I actually texted last night because I wanted to see you.”

You shove down the butterflies that spring up. “For what?”

“First of all, it’s cruel that you don’t think I’d want to see you just to see you. But also I was gonna ask to go over microbio together because I heard a rumor that Professor Bae talked about the final.”

“Don’t you have a lab partner?”

“Yeah, he’s who told me she talked about it. Unfortunately he’s worse at taking notes than me.” He pauses. “Besides, you’re much cuter.”

“Oh.” The butterflies breach containment, digging like madmen trying to escape your stomach.

“So are you free?”

Despite just checking your schedule, your mind goes blank. You frown, trying to remember what you’d just seen, and thank every deity that might exist that Jaemin can’t see your face right now.

“I’m free after the council meeting. How is 12:30?”

“Damn, council meetings on Fridays,” Jaemin says, “that works though. Meet you in the library?”

“We can use the council room on the third floor,” you say, “no one else will be there.”

“Okay,” Jaemin says, “see you soon, YN.”

“Bye, Jaemin.”

The butterflies have turned into zombies, rotting in your stomach and spoiling the leftover popcorn from last night. It’s just sharing notes. It’s just Jaemin. He’s just a boy from another world. The butterflies groan and demand chocolate.

Council meetings feel a little bit like the Magic School Bus series. The tagline plays in your head: A normal council meeting? With this group? No way!

Some of the blame can be directed towards having such an eclectic group of majors, Mark as the only true political science major. The rest of the group has been adamant about keeping the council safe from political science majors (how Mark doesn’t see the horrors of his classmates you truly don’t know). Another point towards Jaemin, being biochem and pre-med.

Though being a non-poli-sci major doesn’t mean he can handle the presidency. Mark can barely do that. Not that he’s a bad president. Though it sometimes feels like you do all the heavy lifting for him to take credit for, he does work hard. No, Mark’s problem isn’t his leadership—it’s that he doesn’t know when to give up.

The council meeting is long done but he continues to bicker with Donghyuck, who holds the entire student council hostage.

“It’s a proven fact,” Mark says. “How are you arguing with science?”

“Can science tell me what I feel?” Donghyuck folds his arms over his chest. His laptop has faded to black, the meeting notes long forgotten. “This isn’t about facts, it’s about my experience!”

You check your phone. The meeting has already gone over fifteen minutes. Any longer and Jaemin could walk in on a very not-empty room with Mark committing a crime against Donghyuck for saying that Froot Loops have individual flavors. Maybe it’s time to intervene.

“You’re just gaslighting yourself,” Mark says, “it’s not physically possible!”

“Well, you’re not physically possible!”

“That makes negative sense. I’m getting dumber listening to your attempts to argue.”

“Okay,” you say, standing up so quickly your chair falls back. “This isn’t council business anymore. All in favor of concluding the meeting?” According to the official rules, Mark is the only one that can conclude the meeting, but Jisung’s hand flies up, followed quickly by Renjun and Chenle.

“Cool, majority rule,” you say, ignoring the outrage on Mark’s face. Donghyuck pretends to be mad too, but he was only arguing with Mark to piss him off. He’ll probably follow the older boy around just to ruin his day. The two always have some fight going on—you’re convinced the reason Donghyuck agreed to be your vice president (if you win) is just because Mark would hate it.

Jisung leaves first, eager to escape from Donghyuck and Mark. Donghyuck pauses long enough to write a few more summarizing notes on the meeting but catches up to Mark before he can vanish, continuing to pester him about Froot Loops.

“Going home,” Renjun says, “we’re going out tonight, by the way. Turns out Taeyong is an econ major, and also a former frat president.”

“Huh,” Chenle says, “I can’t believe neither Donghyuck or me know him.”

Renjun shrugs. “I need to finish a couple projects since nothing will get done tomorrow.” He grins. “See you guys later.”

“Bye Renjun,” you say, tapping your phone screen to check the notifications.

[Na Jaemin] in the library [Na Jaemin] lost in the library [Na Jaemin] nvm found the stairs

[yn] need me to come find you?

[Na Jaemin] nah i don’t get lost (yes please)

“You’re texting with Jaemin?” Chenle breathes over your shoulder, making you drop your phone. Unfortunately it’s still open, your messages easy to read and Chenle doesn't hesitate to snatch it. At least the rest of the guys left, only Chenle is nosy enough to wonder who you’re texting.

“This is painful,” he announces. He hands the phone back to you. “You could at least add an emoji. Or, like, send more than one sad message.”

“Why?”

Chenle shakes his head. “You are texting the Jaemin, right? Na Jaemin?”

“Is there any other?”

“You’ve got a chance here,” Chenle continues, ignoring your question. “Not many people—well, I’ve actually heard he’s quite experienced but that’s beside the point, because you have a chance and that’s rare.”

“Genuinely, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You glance at the door, just in case Jaemin appears. Somehow you don’t think you want him overhearing this conversation.

“Okay, look,” Chenle says, “you’re you. Student council, 4.0 GPA, plans to be the next director of the WHO or whatever—”

“That’s not at all what I want.”

“—never a second you aren’t working, and then there’s Jaemin, and sure he’s a STEM major too, but the he’s type that strolls through life, who has things fall into his lap because he’s hot and lucky but you can’t really be mad about it because he’s Jaemin.” He pauses, like that explains everything. But you already know that Jaemin exists in a realm outside your own. Chenle waits a moment longer then shakes his head. “You know what, you’ll figure it out eventually.” He glances at you with a frown. “Maybe.”

“Good bye, Chenle,” you say pointedly.

He moves extra slow, closing his laptop only after spamming the save button. He once forgot to save a spreadsheet after a two hour budgeting session and you think he’s still traumatized. Still, spending a full thirty seconds hitting CTRL + S is excessive even for him—he’s stalling, trying to be as nosy as ever.

“I’m meeting him at the elevator so you can stop stalling,” you say. You hover over the send button, Chenle’s “advice” infecting your brain. You hit send before you can overthink it any more.

[yn] on the way now 👍

Chenle sighs, returning to peeking over your shoulder. “You’re hopeless.”

You grin and give him a thumbs up. “Thanks buddy. If you hurry you can run into him in the elevators.”

Chenle perks up, grabbing his still-open bag and sprinting out the door. You feel a little bad for lying to him, but he was the one that didn’t read Jaemin’s messages closely enough—evident from missing the fact that he’s on his way up the stairs and how Chenle thinks he might actually be flirting with you. You shake your head at the thought.

Just when you reach the doorway to the stairs and wonder if you should meet him in the stairwell, the door flies open. Despite climbing three flights of stairs, Jaemin breathes normally. A different backpack than usual is sling over his back, bright orange, like… well, an orange. (Persimmon, your brain unhelpfully supplies).

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.” You wonder how anyone is immune to his smiles. A smile like that robs you of everything irreplaceable and leaves you missing it as soon as it’s gone.

“You’re not late,” you say, showing him the time on your phone as you walk to the council room. “Exactly on time.”

“Oh.” He glances at you, and when you turn your phone back to face you, you understand the awkwardness.

[Chenle] good luck 🤪🤪🤪

[Chenle] have fun with the hottie 🔥🔥🔥

[Chenle] but not too much fun 😼😼

You clear your throat, praying he didn’t get a chance to read all of the messages. “Chenle’s just making fun of my emoji use. Or lack of emoji use.”

Jaemin nods. “I hate to take the side of someone I’ve never met over you, but he might be right.”

“I use a perfectly respectable amount of emojis,” you say. “Besides, I’ve never seen you use any.”

“You’re just going to have to text me more to find out.”

You’ve never been so happy to see the doors to the council room. It’s nothing more than a glorified study room, with a rectangular table that stretches in the middle of the room, eight wooden seats set around it. A giant whiteboard stretches the majority of the back wall. The only truly special part of the room is the projector that hangs from the ceiling, with a screen that needs a button to come down. The walls that line the hallway are glass, along with the doors, so that anyone can see the council discussions, though tucked away in the back corner of the third floor, only the occasional passerby is subject to the bickering.

Jaemin raises his eyebrows and whistles. “This is nice.”

“Don’t lie,” you say. “The only nice thing about it is that we have full access to it whenever we want.” You point to the sign that reads Student Council Members Only. Truthfully, the six of you use it more as a private study room than for actual council work.

“It is nice,” Jaemin says, holding the door open for you. He pauses in front of the whiteboard. Chenle had been sitting closest to it, apparently spending the final thirty minutes of the meeting drawing out different game plans for the basketball club he somehow has time for.

“Chenle,” you explain, “he thinks he’s a part of the Golden State Warriors.”

“How much council work actually gets done in these meetings,” he says teasingly.

“You catch on fast,” you say. “It took me the full first year to realize how incompetent we are.”

“How come?”

“The president just wanted resume padding. He was incredible at sucking up to faculty and making the right people think he was a great leader, but he would send us fresh-terns to pick up condoms and sent Donghyuck with a fake to get drinks once.”

“Fresh-tern?”

“The freshman interns,” you explain, “since the president is the only elected position and the rest of the council is appointed, the only way to get known is through the ‘internship,’ which technically is open to anyone but only freshman are dumb enough to dedicate that much time to a job that does absolutely nothing—like, it doesn’t pay or even guarantee you a spot on the council in the future. It’s all based on whether the president likes you or not.

“Anyway, our president last year was marginally better, and he tried to abolish the seniors-only president rule but couldn’t get it to pass in time, so we ended up with Mark. Not that Mark is a bad president, though council meetings could be half as long if he wouldn’t go on tangents every two minutes.” You stop, realizing how much you’re talking. You’ve come dangerously close to telling him the truth about the presidency. Jaemin says nothing, probably bored. “Anyways, we’ve got a few new initiatives this year but mostly we try to maintain the annual events and keep Mark’s head on his shoulders until he graduates.”

“Sounds like fun,” Jaemin says.

“Sometimes.” You pause. “How’s your application going, by the way?”

He glances at you, smile fading a little. He turns back to the whiteboard, this time studying the fading drawing Renjun made a month ago of a goat fighting Donghyuck. “Still figuring things out. Mostly working on my campaign goals.”

You nod. A part of you wants to press further, learn more about his plans—but because you want to beat him or because it’s Jaemin? Why is it so difficult to think clearly around him?

You sit at the table and open your laptop, pulling out your notes. He sits beside you, scraping the chair against the tile floors until his knee is an inch away from yours. He must not notice the way your breath catches in your throat when he leans closer. A moment later and your brain is invaded by his scent, a clean smell like laundry detergent or body wash.

“It’s organized by subject,” you explain. “Usually I take notes in class and then Renjun reviews and organizes it with keywords and highlighting and this coding system that I don’t really get but he swears by. Either way it works for us.” You show him the keyword that Renjun uses to signify exam hints, combining it with the past class’s date to cross reference the relevant information.

Jaemin lets out a low whistle. “This is crazy.”

“Yeah,” you say, “Renjun puts a lot of time into it. But when we study for exams, it’s worth it.”

“You know Renjun from student council?” He asks, beginning to type a few notes.

“I guess that’s where I met him first,” you say. “But he’s pretty much my best friend. The whole student council is pretty close, way closer than the group Mark came into. He tells us horror stories about how they made the fresh-terms compete just to turn them against each other, though that’s back when it was filled with poli-sci majors.”

“None of you are poli-sci?”

“I’m public health,” you say, “and Mark is poli-sci, but the rest of the guys avoided it. We swore that the next council would be free of the plague of poli-sci majors.”

“You really hate them?”

“They deserve it,” you say. “But also it’s because I made the mistake of dating one last year.” You shudder at the memory.

“Really?” Jaemin looks away from his laptop, staring at you instead.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine. “It was a moment of weakness and he confessed to me with cookies.”

“Not making fun,” Jaemin says. “Were the cookies at least homemade?”

“Well, yes.” You shake your head, trying to stop the next bit from coming out. But Jaemin raises his eyebrows and you can’t help it. “He had his ex make them, actually.”

“No!”

“Yeah, and then dumped me for them after, like, two weeks, and the guys are all convinced that he cheated on me with them,” you say. “So, no, I don’t really like poli-sci majors.”

“A good observation,” Jaemin says. His approval makes your cells glow—scientists could discover a new form of bioluminescence from within you.

Jaemin continues to stare at you, eyes full of warmth. It’s so easy to get lost in them, glancing between the pure dark chocolate and fond smile on his lips. The change in light when your laptop screen fades snaps you out of it.

You eye him. “Do you even need these?”

“Nope,” Jaemin says. He grins at you. “Just an excuse to see you.” He turns back to the laptop and continues to copy your notes into his document. You turn around, giving him no chance to see the smile that creeps onto your face. You seriously need to get a grip. Jaemin needs to get a grip and realize that he can’t flirt with you like this, not without completely upsetting the balance of the universe. But even as the world slides sideways, you smile.

“Nothing special.” That’s what Renjun said when you asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. But March 23rd falls on a Friday this year, and everything snowballed from there.

That’s how you find yourself wearing an outfit even the most lenient parents would dub inappropriate, wearing more body glitter than exists in the state of Utah, taking your fifth shot.

“Sixteen more to go,” Renjun says, patting your back. Why you promised to match him shot for shot, you aren’t quite sure. You had reasoning, at some point. Definitely before the shots.

At least you aren’t alone—Donghyuck curls his lip after his shot, lime slice snatched out of his hand by Mark before he can take it as a chaser. Mark laughs as he grimaces.

“What’s our motto?” Donghyuck shouts.

“Two and three to infinity!” Mark shouts.

“Nobody goes to the hospital!” You shout.

“To the grave!” Renjun shouts.

“Huh, I guess we should have coordinated that,” Donghyuck says. “I was thinking something more like ‘happy birthday Renjun.’”

“Shoulda said something,” you say. You take a step to the couch, the world tilting to the side, though maybe it’s actually you because you stumble into the wall. It holds you up until you make it to the couch, sighing as you reach solid ground. A couple people sit next to you, friends of friends of Renjun whose names you don’t know regardless of the alcohol.

“You’re YN, right?” The girl closer to you says, making you feel a little guilty for having no idea who they are. She beams when you nod. “I live in Apollo Hall, Karina is my RA, she says you aced biochem.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “Who do you have?”

“Professor Ahn,” she says.

“He’s good,” you say, “I had him for a different class and he talks off topic all the time but if you visit him in his office hours once, he’ll remember and be more lenient on the research report. I can send you my notes, too, if you want.”

She smiles even wider. “Really?”

You nod, your brain sliding around your skull with the movement—not a good sign, only five shots into the challenge.

The music changes, a Britney Spears song that Donghyuck must have slipped into the rotation. The girl’s friend drags her up to dance before you get the chance to ask for her name.

Dancing sounds like so much fun, until you stand up and realize that you’ve been hydrated too well. Your bladder announces its need for attention much like the maintenance worker that fixed the leak in your shower—loud and last minute.

You push your way through the people crowded at the edge of the room, making your way to the hallway where the bedrooms and, more importantly, bathroom are. You pass by a semi-familiar face flirting with a girl from Renjun’s study group, but your bladder gives no time for your brain to make connections of recognition, let alone time to wave.

Finally, you break the crowd, ignoring the couple making out concerningly close to Donghyuck’s bedroom door (something you like to call “not my problem”). All your focus is on the door to the bathroom, a piece of lined notebook paper taped on with RESTROOM scribbled in marker. Just as you reach for the handle, the door swings inwards.

You might have caught yourself, two or three shots ago. Instead you tumble forward, the floor coming to meet you fast. And then you aren’t.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Jaemin says, laughing. He caught you by the elbows, your face pressed into his chest. He helps you straighten up, though he doesn’t let go of your arms.

“Jaemin.” You grin at him.

He tilts his head. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re pretty,” you say. Jaemin tilts his head and smiles at you. Endearing. Endearing, that Jaemin has an amused expression on his face. Like he is endeared by you. How funny.

But he really is pretty. He must be hot in the leather jacket, loose over his broad shoulders. Yes, those broad shoulders. He’s hot too. But first, he’s pretty. His black hair falls just above his eyes, loosely split down the middle, framing the perfect angles of his face–the perfect line of his nose, gentle curve of his cheekbones, that jawline–and of course those lips. Perfect lips.

Jaemin leans closer. “You’re prettier.”

You burst into laughter, stopping only when you snort. “You almost sound serious.”

Jaemin doesn’t say anything else, still smiling at you, only a couple inches of space between you. Ignoring those lips this close is impossible. They’re the prettiest shade of pink, and he must have put on lip balm–or maybe it’s the lighting–because they glow. What do they feel like? They have to be soft—you’d bet everything in your pocket (if these pants had pockets) he tastes sweet. Like a fruit, a yummy, juicy fruit, dripping with juice, which reminds you—pee.

You push past Jaemin, into the bathroom. “Need to pee.”

He catches his hand on the door before you can close it, frowning a little. “You’re not going to slip and crack your head open?”

“Nope,” you say. “Really need to pee.” He lets go of the door and you slam it shut, using one hand on the counter to steady yourself while you fumble with the lock. After an eternity, you finally get to the toilet, which, despite the number of people crowded in a house of two college guys, isn’t totally disgusting.

Two minutes, an empty bladder, and clean hands later, you push the door open. Your balance has improved just enough for you to feel confident in your ability not to die on the dance floor—and with perfect timing because Break Your Heart by Taio Cruz just started playing. You find Donghyuck in the middle of the room and join him, grinning when he cheers.

Renjun appears halfway through the next song, shots in hand. More of the tequila ends up on the ground than in your stomach by the time you knock it back but Renjun shouts, “Six!” anyways.

Another 2000s hit plays (it’s definitely Chenle’s playlist, which reminds you that you haven’t seen him in a while) and you get Renjun to stay on the dance floor for the full song. It’s hot and sweaty and you wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world.

Donghyuck cheers again, hyping up the people that join your little circle. You turn to see Jeno, wearing a piece of fabric that technically could be called a shirt though it really looks like a hole for his head that’s completely open at the sides except for the ties at the bottom. Beside him, and right next to you, Jaemin grins at you. He throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side.

“And I was like baby, baby, baby, oh!” You shout along with the song, vaguely aware of the rest of the guys singing along—except for Jaemin, who waits for Ludacris’s verse to come in to rap it word for word.

Renjun drags you away before the next song can start. “Number seven,” he shouts in your ear over the bass.

“What about Donghyuck?” You glance behind you where he starts a full performance, an empty water bottle as a microphone.

Renjun shrugs. “He’ll catch up.”

You watch Renjun struggle to pour the tequila, holding the bottle with two hands off the edge of the counter to get the mouth as close to the paper shot cups as possible. You can’t see how much tequila actually makes it into the cups but it burns its way down, sending your stomach spinning. Only a third of the drinks you are supposed to take with him but you’re already questioning the next round.

Renjun gets dragged away from you by some people you aren’t even sure are actually his friends, but you lose track of him when someone tugs on your hand. Jaemin, again. He lost his jacket at some point, wearing a shirt that matches Jeno’s, showing off his considerable arms. Even in the poor lighting from the strobe lights Donghyuck set up, you can see the definition in his biceps.

Yeah, you’re definitely staring.

Jaemin asks something but you can’t hear him over the music. You step closer, stumbling a little on your own feet. As always, he catches you, arm sliding around your waist.

“How are you doing?” He shouts over the music.

You grab his other forearm to keep yourself from falling over. “I’m so hungry.”

Jaemin leans closer, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanna get out of here?” You raise your eyebrows at him and he grins. “The McDonald’s, across the street?”

“I need French fries,” you say, letting go of his arm and spinning out of his embrace to face the door. He catches you before you can go too far (and fall on your face), looping his elbow through yours.

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything falls silent. Not everything, because you can still hear the bass from inside the house, and cicadas sing, and the highway is close enough to hear the rumbling of engines passing by. But quiet falls in the space between you and Jaemin, a breath waiting to fall free.

He doesn’t let go over your arm, using his other hand to brace the three steps in front of Donghyuck and Renjun’s place. He leans on you as much as you lean on him, magnets stuck to each other, except magnets don’t struggle to stay upright crossing an empty street. Maybe if they could get drunk.

The street light flickers above you, crackling electricity. You can feel Jaemin’s bare arm against yours, firm muscle held taut. You peek at the boy beside you, his head tilted to the sky. Pretty. You won’t say it again for fear of being repetitive, but it’s the right word for this moment. Not just Jaemin, but the chilly night air, the faulty light above you fighting with the neon lights to illuminate your breath. You’ll blame the alcohol in the morning, but tonight it’s all pretty.

Jaemin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he turns to meet your eyes. It’s definitely the alcohol but you don’t look away.

The crosswalk changes to the white man, beeping at you to cross the street. You tear your eyes away from him, settling for clinging to his arm to make it past the striped crosswalk illuminated by headlights.

You’re hardly the only drunk couple at McDonald’s. Jaemin notices you limping a little and drops you off in a booth, stumbling on his own to order. You must have done something dancing, though you don’t remember anything hurting. Your ankle hurts now, so you lean your head into your elbow and watch Jaemin’s back.

The fluorescent lights can’t make him look sickly. They show his arms in their full glory, open sides revealing enough of his body to make you self-conscious. The hint of a farmer’s tan dusts his arms, shoulders just a shade lighter than his forearms. Where did he get that from?

So many questions about him. So much to know. So little you do know but you like him so much it gets so hard to tell. What matters.

Jaemin puts his wallet into his back pocket, turning around and smiling when he meets your gaze. He slides into the seat across from you. “Potatoes are incoming.”

“Do you know what persimmons taste like?”

“What?” His brow furrows, a cute frown that makes you forget what you’d asked.

“Never mind,” you mumble. Opening your mouth any more around him is a dangerous game—you aren’t quite sure what will spill out.

He reaches out to tap his finger on your arm. Like the sun, being in his atmosphere makes everything warmer, his touch boiling your skin. The heat flows through your body, each cell vibrating with the need for something.

“You feeling okay?”

It takes considerable concentration to work past his finger, which has graduated to drawing shapes, and answer him. “Renjun wanted to do twenty-one shots for his birthday but seven is beyond enough.”

Jaemin whistles. “Is Renjun going to survive tonight?”

“Probably not,” you mumble. “That opens up a council position. You could be a good social media person. Your face is pretty enough.”

“Is that the only requirement for student council?” Jaemin asks. “Being pretty?”

“You can’t be a poli-sci major either,” you say, “which you pass. It helps that you’re smart, and kind. I like people that are smart and kind.”

“That’s a low bar,” Jaemin says. “What else do you like?”

“Hm…” Your voice rumbles, a funny feeling in the back of your throat. You hum for a little longer before you remember Jaemin asked you a question. What do you like?

“Sharks. They’re much cooler than dolphins. And potatoes, I love potatoes. I like Renjun. And Donghyuck. And Mark, even though he’s a poli-sci major. I like Chenle and Jisung. They might be my favorite people.” And you. I like you so much I don’t know how to say it.

“What about doctors?” Jaemin leans closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Do you like doctors?”

You lift your head up, pouting your lips at him. “Doctors have needles. I don’t like needles.”

Jaemin laughs. “Even if the doctor is super rich?”

“Rich? From taking all my money?” You cry.

“Rich from saving people’s lives,” he says. “Like a neurosurgeon.”

You squint at him, the blurriness of your eyelashes mixing with the blurriness of the alcohol and canceling out until his face becomes clear. “Are you actually pre-med because of Grey’s Anatomy?”

Jaemin looks away, running a hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe.” His biceps are almost enough to distract you from his admission. Almost.

“Oh my god.” You can’t hold back the giggles, trying to cover your mouth with your hand. Tears prick at your eyes and you gasp for breath, stomach twisting the alcohol with the giggles and turning over itself until you aren’t sure if you’re starving or need to throw up.

“It’s a perfectly respectable career!” Jaemin says.

“You want to be Patrick Dempsey?” You say between giggles. “Not even McSteamy?”

“Hey, he’s—wait, you watch it too?”

You shrug. “It’s fun.”

“Then how are you making fun of me!” He cries.

“I didn’t go into medicine because of it!”

Before he can say anything else, the workers shout a number. He glances at the receipt and shoots you a glare without a drop of malice in his eyes and leaves.

Jaemin being silly. Jaemin bickering with you. Hard to believe that even two weeks ago, you never would have believed he watched children’s shows in class and chose his profession because of a soap opera. Jaemin who keeps surprising you, who makes you want to believe that maybe he’s from the same planet as you after all.

He brandishes the brown paper bag in front of him like treasure. What does it matter that you’re grinning because of him and not the golden treats inside?

“For you,” he says, setting the bag in front of you and tilting it on its side so you can reach inside for the fries. “I didn’t know what sauce, so I fought… Okay, maybe flirted with the worker, but the important part is that I got one of each.” He pauses glancing at you. “Which apparently you don’t need.”

“So good,” you say, eating them properly: no sauce, just freshly fried golden perfection. You look up to find Jaemin smiling at you… fondly? Is that what’s in his eyes?

“What?”

He shakes his head. “You’re just cute.”

You stare at him, fry halfway to your mouth. He looks down, the tips of his ears tinted red as he grabs a fry and dips it in honey mustard.

The rest of your time at McDonald’s is dedicated to properly enjoying the French fries and not at all sneaking glances at Jaemin sneaking glances at you. You finish the fries long before the swirly feeling in your stomach goes away. The butterflies must be drunk too.

“Back to Renjun’s?” Jaemin asks, standing up and extending a hand for you to take. The most dangerous handhold of your life. You don’t think twice about taking it.

“Mm, I’m pretty tired,” you say, “and Renjun was pretty adamant about the twenty-one shots thing. If we go back, he won’t let me go until one of us is in the hospital.” Walking is easy when Jaemin lets you lean on his shoulder. Standing just outside the McDonald’s, your shadows stretch ten times as tall as you, the lines between you and Jaemin undefined.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t worried about him?”

“He swore to send Donghyuck to the grave before him, he’ll be fine,” you say, “plus Jisung is there, sober. They’ll be fine.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be fine when I get home.” You tilt your head up from his shoulder only for him to look down at you, his nose brushing against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding. But you don’t move away and neither does he.

“Take me home?”

He doesn’t move for a heartbeat, eyes flickering to your lips. Then he turns his head straight, patting your head with his free hand a couple times. “Okay.”

You whisper directions, a ten minute walk from Renjun’s place. The walk home is considerably less stumbly, your balance recovered halfway through the fries. You cling to Jaemin’s arm anyway, more afraid of letting him go than falling.

The building appears far too quickly, Jaemin pushing open the glass doors and walking you to the elevators. You don’t dare say a word to break the silence as the elevator dings to the third floor. He waits until you reach your door to disentangle himself from you, standing with the tips of his sneakers a millimeter away from yours, catching your hands in his.

“Goodnight, YN,” he says.

No. This isn’t the time for goodnight, not when every atom in your body might explode if he takes a step away. You tighten your fingers around his.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask. “See my apartment?”

He tilts his head, a little frown creasing his brow. “Okay.”

You fumble with your keys, hands shaking when you open the door. Emotions swirl around you, making it difficult to tell the difference between excitement and anxiety, if it exists. Calling the place an apartment is a bit of a stretch. Glorified broom closet is your preferred term–a bed shoved against the far wall with a tiny window next to it, desk tucked in next to it like a puzzle piece without enough space for a chair, a door for your bathroom, directly next to the “kitchen” of a stovetop oven and sink, and a closet that barely fits your coats.

Beyond being tiny, you left the place a mess, second, third, and fourth contenders for outfits strewn on your bed, unwashed dishes in the sink. The entryway is the only space for the two of you to stand together comfortably but you lead Jaemin farther in, balling up the clothes and tossing them into your hamper underneath the bed.

“I don’t normally have company,” you explain.

“It’s okay,” he says, “my room’s a mess too.” He picks up the pink teddy bear from your bed and smiles. “A gift?”

You shake your head. “Bought it myself for surviving sophomore year.” You pull the great white shark out from beneath a blanket. “Freshman year.”

“Cute,” Jaemin says, still looking at the bear.

You follow Jaemin as he wanders the tiny room. He pauses at a framed picture of the student council that sits on your desk. It was a gift from last year’s graduating cabinet, the whole group, president, appointed cabinet, unofficial members, and the fresh-terns, fifteen people in total.

“That one’s my ex,” you say, the word still strange in your mouth. “If you count two weeks as even dating.”

“The one in red?”

You nod.

Jaemin snorts. “I’m way hotter than him.” He sets the picture and turns, and suddenly only a couple inches of space separate him from you. This close, you can see exactly how pretty he is, long eyelashes that cannot be natural, even longer when he stares at his toes instead of meeting your eyes. And, this close, you can see the soft pink of his lips, lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit.

Not drunk, not yet sober, it’s easy to lean a little closer, brush your lips softly against his. The kiss is over before you can think about it.

You open your eyes to Jaemin staring at you, eyes wide, somewhere between disbelief and fear. You open your mouth to apologize but he moves faster, hand coming up to cup your face and pulling you closer until you kiss him again, your hand instinctively catching you against his chest. He links his fingers with your free hand, tugging you even closer to him.

He moves slow at first, a gentle kiss that takes your breath away anyway. He pulls away when the stars flood your brain, smile boyish and sweet. His thumb strokes your cheek into the shape of a heart. Then he slides his hands to the back of your neck, letting go over your other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you against his chest.

Jaemin knows how to kiss. He moves like it’s his last chance, desperate lips telling truths words can’t capture. And you might not have as much experience, but you understand the language of desperation. A never ending chain of fireworks explode within you, pushing you to wrap your arms around his neck, kiss him even harder. Your hands move on their own, tugging at the cloth of his shirt until he leans back, breathing heavily.

“How far you want to go?” He asks, chest rising and falling with each breath. “You know consent is so sexy.”

You laugh, giddiness making it difficult to think. “You have a condom?”

Jaemin grins, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slips the shiny packet out, tossing his wallet to the floor along with his shirt. He gives you a proper amount of time to ogle his chest before tugging you against him again, your heart pounding so hard against him he must feel it.

He tilts your head towards his until his lips brush against yours, and when he speaks, you feel every word. “Now where were we?”

[Na Jaemin] sorry I had to go :( [Na Jaemin] wish I could have been there when you woke up [Na Jaemin] but! I have a surprise [Na Jaemin] [image attached] [Na Jaemin] see you in the morning <3

You blink at the message, a picture of him wearing a fuzzy headband in the middle of his skincare routine. Your head pounds a little, but otherwise your hangover isn’t too bad. Definitely not the worst it’s ever been.

No, the strange feeling in your stomach is something else. Last night is burned into your memory, every move, every touch. Jaemin, who you fell asleep beside, though the timestamp on the texts show he didn’t stay much longer after. Not that you expected him to. It’s Jaemin, you remind your traitorous heart. No matter how much he flirts, no matter what he did drunk, he was never yours.

Your phone rings, but it isn’t Jaemin.

“Hey,” Renjun says.

“You sound awful,” you say, throat aching.

“You’re one to talk,” Renjun says, “and you didn’t even get to double digits. Donghyuck out-drank you.”

“And how’s Donghyuck doing?”

“Throwing up in the shower, it sounds like.”

You laugh, the motion, sending your stomach spinning. “Happy birthday Renjun.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I actually did call for a reason.”

“I am not helping with clean up,” you say, “Chenle swore he’d do all of it since he bailed on set up.”

“Not that,” Renjun says. “I’ll be over as soon as I can walk without passing out.” He hangs up, leaving you to frown at the empty screen.

Well, considering how late he got back, Jaemin probably won't be awake any time soon. You need to shower and rehydrate and try to convince your stomach to take something—and with how Renjun sounded over the phone, it seems like you’ll have plenty of time.

An hour later, slightly burnt toast, and post-Advil, the headache is mostly gone. Your stomach still twists at the thought of Jaemin. You jump at the doorbell but find Renjun wearing a mismatched sweatsuit and his bright orange crocs, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose. He wears the hood of his sweatshirt up but you can see tufts sticking up.

“God, did you shower?” You catch a whiff as he passes by, reeking of tequila.

“I was serious about coming over as soon as possible.” He groans, collapsing on your bed. “I think I maybe came over too early though. Might need to throw up.”

“Do you want toast?” You offer.

He glares at you. “Just sit.” Renjun rarely speaks with patience but today he seems extra short on it. Maybe because of the hangover, but the way he glares at the carpet before turning to look at you makes you wonder if something else is wrong. His eyes soften a little when he meets your eyes, his frown lightening just barely.

“I really wish I didn’t have to tell you this,” he begins. “Did you go out with Jaemin last night?”

“He… took me home,” you say. “What’s wrong Renjun?”

“Last night—well—this morning, I met some guys from Sigma Nu, who are friends with Jeno and Jaemin,” he says, “who were talking about how Jaemin is going to be president. About how he’s messing around with the frontrunner, trying to distract them or fuck around, trying to take the presidency.” He falls quiet, studying your face.

“He wouldn’t.” Your voice feels so small.

He wouldn’t, you said, but you can’t even convince yourself. Your heart flounders, drowning in a lake of its own creation, choking on fantasies. Your brain takes control in the chaos, gears turning despite the crashing waves. Facts don’t need oxygen.

1) Jaemin approached you about the presidency first

2) he pretended not to know you were running

3) he’s known for hooking up with anyone

4) he never belonged in your world

The conclusion is obvious, a conclusion you could have come to much sooner if you weren’t too busy getting swept off your feet by his easy flirting and sweet smile. Though your heart doesn’t want to believe it, it makes too much sense. So much more sense than the hope you were stupid enough to believe in. Jaemin isn’t that type. How many of your friends told you that? How many times did you tell yourself that? But you let him hurt you anyway because he held your hand and called you cute. How quickly a fruit can rot when it sits in the palm of your hand.

Jaemin doesn’t exist a universe away–he lives in your world, worse than a cliche. The type of boy that made you want to believe in him, even when you knew better from the start, and maybe that’s the worst part. He never hid who he was, what he wanted. It’s you that wanted more, that believed he could want something more. How pitiful.

“I’m sorry,” Renjun says softly. “I wanted him to be different.”

“Did you? Because everyone was telling me about how I needed to be careful, protect myself, not get hurt over him. Did any of you consider that I didn’t ever expect anything from him?” You shake your head. “No, you all thought poor little YN, getting their feet swept out from under themself over a boy that doesn’t give a shit about them? A boy that’s actively trying to stop them from achieving a dream they’ve had since they started college? Well, guess what? You all were right. Congratulations.” You bite your lip trying to hold back the tears but it’s too late.

“I’m sorry,” Renjun repeats. He pats your arm, looking away when you swipe at your eyes. He waits for you to take a shaky breath, hand on your arm. You grab the teddy bear, trying not to hear Jaemin calling it cute.

“I slept with him.” The admission burns its way up your throat. “Last night.” You sigh. “You don't have to tell me I’m an idiot.”

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say that,” Renjun throws his arm over your shoulders. “Though I’m kind of regretting sitting on the bed.” He scoots a little forward but squeezes your shoulder. “You’re going to do things you regret, there’s no stopping it.”

“Why do you always have to be right? Why am I exclusively attracted to shitty men?” Your chin digs into the innocent bear, jaw tightening. “Why can’t I just like a boy that likes me?”

“Do you think maybe you liked him too much?” Renjun asks gently. “Like maybe you liked the idea of him more than Jaemin himself.” He pauses, squeezing your arm. “Don’t let a boy that isn’t real hurt you.”

You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder. “But he was real. Sweeter than persimmon. Like a strawberry. Or a mango.”

“Okay, I’m not understanding.”

“I thought he was a persimmon, a magic fruit I could imagine tasting sweet or sour or tart but he’s real and even though his flavor isn’t a mystery, it’s better than what I could have imagined. Like taking a bite of a pineapple and it’s the best pineapple you’ve ever had, juicy and sweet.”

“Okay first of all, that’s a terrible metaphor, please stop talking about how he tastes or I will throw up,” Renjun says. “Also persimmons are real.”

“I know that,” you snap, “but I’ve never had one, so they’re magic to me.” You stare ahead, grateful Renjun knows when you just need a little bit of time to work up the courage to say what you need to say. “I’m saying you are right. I didn’t really like him, not at first. But it’s worse than that because when I did get to know him, it was so much better. He wasn’t a dream, he was a boy who watches Grey’s Anatomy and does skincare even after a night of partying.

“I know it makes more sense, that his flirting wasn’t real, that he was never really interested in me. But nothing real about him makes sense, and I want to believe in him, still.” You purse your lips. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“You really liked him,” Renjun says, “that won’t just go away.”

“That would be too easy,” you mutter.

Renjun laughs. “You’re going to be fine. There are so many better men.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you say.

“And I was right,” Renjun says, “Jaemin is better than last time. Marginally. At least he isn’t a poli-sci major.”

You snort.

“See, you’re already laughing at him.” Renjun pushes you off his shoulder, standing up and groaning. “Now, I’m going to throw up in your bathroom, and then we can watch dumb action movies until your brain rots. The rest of the guys are supposed to come over, though I think Donghyuck is still throwing up.”

You bury your face into the bear. “Does everyone know?”

Renjun pauses. “The guys from this morning were sort of proud to be the ones to tell us.”

You groan. The door to your bathroom closes but you barely hear it. You clutch the bear a little tighter, as if the fluff could break through your chest and fill the spilling hole in your heart.

It would be too easy to blame Jaemin, to pretend like none of the pain is from your own stupidity. But you already told Renjun. You knew it from the start.

Knocking at the door, a knock that means only one person. You wipe the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath that does nothing to steady your heart.

“God, I was afraid I was waking you up.” Jaemin starts talking as soon as you open the door. He holds up a bag, a tray with two iced coffees and a hot cup. He looks unfairly good and, of course, he grins at you. “I wasn’t entirely sure what your hangover cure is, so I got hot and iced coffee, and there’s a breakfast sandwich and a donut and also these potato things, I really wasn’t sure what you’d like, but–”

“Did you know that I was running for president?”

Jaemin freezes, frown slowly curling his brow. “What are you–”

“Just answer the question.” You grip the door handle, knuckles turning white.

He pauses a moment too long. “It’s not like that.”

“Never talk to me again.” You fight the urge to slam the door, but your neighbors don’t have to suffer your wrath. You shake your head, “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit.”

Jaemin opens his mouth but you close the door, sliding the deadlock as hard as you can. He has the audacity to try to explain himself. If you didn’t want to hear him out so badly, you might laugh. Instead you turn your back on the door, sliding down it until you can rest your head on your knees and sob.

Jaemin makes it halfway down the aisle of seats on Tuesday before you turn to Renjun, panic and tears in your eyes. He glares at Jaemin so hard he freezes in his tracks and doesn’t try again. He doesn’t look at you in class, not even a peek. On Thursday, he walks straight to his seat.

Chenle doesn’t bother to throw his packages into the recycling after opening them. He says he’s hanging onto them to make moving out easier, but really he’s just too lazy to break them down. You have to step around them to get into his apartment, since he thought it would be fun to make an obstacle course out of them. Navigating these sober is hard enough, you have no idea how he makes it to bed after a night out.

But today, it’s worth it. It’s been two weeks since you cut off Jaemin, a month since the day you bumped into him in class (a month and three days but who’s counting?). He doesn’t look at you anymore. You haven’t fully escaped him–every once in a while you’ll hear his laugh from the other side of the lecture room. The sound still stabs between your ribs, a wound turned new each time you hear it. But it cuts a little more shallow each time. One day you won’t feel it at all.

And today, Chenle got a puppy.

She cries before you make it over the baby gate in Chenle’s room. A tiny ball of white fluff bounds toward you, tripping over her own feet.

“Hi baby!” Your voice automatically rises three pitches looking at her. “Aren’t you just adorable!” You crouch down, letting her jump on your knees. She won’t sit still long enough to be pet, sprinting around your feet, then back to Chenle sitting on the floor, back resting against his bed.

“Hi to you, too,” Chenle says pointedly.

“Hi Chenle,” you turn back to his puppy. “And hello puppy!”

“Her name is Daegal,” he says. You can hear him rolling his eyes. “‘Cause she’s got a big ass head.”

“Chenle is so mean to you!” You coo at the puppy at your feet. “But that’s okay, I’ll take good care of you. You can come home with me!”

“You hear that baby?” Chenle says. “YN wants to pay me $1000 to take care of you!”

You stare at him. “Did you seriously adopt a $1000 puppy?”

He shrugs. “She’s really cute.”

“You’re insane.” Daegal settles down enough to let you pat her head.

“I invite you into my home for some much needed puppy love and this is how you treat me?” Chenle sighs. “To think that I felt bad for you, that I told you about her before anyone else. This is how I get treated for my kind heart.”

“I don’t need your pity,” you say. Daegal licks your hand.

“It’s not pity.” He pauses. “Well I guess it is pity, but you’re also my friend YN. Believe it or not, watching you live the sad boy lifestyle over some dude, again, is not fun. I’d much rather watch you being happy with my puppy.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” you mutter.

Chenle claps his hands, making Daegal jump. “But that does remind me, everyone has been too much of a coward to ask, but I’ve heard from tertiary sources about his reputation, but I’d love a first hand account.”

“What are you talking about?” You eye him.

“How was the sex?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

He shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

You pick up Daegal, staring at her instead of Chenle. She wiggles her tail, then her paws, so you set her back down. “I’m not answering that.”

Chenle narrows his eyes, studying you. “That means it was good.”

“That’s not at all what I said.”

“And yet you’re not denying it.”

“Please shut the fuck up.”

For once he listens. With Renjun, silence means peace–he doesn’t say anything that doesn’t matter. When Chenle doesn’t speak, it means he has something to say and he isn’t sure how to say it. You peek up at him and your suspicions are confirmed. He chews on his lip, frowning at you.

“Just tell me.”

Chenle purses his lips. “He dropped out.”

“Of school?”

He rolls his eyes. “The election.”

You stare at him. “Seriously?”

“He hasn’t touched his application since Renjun’s birthday and Donghyuck said yesterday he emailed and said he wasn’t going forward with it.” He doesn’t say anything about how technically you should be checking the email.

“But it doesn’t make any sense.”

Chenle shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I was told.” He stands up. “Now! How much do you like cleaning up dog pee?”

You glance down at Daegal, who squats in the middle of the room, a dark stain on the carpet beneath her. Chenle tosses you some paper towels and a can of Febreeze.

“Why am I cleaning up after your dog?”

“Because you tried to steal her,” he says, “and I’ve already done this three times today and I’m really sick of it.”

You shake your head but pull off a paper towel and press it into the stain.

“We’re going out tomorrow night, by the way,” Chenle says. “And you’ve passed two weekends in a row so you’ve hit a cap for the month. You have to come with, no ‘buts.’”

Apparently the grace period of pity is over. Whatever, it’ll be nice to do something other than hiding in your room watching Powerpuff Girls. And maybe you will see him. Maybe you’ll get an answer to the giant question mark that’s lodged itself in your heart when Chenle told he dropped out. Maybe the little caterpillar of hope that’s survived these past few weeks can metamorphize.

And maybe he’ll break your heart again. But you won’t get any answers daydreaming.

How Renjun can still drink Tequila, you truly do not understand. Ever since his birthday, the thought of it makes your stomach flip, and you didn’t even drink that much. But he sips on the margarita, insisting it doesn’t taste like alcohol.

“It’s disgusting,” you say, pushing it closer to him. “I am not drinking this.”

He rolls his eyes. “You do realize the whole gimmick of this place is all their drinks are made with tequila, right?”

“No one told me that!” You glare at Chenle, who showed up at your door at exactly 8:00pm and dragged you to the bar. “For the record, I would have pre-gamed. But I guess I can be the babysitter tonight.”

Chenle cheers. “Donghyuck, you’re back in! YN is babysitting!”

Your drink slides down the table to Donghyuck, interrupting whatever ‘conversation’ he was having with Jisung.

“I thought the whole point of dragging you out was to make you have fun,” he says.

“You better be fun, then,” you say.

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows but eventually take a long sip. “Brain freeze!” He cries, clutching his forehead. You laugh with the rest of the guys. It’s almost normal, except you can’t help but peek at the door whenever somebody walks in.

The night passes and the guys get more drunk. The bar gets more crowded–soon you are squished between Renjun and Chenle, barely able to breathe as the music slowly gets louder. The tequila looks more and more appealing but the guys need at least one person sober to make it back alive: Chenle arm wrestles a stranger while Donghyuck has some poor soul cornered, practicing his pick up lines.

When Chenle loses, you push past him, muttering something about fresh air that they probably can’t hear. You push through the crowd of drunk people, trying not to remember the last time you did this.

You squint at the steps, edges difficult to see with so little light. Who builds a bar on the second floor of a building? You make it to the final step but misjudge how close it is and your foot slips off the edge, sending you tumbling forward. You might have caught yourself, but you don’t have to—strong arms catch you mid fall, wrapping around your waist and swinging you clean off the stairs and onto solid ground. You aren’t surprised at all to look into Jaemin’s eyes as he lets go.

He frowns at you, eyes so dark they look black. Maybe it’s the lack of light, but the twinkle in his eyes, the glint you’ve come to recognize as trouble, is missing.

“Hi,” you say.

He drops his arms, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “So you’re talking to me now?”

An apology begins on your lips but you can’t push it out. Not when you still don’t understand. “Can we talk?”

He glances at you. “Have you been drinking?”

You shake your head.

“Okay.” He doesn’t walk away, folding his arms over his chest.

When you imagined this conversation, the sun shined so that you could see the warmth in his eyes. He smiled at you, called you silly for ever doubting him. The Jaemin in your head wouldn’t ever do something to hurt you.

But Jaemin doesn’t exist in your head–it’s far past time you learned that.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have just cut you off. But I thought… I don’t know what I thought, let alone what I think now.” You force yourself to meet his cold eyes, searching for a hint of warmth. “Chenle told me you dropped out of the presidency.”

He nods slowly.

“But Renjun told me that someone told him that the presidency is the only reason you ever pretended to like me, but if you dropped out then I really don’t get it. Not that I ever got it in the first place, though, because you’re you and I’m me, and everyone kept telling me that, like I didn’t already know that you are supposed to be a persimmon and grow on a tree far far away from my lemon or pomegranate or whatever kind of fruit I am, because the point is we were never meant to be.” You take a deep breath, realizing that you don’t exactly sound sane. “What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t make sense. It made sense when you were trying to cheat me out of the presidency, but you dropped out. And it doesn’t make sense.”

Jaemin blinks slowly at you. “You would rather believe that I was trying to rob your presidency than that I actually like you?”

“Do you?”

He frowns. “Of course I do. I like you so much I think about things I’ve never wanted before, the silly shit–watching horror movies as an excuse to cuddle, having picnics by the river, buying groceries together–I wanted to do all of it with you.

“You talk a lot about how we’re different people—who gives a shit? If I’m the type of person that wants to be with you and you’re the type of person that wants to be with me, why does any of that matter?” He takes a step closer to you, and you can see you were wrong. His eyes aren’t cold, they’re full of emotion, dark waves of hurt. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? Should I tell you how pretty you are? How incredibly smart you are—not fake smart like me, but really smart. And when I’m around you, I like who I am. I know it’s cheesy but you bring out the best in me.

“I know I fucked up. I should have told you how I felt before anything else, and I shouldn’t have left. I regretted it as soon as I was gone but it was terrifying to lay next to you and give you my bare heart, even when I didn’t think you would ever try to hurt me.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if it hurts more thinking that you never wanted a relationship or thinking that I’d ever stoop that low. I mean, everyone tells me about my reputation, but I didn’t think you cared about any of that.”

Tears prick at your eyes. How could you be such an idiot? Listening to all the wrong people, especially yourself. Jaemin doesn’t exist in another world, he isn’t any kind of fruit. He’s a boy that you like that likes you back. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching a tentative hand out to rest against his arm. “I’m so sorry.” He drops his head, sighing. “I was an idiot.”

He sighs, staring at your hand. You start to drop it but he grabs it, squeezing your fingers. “Where do we go from here?”

You study him, eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. Jaemin who is not a fruit, not an alien, just a boy.

“Hey.” You reach out and cup his cheek, waiting for him to meet your eyes. “My name is YN. I think you’re really cute.”

For a heartbeat he doesn’t move. Then he smiles, cheek rising underneath your hand. “Hey, my name is Jaemin. I think you’re really cute too.”

“Oh really?” You slide your hand to the back of his neck, wrapping your other arm across it. His arms wrap on your waist, pulling you into a hug. He squeezes you flush against him, head tucked into your shoulder just as yours is tucked into his.

“I know we can’t start over,” he says, “but can we start again?”

“How about this time we just talk to each other?” You say, tapping your fingers on his shoulder. “No more rumors and gossip.”

He nods, chin digging into your neck a little. “I swear, I won’t give you any reason to doubt me ever again. I won’t be the kind of guy your friends call a red flag.”

You loosen your grip and lean back to look him in the eye. “Wait, did they seriously say that to you?”

“I ran into Donghyuck after I dropped out and we had a very… one sided conversation with his side doing all the talking,” Jaemin says, “and Renjun made it obvious from the start that he didn’t like me.”

You laugh a little, then even more when he pouts. “You’ll win them over again.”

“They really don’t like me,” he says.

You cup his cheek again. “You’ll change their minds.” He leans into your touch, closing his eyes. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his. He gasps a little, hands tightening on your waist.

“Now, am I remembering incorrectly, or are you an amazing kisser?” You ask.

He grins, leaning forward and closing the distance without wasting a second. Neither of you can stop smiling, lips and teeth gnashing together but it’s still the best kiss you’ve ever had.

You stretch an arm out, only to find more bed instead of empty space. You sit up, shivering as the blanket falls away. Right, you fell asleep in Jaemin’s bed. His room is much bigger than yours, sharing an apartment with Jeno. He has enough room for a dresser and a nicer desk, even a chair. It seems he lied to you about being messy, because even when you show up unannounced, like today, his clothes are neatly folded and the biggest mess you’ve found has been three dirty dishes in the sink (which you later found out were Jeno’s).

Jeno, apparently, isn’t all bad–he did let you in even though your boyfriend was still out. He doesn’t fully trust you, but then again, your friends don’t hide their mistrust of Jaemin either. You maintain your earlier stance that time will heal that wound.

You hear a knife against a cutting board coming from the kitchen, so you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and shuffle towards the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading up your lips when you turn the corner and find Jaemin standing at the counter. He glances behind him and grins at you, and even though you just woke up from a nap and probably have messy hair and marks on your face, he says, “you look sexy.”

“So cheesy,” you say. He laughs and turns back around. You slip behind him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his back and closing your eyes. He radiates warmth better than any blanket. It’s too easy to lean against him, take a deep breath of the scent of his laundry detergent and cling to him. Jaemin moves slowly, careful not to hit you by accident.

“What’re you doing?”

“A surprise,” he says, “at least my attempt at one.” He sets down the knife on the counter and taps on your hands, pulling them apart gently and spinning around to face you before setting your hands back on his waist. He tilts his head at you when you purse your lips and frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Still no ass,” you say, patting him a little lower than his waist.

“Hey!” He sticks his lower lip out. “I’m trying.”

“No one’s perfect,” you say, sliding your hands back up and sneaking a kiss to his cheek.

“You are,” he says, cupping your face to kiss you properly. Jaemin still kisses like it’s his last chance, drawing out every moment, lips lingering on yours until your head spins. It’s only when you can’t breathe that he finally pulls away.

“Good answer,” you say.

He smiles. “If you come to the gym with me I’d be more motivated to get an ass you’d be proud of.”

“You send enough pictures for me to know that if I saw you at the gym I would never survive,” you say. “You want me to die?”

He laughs, squishing your face together with his hands. “If anyone’s going to die, it’s going to be me, because you are too cute.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, still squished together in a pout. He laughs at the outrage on your face, letting go of your cheeks and slipping his hands behind your neck, kissing you one more time for real, letting go far too early.

“The surprise,” he says. He lets go of you with one arm, turning to the cutting board and holding up a slice of what he was cutting. It looks a little bit like a tomato, though it’s more orange than red, and about the size of a golf ball.

“A persimmon?”

“I still don’t really get the persimmon thing,” he says, “but I’ve never tried one.”

You blink at him. Jaemin makes it so easy to fall in love. He holds the piece closer to your mouth, waiting for you to open. A persimmon tastes sweet and mild and rich, a little bit like honey. Jaemin eats his own piece, frowning and nodding.

“No more magical mystical fruit,” Jaemin says.

“You’re going to make an amazing trophy husband,” you say. You tap him on the nose. “Maybe we could even be a power couple.”

He grins. “We’ll be so cool. Like Beyoncé and her husband.”

“Jay-Z?”

“Whatever.” Jaemin flips his hand. “The important part is that I am Beyoncé.”

You smack his shoulders softly. “Hell no, Beyoncé would never have a flat ass.”

“It always comes back to the ass.” He sighs. “Be honest: are you embarrassed by me?”

Once you never thought he could be embarrassing. That was before you knew he staked his career on a soap opera and wears jorts to the gym, before he called you drunk just to confess he accidentally stole your pencil, before he spent three hours putting up campaign posters for you (and then another two getting written up by campus police for not having permission). Before you fell in love with him.

“By you? Never.” You pat his cheeks. “Your ass leaves much to be desired, though.”

thank you for reading!

#🌟 stars galaxy #nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct fluff #nct angst #jaemin #na jaemin #nct jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst

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scuderiahoney · 28 days

Text

Oscar Piastri x reader // in motion pt 2

hockey au part 2: a lil backstory, Max Verstappen’s Pizza Theory, breakfast for dinner, and the beginnings of a physics study club. 5.7k words

warnings: mentions of sports related injuries, alcohol, and a creepy guy at a party.

You met Lando your freshman year, in an intro level writing class. Lando Norris may be great at hockey, but he was and still is absolutely atrocious at writing, which you discovered quickly when you’d been paired up with him for a partner project. He was the most talkative person in the whole class, and also the most likely to fall asleep. You couldn't blame him. It was an 8 am class, and from what you could tell, he had early morning hockey practices nearly every day.

He’d noticed the Timberwolves Soccer sticker on your laptop case, the one you’d been picking at the edges of at any available moment, trying to peel it off. It wouldn’t budge. He’d tried to use that as a common interest, a way to make a connection. He hadn’t known how much of a touchy subject it was. How could he have? The two of you barely knew each other's names.

You’d been angry at the world, at the time. Fresh off a life changing injury, still dealing with the physical therapy afterwards and stuck feeling like it was all so painfully obvious due to the knee brace on your leg. You’d only come to the stupid school to play on the soccer team, anyways. A month into your freshman year, injured and off the roster, with your chances of ever playing again looking bleak, you’d had a hard time trying to find a new reason to be there.

Before you met Lando, the soccer team had been your main source of friends. When you got injured, it all went to shit. At first, you hadn’t blamed them for the distance. You were dealing with something none of them even wanted to think about. But when you had to have surgery and none of them even bothered to text and check in, you’d begun to feel bitter. It had felt so lonely, in a town where you knew nobody, and the few people you’d connected with had slipped away. Lando had helped change that. His team had helped change that.

By the time you had to have a second surgery during winter semester, you’d been fully adopted by the entire Timberwolves Hockey team. They’d sent cards and flowers that filled up the room. Lando had visited every day, at least one of his teammates in tow. Max hadn’t been team captain at the time, but he’d taken the lead on getting a schedule set up to have people help carry your things to class for you while you were on crutches. You’d found a family, a reason to stay at the school, even without your beloved sport. You’d never be able to thank them enough for it.

Now you’re in your junior year of college and sitting in the stands at a hockey game instead of on the field at a soccer game, but the people on the ice are all your best friends. They’re losing, quite terribly, if you’re being honest. The stands are half empty. They’re just… off, today, in the second game of the week. Not quite in sync. You can see the frustration on all of them even from all the way up in the stands. Charles and Carlos are bickering on the bench. Max is skating messily. Lando looks lost on the ice, like his skates have a mind of their own. Even Oscar is struggling.

When the buzzer sounds for the end of the game, you stand up from your seat and head outside. Lily’s not here tonight- she has to work- so you’re on your own as you head toward the house. You text Max and ask if you should order pizza. He replies with an enthusiastic yes, a list of requests, and $100 on Venmo.

You have the pizza waiting, along with paper plates and Gatorade, by the time the first one of them walks into the house. It’s Oscar. He shuffles into the kitchen and looks at the pizza boxes with a wrinkled nose.

“Are you guys having a party?” He asks.

You sort of hate the way he says it. You guys. Like it’s not his house. Like it’s not his team. You know the feeling, really, of sort of just drifting along with nothing to cling onto. You tilt your head at him and slide a bottle of Gatorade across the counter towards him.

“No,” you say, and his shoulders relax slightly. “Usually after a tough game, Max likes to do some sort of team bonding. So. Pizza. He didn’t tell you?”

Oscar shrugs. “He probably did. Dunno. I was kind of out of it, and I snuck out as soon as the coaches were done yelling.”

You wince and nod in understanding. “I used to be the same way after bad games.”

You don’t even realize what you’ve hinted at until his head jerks up from where he’s been staring at the bottle in front of him. “You play sports?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. You suppose he’ll hear the story eventually, but maybe now isn’t the best time. Maybe he doesn’t need your pity party while he’s trying to have his own. Maybe it’s nice that he doesn’t feel bad for you, just confused by you and your constant presence around the hockey team.

“Used to,” you say. When his face flickers with confusion, you hand him a paper plate. “Have some pizza. Captain’s orders.”

He stands there, staring, looking so unsure.

“You can take it up to your room if you really want, I won’t tattle” you say, and he twists his mouth. “Honestly, though? I hate to watch you guys lose, but sometimes these nights are some of the best. You should stick around.”

He pulls a piece of pepperoni pizza from the box and sets it on the plate. Then he takes a seat at one of the kitchen island barstools. You hope he doesn’t hear your sigh of relief.

An hour later, the kitchen, dining room, and back deck are full of people, and they’re all complaining about the game. Charles and Carlos are at the table, no longer angry with each other, instead complaining about a defenseman on the other team. Lando’s draped over Alex’s shoulder, loudly fake crying over god knows what. Oscar’s on Alex’s other side, laughing loudly at Lando’s dramatics.

You’re pouring drinks for the three of them- you’d offered when you noticed the empty cups. It’s not a party, but the alcohol helps numb the bitter feeling of a bad game. Max is standing nearby, looking proud. He elbows you.

“Pizza theory,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

You laugh. “Yeah, Max. Another one for the pizza theory.”

He’s had this running… experiment, of sorts, for a couple years now. It started after a string of bad games your freshman year, his sophomore year. He’d pointed out that when the team had pizza together after a loss, the next game was always a win. So he’d begun trying things out and writing down the results- you’ve seen the Google document, now co-organized by Charles. Pizza leads to wins almost 95% of the time. Chinese sits at a healthy 70%. They tried Subway one time and all got so sick off of it they nearly had to cancel the next game, so they never tried again.

You’ve told him before that you don’t think it’s really about the pizza- it’s about the time spent together, and the space to be just teammates again. It’s not like they’re apologizing or talking strategy, but put a bunch of greasy food in front of them and they’ll start to unwind. Mend bridges. Build new ones, even, you think, as you watch Oscar and Alex chat, heads leaned close together.

They win the next game by one point. It’s an away game, but you watch it from your apartment with Lily and a couple other friends, grinning the whole way through. You have pizza in honor of Max’s theory. Charles nearly tackles Oscar onto the ice when he scores. When the camera zooms in on the smiles on both of their faces, your heart melts. Lando howls like a wolf at the end of the game, which is simultaneously endearing and cringe inducing. When they get back to the hotel, he FaceTimes you from the elevator. It’s full of hockey boys with big grins on their faces. Max, hair still dripping wet from the shower, his arm slung around Lando, is smiling brightest of them all.

“Pizza theory!” he yells, and you can’t fight a grin in return.

“Pizza theory indeed,” you reply.

Oscar’s head pops up on the screen. You can only see his eyes and forehead, and he seems to know, because he wiggles his brows. It makes you laugh.

“What’s pizza theory?” He asks.

“You have much to learn, young grasshopper,” Lando quips.

“We’ll show you the Google doc later,” Charles promises. “Right now, we are going to the pool.”

…..

Oscar doesn’t join in the game afterparties for weeks. You don’t take it personally, but you do wonder why he doesn’t want to celebrate with his team. You even ask Lando to make sure he knows he’s invited. Your friend just looks at you like you’re crazy, which you suppose you are.

In the end, the party he does show up at isn’t even one after a game. It’s a bye week, and Seb gives them Saturday night off of practice, so they throw what starts out as a hangout and quickly morphs into a full on party. There are people spilling out into the lawn. Lando’s in charge of the music and taking it very seriously. And Oscar is in the kitchen, chatting with Alex over their red plastic cups. It’s an odd sight, but a welcome one. You’re trying not to stare.

Instead, you’re standing nearby, listening to Charles and Carlos argue. It’s over something stupid, you’re pretty sure- it almost always is. Max is standing next to you, hiding his amusement behind his own plastic cup. The three of them have a weird dynamic. Charles and Carlos have known each other for a while- they played together on a team before they started college. Max and Charles go farther back, though. They’re childhood rivals turned captain and alternate captain. They’re all oddly competitive over who likes who more or less. It’s entertaining, to say the least.

You’re really only half listening, using them to take appropriate breaks from watching Oscar. You’d tried to convince yourself you were just keeping an eye on him at first, that you were making sure he was okay and having fun. Now, two drinks deep, you’ve stopped making excuses in your own head. You just like the way he looks in the glow of Lando’s cheesy LED light strips. They’re purple tonight. Oscar’s cheekbones are painted purple because of it. You know there are freckles there, dotting his skin. You wish you were close enough to see them.

Eventually, you leave the guys to their arguing, tear your eyes from Oscar, and start to wander the party. There’s a lot going on, and there are a lot of people in the house that you’ve never met before. That happens, at these sort of events, you’ve found. The unplanned ones end up being an odd mix of people. So when you find yourself leaning against a wall and a guy you don’t recognize comes up to talk to you, you’re not exactly surprised. When he plants his hand next to your head on the wall, though, that does surprise you.

“I hear they call you Bunny,” he says, leering over you.

You hate the way he uses the nickname, the way it sounds on his lips. He leans close, caging you in. You swallow tightly, trying to peer over his shoulder and spot any one of your friends. It’s no use. He’s tall and broad and blocking your view. You say a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that one of your friends notices your absence.

“My friends do, yeah,” you say, hoping he takes the hint. “Actually, I have to go find-“

He cuts you off when he leans closer. You press yourself back against the wall. You can smell the cheap beer on his breath. Your heart pounds in your chest. Fight or flight or freeze, time to choose.

“Come on, sweetie,” the guy says. “Be a good bunny and-“

Someone’s hand clamps down on his shoulder. That’s all you see before he’s ripped away from you. It’s like you can breathe again, suddenly, relief flashing through your brain like the purple lights in the kitchen. It’s followed quickly by concern, though, when you catch sight of what’s going on.

Oscar has him pinned against the wall, one hand on his shoulder, his other fist cocked back, elbow bent, ready to throw a punch. There’s fury on his face. You’ve never seen him like this. Oscar doesn’t really fight. Not now, not at his previous team, not before then, either. You know it because Lando mentioned it when talking about how levelheaded he was. Plus, there are no helmets or pads to protect him here. Just him and his apparent anger.

“Mate,” Max says, carefully, appearing almost out of thin air. “Cool down, yeah?”

Oscar grits his teeth and clenches his jaw. You blink widely at the sight in front of you. Max’s eyes flicker to you, to the way you’re huddled against the wall, and understanding washes over his face.

“Piastri,” Max says, which seems to clear a bit of the fog from Oscar's head. The younger teammate turns to look at his captain and falters slightly. “I think you’ve proved your point.”

Oscar takes it for what it is- a thinly veiled command. Fighting on the rink is one thing. Fighting at a party they’re definitely not supposed to be having is another. Once they’re in motion, fights are difficult to stop, even harder to control, really. It'll get out of hand, so, so quickly. Seb would have their heads on a silver platter, and Max is always responsible for the actions of the team- it comes with being captain. He drops his fist and backs away slightly. Max nods.

The guy sneers at you, then Oscar, and then he spits on the floor near your feet. “Dumb bitch-“

In the blink of an eye, he’s pinned back to the wall, this time by Max, both hands on each of his shoulders. He tosses a look over his shoulder at Oscar.

“Get her out of here?” He says, and Oscar nods frantically.

He takes your hand, gentle as ever. You follow along nearly blindly as tears begin to well up in your eyes. Oscar weaves through the crowd, a man on a mission, and heads for the stairs. You dodge a couple who are making out on the top step, and he makes his way to his bedroom. They keep the rooms locked during parties- he punches his code in and ushers you inside. You nearly laugh through your tears when you see number 44, Lewis Hamilton, staring down from the poster on the wall. You wonder if Oscar knows he and Lando have matching ones.

He sits you down on the bed, reaching to turn on the lamp. He moves around the room quickly, and he tosses you a hoodie from his drawer, which you pull over your head gratefully. You hadn’t noticed until then how you had your own arms wrapped around your body, like you were hiding. You shake your hands out, flexing your fingers, trying to get the feeling back in them.

He sighs and reaches for the door. “Okay. You’re okay. Just- I’ll close the door behind me and-“

“Where are you going?” You ask, suddenly feeling panicky. You think it’s clear just from the sound of your voice, too.

“To get Lando,” he says, freezing in place, hand on the doorknob as he looks at you.

You sniffle. “Max will find him. Could you- can you- I don’t want to be alone, really, so-“

“Fuck. Shit. Sorry,” Oscar says.

Then he does the last thing you’d have expected. He sits down on the bed next to you, close enough to touch, and then wraps an arm around your shoulders. You gasp at the feeling, but lean into it, feeling a bit of relief running down your spine. His hand covers your whole shoulder.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, and you nod. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t really think about it.”

“It’s okay,” you answer, unsure what he’s even apologizing for- almost leaving or touching you. Either way, it’s fine.

The two of you sit there in the relative quiet for a minute or two. Downstairs, the music is loud as ever. Oscar’s hand is heavy on your shoulder, and you’re still a bit stuck in fight or flight mode. Maybe you’re just frozen, really. You can still smell the beer on the other guy’s breath, can still see the anger on Oscar’s face, can still feel the panic when he was about to leave you. Your chest is tight, fingertips still buzzing.

“Were you actually going to punch him?” You ask, breaking the silence in the room, trying to find something to distract yourself.

Oscar huffs. “The first time, probably not. But when he called you a…” he shrugs. “If Max hadn’t been there…”

You turn to look at him. “Why?”

He blinks, almost taken aback that you’d even ask. “You know. Take care of the team and all.”

You sniffle. “But I’m not on the team.”

“Might as well be, all the time you spend here.”

“Yeah, but…” you trail off. “You don’t… you don’t care about me. You- why would you get into a fight for me?”

He’s quiet for a moment. You’re waiting for the canned answer. Because nobody else was around. Because I knew it’d earn me brownie points with the rest of the team. Because-

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “For making you feel like I didn’t care.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. His hand squeezes your shoulder. Your heart squeezes in your chest. You hadn’t meant for this to go this direction, and now your face is hot and your throat hurts and there are tears welling up behind your closed eyelids.

“I just… I showed up here, and everyone already has their friend groups and buddies and-“ he huffs again, and realization starts to dawn on you. “And they all love you, and they’re super protective of you. And I’ve been so busy trying to find my place here and not step on any toes, I guess I forgot to try and make friends, too, you know?”

You sigh. “I don’t bite, you know. I’m very easy to be friends with. I can be low maintenance if that’s what you need. Or- what’s Lando call it? Low frequency?”

Oscar laughs. “I know.”

You turn to look up at him, and your breath hitches when he reaches up and wipes a couple tears from your cheeks. An hour ago, you thought he couldn’t care less about you. Now you’re sitting in his room, and he’s wiping away tears with a tender touch that makes your stomach ache. His eyes trace your face, like he’s looking for injury, for a source of the pain. It’s overwhelming.

“Okay. So stop ignoring me in class? And in general?” You say, trying to redirect things.

He groans, dropping his chin to his chest. “That was- it wasn’t even on purpose, I just didn’t notice and then when I did it felt too late to say anything, so-“

You break off into a fit of giggles. He drops his arm from around your shoulder, and you miss the warmth immediately. You try not to let it show as he drags his hands over his face and echoes your laughter with his own. When you lean against his shoulder, your side pressed to his, he stays steady and lets you do it.

“It’s okay,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “Fresh start, yeah?”

He nods. You stick your hand out to him. He laughs and wraps his own around yours, shaking firmly.

“Awesome. Because I have a feeling you’re smart,” you say. “And I’m seriously going to fail our physics class unless you help me.”

Oscar laughs, and the way it takes over his whole body makes you smile. His head bumps against yours, but you can’t even find it in you to mind. It’s enough that he’s laughing around you.

“Okay, but you have to help me, too,” he says, hand still wrapped with yours, and he squeezes it. “I wanna fit in here. I mean, I’m not even from this continent, you know. So trying to find my place has been…”

Your heart aches for him. Suddenly it all makes sense. You know the feeling of being an outsider all too well. So you smile and nod and shake his hand again. “Deal.”

Lando comes and finds the two of you only a few minutes later. He knocks on the door, and Oscar opens it just a crack before he lets his teammate in. He leaves the two of you with a quick nod, seeming to understand that his job here is done. Lando takes you back to his room a few minutes later, his arm around your waist and his head knocking against yours. You pass Max in the hallway, who exchanges a look with Lando and reaches out to squeeze your arm. You’re sure he’ll interrogate you tomorrow to make sure you’re feeling okay.

Lando doesn’t even question the fact that Oscar was the one to take care of you- you suppose to him, it just makes sense. Teammates looking out for teammates, or in this case, their teammate’s friend. He just checks in on you, cleans up the last few tears from your face, and then suggests you stay the night. You don’t exactly want to go back downstairs and through the party, so you agree. You change into a pair of his shorts and a t-shirt, though you keep Oscar’s sweatshirt and put it back on, too. Lando gives you the bed and pulls out the air mattress that he keeps on hand for this, and the two of you fall asleep to the sound of the bass shaking the walls of the house.

…..

The family dinner the next day is loosely breakfast themed. The guys are all dead in the morning, so you take it upon yourself to go do the shopping. And for that, you drag along your trusty assistant, Logan Sargeant. He’s one of few people on the team with his driver’s license, since so many of them are international students and never bothered getting one, and he has a car. Besides that, he’s a rookie, and he’s contractually obligated -meaning Max has politely asked him- to help you whenever you ask. He picks you up in his tiny Toyota, and then you’re off to the grocery store.

He carries the list while you stroll the aisles. “I’ve never heard of literally half the stuff on this list,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “That’s because you’re uncultured.”

You reach up on one of the shelves, snagging a jar with a yellow lid and label. He checks it off the list, brow furrowed.

“I thought this was breakfast for dinner night,” he adds, scrunching his nose up.

You turn to him, giving him an exasperated sigh. “It is. There’s just… a secondary theme. Don’t worry, my American boy, you’ll get your omelette.”

“Omelettes are French!” He cries out, huffing as you start to walk down the aisle, away from him. “The word is literally French!”

“Whatever you say, Miami,” you tease. “What’s next on the list?”

You buy Logan a coffee from a local place on your way back as a thank you for his help. In return, he tells you he forgives you for your comments about him being American. When you pull up to the house, you can see Lando and Charles in the living room. They come outside quickly, ready to help carry the bags in.

You head for the kitchen, one very specific bag in hand. When you walk in, you find Oscar, perched on a barstool, head pressed against his fist as his elbow rests on the counter. Max is on the phone in the dining area, chatting away loudly in another language. You can tell Oscar has a headache, just from the look on his face.

“You’re just the guy I was looking for,” you say, brightly but not too loud.

He blinks a couple times, then points at himself. “I’m an awful cook, if that’s what you’re implying.

You laugh and shake your head. “No, no- not that. But it’s breakfast night, right? So-“ you pull a jar of Vegemite out of the bag and set it down on the counter. “I got this. And then I went a little crazy in the international aisle of the grocery store. Oh, and I got sprinkles? The internet said something about fairy bread and I’m intrigued-“

You pause when he reaches for the jar, and his fingers brush yours. When you look up, there’s a look on his face you don’t quite recognize. It’s almost unbearably soft. You pull your hand out from under his so he can take the jar.

“You got Australian snacks,” he says, so quietly and almost reverently. “You…”

You shrug. “We talked about finding your place. One of the best ways I’ve found to do that is to tell people a little bit about yourself. It doesn’t have to be deep, could just be…”

He leans up and peeks in the bag, and his eyes go wide as he gasps, “TimTams!”

You laugh. “Yeah, could just be TimTams.”

He grins up at you, big and wide and so, so endeared. It’s a whole different side of him. You feel unbelievably proud of yourself for the idea.

Lando comes into the kitchen, hands full of bags. “Yeah, thanks, guys, we don’t need help.”

Charles is right behind him. “It’s fine, actually- hey, you bought Oscar cookies?”

Oscar hugs the package to his chest, suddenly possessive. You laugh and reach into one of the bags Lando is holding. In your hand is another package of TimTams.

“I got two of everything,” you tell Oscar. “To share and to keep.”

He smiles again, and lets the TimTams fall from his chest. “You all have to try one.”

Max gets off the phone and helps unpack things, setting out the stuff he’ll need for dinner tonight. You watch on with a fond smile as Oscar introduces all the snacks to anyone who’s willing to listen. Lando, Logan, and Charles sit with rapt attention as Oscar tells them childhood stories about all the snacks. Meanwhile, Max starts making pancake batter, and you start prepping the other ingredients.

Max elbows you lightly as the other guys laugh together. “You did good.”

You smile at him, shrugging. “We had a nice talk last night.”

Max cocks his head, smiling softly. “Before or after he tried to punch a guy out for you?”

Your face heats up at the comment, and you look away from Max and back to the food in front of you. “Last I remember, you had that guy pinned to the wall.”

Max makes a noncommittal noise. “I should’ve let Oscar punch him.”

You want to argue. To tell him that you’re not worth the trouble of that, and that he was right to tell Oscar to back off and send both of you away. But when you look up at him, the look on his face is a mixture of concern and determination. You blink, and he nudges his shoulder against yours.

“He deserved to be punched,” Max says, and you shrug. “And if you ever see him again, you call one of us. And maybe at the next party, you-“

“I’m fine,” you insist, picking up a plate and heading for the dining table. “Promise.”

More and more teammates file in, and now Lando’s the one forcing them to try TimTams, and encouraging Oscar to tell a story about being 5 and eating them in a pool, or something along those lines. You listen, even with your back turned, and hope that this helps Oscar feel a little bit more at home.

Later, after dinner, while everyone else is cleaning up, Oscar finds you in the living room. He holds out a plate. On top of it, laid out perfectly and carefully, are three TimTams.

“You didn’t try any earlier,” he says. He shifts on his feet when you take the plate. “I wanted to say thank you. Again.”

You smile up at him, laying your book on your chest. “Not a problem, Piastri. It was the least I could do, after you helped me last night.”

He frowns slightly, nose wrinkling up in mild disgust. “You know you don’t owe me for that, right?”

You nod as you pick up a TimTam off the plate. “But I can still say thank you. So. Thank you, again.”

He nods, and his face goes soft when you take a bite of the cookie and look up at him. It’s like he’s waiting with bated breath, desperate to know if you like them or not. You break out into a wide grin at the taste and nod eagerly up at him.

“Yeah, okay,” you say, eyeing the cookies on the plate. “I get the obsession.”

He laughs, nodding in agreement. One of your arms is resting on the back of the couch, and as if on reflex, he brushes his hand against yours. His skin is warm and soft. Your breath catches in your chest.

He backs away to disappear upstairs, then, with a soft “Goodnight,” that you echo, but not before you catch the tinge of red on his cheeks.

…..

In physics class on Monday, you watch Oscar waver in the doorway. He takes a stilted step towards the seat he normally sits in, across the lecture hall, and then he stops. You blink in confusion, taking a sip of coffee from your travel mug. He seems to take a breath, and then he turns- you pretend you’re not watching as he walks towards you instead. You pretend your heart isn’t racing as he walks up next to you. It shouldn’t be racing. Why is your heart racing?

“Is this seat taken?” He asks, politely, quietly, like it’s the first day of class.

You bite back a laugh when you look up at him, because his cheeks are red and he looks so, so proud of himself. “It’s open,” you say, smiling up at him.

He nods, sets his bag down on the desk, and then collapses into the chair next to you. He stares at your travel mug enviously as he slips his laptop from his bag, and you do laugh at that, at the tight furrow in his brow, at the pout on his lips. He glares at you, then, and then it all dissolves into a yawn. Something about it makes your chest ache- maybe it’s the way he pulls his hands into his hoodie sleeves. He looks like he could curl up right there and fall asleep.

“Early practice?” You ask, smiling sympathetically.

“So early,” he says, rubbing his eyes blearily. “I hate Seb.” Then he frowns, and shakes his head. “No, I don’t. But I do love sleep.”

You laugh and elbow him lightly. “I’ll bring you coffee on Wednesday. As long as you make good on your promise to help me study for this exam.”

His eyes light up, and he elbows you back, smiling brightly. “Easy trade. We’re going to get you an A+.”

You roll your eyes. Before you can respond, the professor calls the class to order, and you both open your laptops. But Oscar’s there, and he’s agreed to help you study, and when you lose your place in the notes halfway through the lecture he helps you get back on track with a sweet smile. It definitely doesn’t make butterflies swirl in your stomach.

Two days later, you walk into the kitchen, paper bag in hand, and you’re greeted with bright smiles and eager hands. Lando grabs for the bag, and Alex isn’t far behind him. Even Max, who’s cooking something on the stovetop, seems to perk up.

“Hey, hey,” you scold, snatching the bag out of their reach. “Not for you.”

Lando furrows his brows. “You’re my best friend, you show up at my house, and you have food that’s not for me?”

You shrug. “It’s for my study group,” you explain, holding the bag high above your head as you walk towards the dining room.

Oscar pops his head through the doorway and smiles at you. He takes the bag from your hand. “Hi. Ready?”

Lando blinks at the two of you in bewilderment. “Um?”

“We’re gonna get an A+ in physics,” Oscar says to Lando, drumming his free hand on the doorframe.

You scoff. “I’m unsure if that’s possible, at this point. But I’m hoping to at least pass.”

You head for the dining table and sit down. Oscar already has all his study materials spread out, so you do the same. When you look up, Lando is having some sort of almost silent conversation with Oscar, talking in hushed tones and facial expressions that do very little to tell you what’s going on. You see Oscar shake his head, then nod, then shake his head again. Max is watching them, too, in amusement. You exchange a glance with the team captain, and he shrugs. His food is burning on the stove- you can smell it. Alex’s far too calm announcement of that fact breaks up whatever was happening between Oscar and Lando.

Oscar turns back to you, brows raised. “Ready?”

Behind him, Max opens the kitchen window and waves smoke out of it.

You nod. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You unpack Chinese takeout containers and dish out food on plates. Oscar’s teammates wander through occasionally, sticking their heads into the dining areas to say hi and ask how things are going, but for a while, it’s just the two of you. You find that Oscar’s a great study partner. He’s kind when you ask questions, willing to explain things in a way that you understand. And, when you get bored, you have him to look at. The serious look on his face, the little furrow in his brow, the soft curve of his lips when you answer a question correctly. He’s nice to look at, that’s all.

You walk home later that night feeling better about your odds on the physics exam, and better about the whole situation with Oscar. You think you might finally be winning him over. Halfway to your apartment, you pause on the sidewalk, overlooking the campus park. It would be shorter to just cut through the park. Take the more direct route. You study it for a few moments in the hazy blue post sunset light. Then you turn down the sidewalk and continue on your original route home.

Read Part 3, Losing The Dream!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii

series taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @verstoppenheimer @black-fireproofs @smilinlemon @arieslost @floralkoi @vicurious28 @likedbygaslyy @rorabelle15 @bwormie @treatallwithkindness @fandomnerd11 @adhxmoony @sakuramxchii @insunia @mindflay3r @talking-raw @coolmathgames2 @assholeinatrenchcoat @saachiep81 @venusacrossthestars @v1naco @anthonylockwoodandco111 @whalebursoot-main

crossed out blogs are ones i was unable to tag!!

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dcxdpdabbles · 7 months

Text

Danny and the Fan Blog part 2

Danny is trying to get a picture from the Gotham Bridge of its sister city, Bludhaven. He has dropped his invisibly, sure that being on the edge of a dangerous out-of-the-way ledge will keep unwanted mugging away.

He had flown down to the bottom metal part of the arch right smack in the middle- still far from the water but lower than where the cars and people were.

He sinks to his knees, hoping the bridge's light can get his shadow against the waves for an epic piece. Danny aims his lens, adjusting the focus again, and then presses the button.

At the exact moment, he does, a boat out rushes from underneath the arch of the bridge, and a body flings itself off the bridge's edge above him. The person twists masterfully midair, landing on the boat's deck with a soft thump and not a wasted movement.

Danny's mouth drops open, watching the boot disappear into the horizon before scrambling to see the photo.

It's gorgeous.

The water is highlighted by the golden glow of the street lanterns, and they bounce off the sleek black boat, with the skyscrapers of Bludhaven painting the perfect drop back. But what ties the picture together is Red Robin mid-fall, half twisted and arms above his head that its hard to tell if hes a fallen angel or a rising one.

He's got a half smile on his face, black hair blowing in the wind and Danny breath catches.

It's the best picture he's ever taken.

He stares at the screen of his camera, wondering how he could have been so lucky to have captured the perfect moment. Danny won't even have to do too much editing. It's ready to be posted right now.

He was so excited to share it that Danny abandoned his place, turning invisible and flying back to his apartment. He arrives to find Jazz working on her homework on the kitchen table, but her hand rests on a ghost gun until he drops his powers and becomes invisible.

Her face lights up at once, and her hand lifts from her weapon. "Danny! How was the photos tonight?"

"Only got one." He admits, sprinting forward to show her, "But look at which one!"

He brings up the image from the memory card, displaying it proudly. Jazz mouth slacks. "Woah, Danny, that's amazing! He looks so good in it! How on earth did you manage to get this?"

"Luck, really." He grins, reaching for a plate with apple slices and peanut butter that Jazz likely set out for him. It is his favorite snake.. "I was at the right place at the right time."

"And where exactly was this place?" He winces at the tone, he knows she doesn't like him taking too many risks, but it's not like he's in any real danger. Even the Meta collars that canceled people's powers would never work on him. Danny is a ghost, and no one has the technology for that unless someone finally starts taking his parents seriously.

Vlad has been fine since Jazz convinced him to see a therapist. He is currently in the ghost zone at some mental hospital retreat that has been doing wonders for him. They visit whenever chance they get.

"I may have been under the Gotham Bridge."

"Trigate Bridge or Brown Bridge?"

"There is more then one bridge?"

"Danny," Jazz sighs. "There are four bridges."

Danny shrugs, taking a bit from his snack, and starts his laptop. He's sending the photo onto his blog from his camera, watching the photo download with anticipation. "I don't know Jazz. I ignore stuff like that."

"Well, maybe you should. You have yet to learn how important it is to pay attention to the things around you in this city. Danger is around every corner. Just this afternoon, someone tried to steal my phone!"

Danny's head jerks up. "They what?"

"I know! I was just minding my business reading a fascinating article on child development in the tablet era when some thug walked right up to me with a gun. I would have handled it trust me, his stance was pathetic at best, but Red Hood came to my rescue." Here Jazz's face reddness and Danny has a moment to wonder if he could take Red Hood in a fight. Maybe. He's sure he would win but it would be a close call.

He would do it, too, anything to keep no good punks away from his sister.

Jazz sees the face his making and rolls her eyes. "What? I'm allowed to drool over boys every once in a while. Just like you do."

"I do not droll!" Danny shouts offended.

Jazz gestures to the laptop screen, uploading the photo onto his blog. "Sure. And you just happen to stare at Red Robin's photos for the artistic application."

"I-I do! I took them!" Danny shutters, watching his sister's face break into a teasing smile. He feels his own lips pull upwards against his will and suddenly, they are laughing. It's strange, how at ease they both feel here.

They were never this carefree back at their parent's home. The realization makes Danny feel slightly guilty for noticing- because it wasn't like his parents didn't love him- but there was always tension at home. Even before the accident, he knows now that it wasn't healthy.

Jazz must have felt the change too, because before while she was racing towards adulthood- always strung so tight and nervous- she missed out on being a typical teen. Danny never had a chance to sit down with her and gush about boys, nor had she ever prioritized making friends.

Sure, Jazz was pretty, brilliant, and basically the pride of Casper High, but Danny never noticed she had no friends. She never hung out with people at the mall, she never got invited to go out, and she never texted funny memes to others back home.

In Amity, people knew of and respected her, but no one was close to Jazz. Maybe that's why she got so excited to be part of Team Phantom when she first found out.

Jazz Fenton may have been the intelligent sibling, but Danny Fenton was the social one, leaving her feeling crippling lonely while he had his two best friends.

He knows that now.

"Speaking about drolling over boys- how's Jason?" Danny teases just as Jazz's phone buzzes with a new message. The notification displays Jason's shy smile before Jazz yanks it protectively close to her face.

Jason Peter is someone Danny can approve of instead of that thug Red Hood. Jason and Jazz met at one of their classes at the beginning of the semester when Jazz was still unused to the city. She always went to class ten minutes before it started and read to pass the time instead of speaking to her college mates.

She had been reading Pride and Prejudice- one of the fancy covers kind Vlad had gotten her- and Jason had practically teleported to her table gushing about the artwork. Then, when he sat down, the two broke into a healthy debate about the characters.

Jazz admitted to him later that she was surprised by a man in a leather jacket with a white streak in his hair and multiple piercings in his ear having such in-depth character analysis of her beloved novel.

They've been hanging out ever since.

"He is fine, thank you." She huffs, typing a response to the text. Danny places his chin on his hand, smiling as her eyes soften. "He asked me to see a play this Friday. Or, well, he said he was going to one and wanted to know if I wanted to come along."

Danny perks up. "Like a date?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" Jazz nervously plays with her hair. "He made it sound like we were just hanging out. Do you think he meant it like a date?"

"It could be either way if he didn't clarify," Danny admits, then smiles to settle her sudden anxiety. She always doubted herself about spending time with people outside the family or Team Phantom. Doubts that were the result of her upbringing. "But why don't we go shopping tomorrow? Get you a nice dress, and I'll do your make-up. Once we're done, he'll wish it was a date!"

Jazz's smile may be wobbly, but it was there, and it was real. They chat more about the play and what she should wear. Danny forgoes any black, claiming it's too fancy for a first date, and trades ideas for her outfit.

Neither notices that the photo has finished uploading or that people are already commenting and losing their minds.

Nor did they notice a particular hacker with the handle- Oracle- attempting to break into his computer only to be booted out by Technus' system. It flings Oracle to the closest computer system that is close to his.

Somewhere deep underground under a particular mansion. Oracle panics, thinking that Phantom piggyback rides her signal to the cave and quickly shuts everything down. She bites her lip before picking up her personal phone and calling Bruce.

"We have a problem."

Else where Tim is helping Dick with an out-of-control gang. He isn't aware that a photo of him has just circulated through Gotham nor of the sudden new simps awaiting him.

(Lady Gotham laughs)

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Danny and The Fan Blog #Part 2 #Dead tired #anger management #Danny is unware of anything always #Also he scared Babs into thinking he knows about the cave #He's just vibing with sister #Jason is unaware the pretty red head is part of the Blog

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yangfleurs · 1 year

Text

stray kids reaction: they call you clingy

maknae line

pt.2

(hyung line pt.1 is here)

jisung

what you liked most about being with jisung was that it was never complicated with him. you two seemed to always be in tune with each other, knowing when to keep your distance and when to show your affectionate sides. but you knew jisung was an introvert, through and through, and there was nothing he loved more than his time alone. and so you left him to himself when he needed you to; you and him both knew it was good for couples to have their own lives and interests outside of each other.

it was one of those days with jisung, where he needed to spend some time with himself to recharge so he could be his best self at work the next day. you didn’t mind, obviously; you were a busy person yourself, and between school and work, there really wasn’t any time for you to let loose with jisung today anyway.

you spent practically the entire morning after breakfast sat on the living room floor and glued to your laptop, fervently typing away on a paper you definitely should’ve started earlier. but if you pushed through it the whole day and only took a few short breaks, you were sure you’d be done by midnight. you were ready to take your first one of those planned breaks to make lunch and eat, but a wave of laziness washed over you. you didn’t feel like cooking at all, not after pouring your brain’s contents into your work for so long. you started convincing yourself you could work through your designated lunch break and just eat a big dinner when jisung came out of the bedroom, bundled up in his puffer jacket.

“I’m going to the convenience store.” he grumbled out, shuffling towards the door.

why didn’t you think of that? you could grab some cheap, prepared food to eat there, while also getting some fresh air on your skin and a little bit of time to spend with jisung. “let’s go together! I need to grab something to eat, too.” you said, rushing to your bedroom to grab your own jacket. you quickly scrambled through your closet, finding your own puffer, before heading back into the living room. when you came back out though, jisung was nowhere in sight. you figured he was just downstairs and hurried to throw on your shoes so he wouldn’t grow impatient waiting for you. if there was one thing jisung hated, it was waiting, you thought to yourself as you skittered down the stairs.

when you got out of your building, jisung was already walking towards the direction of the convenience store, clearly not waiting for you. you ran to catch up with him, a little embarrassed at how he left you behind.

“hey, why didn’t you wait? I literally only took two minutes.” you mumbled, a little bummed out by his attitude.

“I wanna get back to my show, y/n.” he said with an over-exaggerated sigh which made you roll your eyes.

“you’re always so serious about your shows, it’s cute.” you giggled a little, leaning towards him and reaching for his hand. just as you were about to hold it, he briskly tucked his hand into his jacket pocket, keeping his eyes straight ahead and away from you. you coughed a little and turned your face the other direction to hide the humiliating red crawling up your neck and onto your face.

you arrived at the convenience store in complete silence, immediately going your separate ways to grab your food. you grabbed a triangle kimbap for lunch and then a ramen you could make quickly later in the night for dinner. you made yourself an iced coffee too, hoping some caffeine would help you focus in on your work and ignore the tension between you and your boyfriend. you found him already at the counter, putting his things down. you put your things down to the side of the counter so you could search for your wallet. you pat around your pants and then your jacket, but you don’t feel it anywhere on you.

“shit, shit, I forgot my wallet.” you groaned.

"we’re together.” he muttered, pushing your things with his and handing the employee his card. you thanked him quietly, hiding your smile by looking down. there was your jisung, considerate and always looking out for you.

“you forgot your wallet on purpose, didn’t you? y/n, I know you’re on the clingier side, but don’t you think that’s too much?” he huffed as he waited for his card to go through, “I asked for literally one day on my own and you just had to follow me to the convenience store and then you just conveniently didn’t remember your wallet? seriously?” he rolled his eyes.

you were stunned, to say the least. the employee looked at you both awkwardly, coughing a little and turning away so she didn’t embarrass you. but it was too late for that; as he started to put the food in his bag, you yanked him by the arm to turn him to face you. he looked at you, completely bewildered at your aggression. you didn’t care, though---if he got to give you an earful, you should return the favor.

“who do you take me for, jisung? god forbid I forget my wallet while rushing out to catch up with my boyfriend who’s running away from me like I’m some sort of fucking plague,” you seethed, “I haven’t eaten in hours, jisung. I’ve been working my ass off, not once even trying to talk to you. I am not as obsessed with you as you’ve deluded yourself into thinking.” you spat, shoving your food into his arms. “and since you’re so concerned about the what, ten dollars, you had to spend on me? take the food. I just lost my appetite.”

you walked out of the convenience store and away from him in the opposite direction, so you could both hide the tears that you were bound to spill as well as to go anywhere but back to your shared apartment.

you headed to your school, figuring you could finish your paper at the library there. you had already wasted so much time, and an all-nighter was soon going to be inevitable. you also knew you had a limited amount of energy left in you on an empty stomach, hearing it growl as you thought of your situation. you quietly groaned, sniffling as you trudged along. you’d kill to just have your boyfriend comfort you and support you through this grueling assignment, but instead, you were burning with humiliation at being berated by him in front of a complete stranger.

you walked slowly, counting your steps and hoping you’d hear jisung’s heavy footsteps running to catch up with you any moment now. but that moment never came, not even after you’d barely walked half a block in fifteen minutes. you had both, literally, parted ways. and it made you wonder if it symbolized something more than just a small argument.

felix

you were walking backstage to meet your boyfriend, felix, and his members to cheer them on for their final music bank performance of the season. this was a tradition for you; at the end of all of their final comeback performances, you would bring them as well as their staff a well-deserved, expensive meal to end the comeback strongly. it wasn’t burdensome for you; if anything, you were always thankful to them for taking care of felix and you wanted to express your gratitude through feeding them some delicious food.

you walked in clumsily, stumbling a little as the boys’s manager let you past security. you greeted him politely, handing him the food that was meant for him and the staff. you greeted the staff as well, bowing deeply at all of them like you always did; you knew they were practically family to your boyfriend, so you treated them with as much respect as you would his actual family. you turned to their manager again to speak.

“I’ll take the food for the boys in myself.” you let their manager know with a smile. he nodded, thanking you for the food for the millionth time before freeing up the hallway for you to go down. you bowed one last time before heading to the waiting room. as you turned the corner, you saw changbin coming from another direction .

“oh, hey y/n!” changbin waved, immediately grabbing the heavy bags out of your hands. “I just got out of the restroom, let’s head to the waiting room together.” he said, smiling. you nodded, thanking him for his help. you both chatted as you walked down the hallway, catching up on each other’s lives and listening to him explain how excited they were about upcoming plans for the group. you listened with a smile, making a note to bring it up to felix later when you got some time to talk to him in the waiting room.

you made it to the door of their waiting room first, and noticed the door was left slightly ajar. you overheard a familiar voice, chan’s, addressing your boyfriend.

“so how are things with y/n?” you heard chan ask felix. “she should be coming with the food any time now. she’s so sweet.” you smiled at his compliment. you shushed changbin as he caught up with you; you needed to hear what felix would say.

“well...she’s clingy for sure.” he chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever dated someone who needed this much attention, hyung.”

you were taken aback. is that what he thought of you? were you just some needy, clingy person pestering him for his attention all the time? you were a little embarrassed, but not nearly as much as you were hurt. you and felix both loved each other’s attention, you couldn’t believe he would say something like that. you gulped, grabbing changbin’s arm and heading backwards to the corner you had just turned.

“y/n, I’ll talk to him.” he said, distressed. you knew changbin, and you knew he would try to fix the situation like the good friend he was.

“no, you won’t. you’re going to tell him I was busy today and only had time to drop the food off. I’ll figure it out later, okay?” you said in a rush, wanting to get out of the building. the whole place suddenly felt suffocating, you couldn’t stand being there, somewhere you clearly weren’t wanted. you didn’t want felix to think you were any more needy than he already thought you were. your insecurities were slowly creeping in on you, and it was distressing.

changbin hesitated but finally relented when you promised you would talk to felix about it when he came home tonight. you practically ran out of the corridor, giving nothing more than a cursory bow and goodbye to the staff and manager, shabbily covering most of your face with your hand to hide that fact that you were on the verge of crying.

you got into your car and let yourself let go. the tears flowed freely, and you had no intention of stifling them. your relationship with felix was the closest thing to perfect you’d ever experienced. you adored how attentive he was to you---he never, not once, missed a birthday or anniversary. he was the first person to congratulate you when you passed your exams, and the first one to comfort you when you didn’t. there was never a moment when you were both home that he wasn’t following you around, trailing you even to the bathroom sometimes just so he wouldn’t be apart from you. you loved it and you thought he loved it, too. and the attention wasn’t one-sided, either---otherwise, you wouldn’t have even come here, arms overflowing with expensive food for practically everyone that interacted with him.

you sighed, satisfied with the release of emotions, and wiped your eyes carelessly. you drove yourself home, not even bothering to listen to the radio or try to calm down from your rush of feelings. you got home, unlocking the door and plodding into your apartment, feet feeling weighed down by how heavy your mood had become. you chugged a whole glass of water; all that crying had made you thirsty---and exhausted. you slid your jacket off and onto the ground before plopping down right there on the couch, not even bothering to change or wipe your makeup off. you didn’t want to do anything except stop thinking about the words your boyfriend had said about you to his friend earlier. you drifted off to sleep just like that, with mascara tears and a broken heart.

seungmin

there were a lot of things that went unspoken between you and seungmin. that was one of the best parts about dating him---you could both show your love for each other in the way you were most comfortable with. for both of you, that happened to be doing things to make the other’s day a little easier.

seungmin took the trash out early in the morning so you wouldn’t have to do the heavy lifting on your own. you made him his coffee before he left. you would order lunch to where he was, whether it be the company building or at the dorm with the boys, in advance so he wouldn’t have to bother with cooking anything. he would stop by during your lunch break at work with your coffee order and a small bite to eat in case you didn’t pack food that day. he has your favorite show ready to play as soon as you’ve washed up after work and you’re always ready to greet him with open arms after a long and tiring day at practice.

you both anticipated what the other needed, and that made you guys always in tune with each other. you’d never even had a serious fight, the worst one being a five-minute quarrel about seungmin buying the wrong shampoo on your grocery list, which was easily resolved by him driving to the store after work and exchanging it for the right one.

tonight, you knew seungmin would come home exhausted. he had practice from sunrise to sunset, with only a short break here and there to eat or use the bathroom. the choreographer for the comeback they were preparing for was one of the best, but she was known for being incredibly detail-oriented (which was, of course, what made her the best), and according to your friend and seungmin’s, hyunjin, she was especially keen on ironing out all the tiny mistakes seungmin was making. she was the reason your boyfriend was exhausting himself for endless hours and the reason he was going to come home tonight like a walking corpse.

you stuck a gatorade in the freezer to chill it quickly, knowing he would need the reminder to replenish himself. you warmed up the food on the stove, laid out his sleep clothes on the bed, and started cleaning up your home so the both of you could head to bed right after you both ate dinner and he showered.

you started putting your hair up and walking back to the living room after washing up yourself when you heard the jingling of keys outside of your front door. seungmin was home.

the door creaked open and seungmin came in, looking pale and drained of life. he didn’t greet you, which you didn’t blame him for---you knew he just wanted to get his rest as soon as possible.

“hey seung, rough day?” you asked gently, earning a passing grumble as he walked straight past you to the bathroom. you sighed, walking to the kitchen to fix him a plate and pulled out the gatorade so he could eat quickly. he could be as moody as he wanted, you weren’t about to let your boyfriend go to sleep without dinner, especially after the hours of choreography he had just gone through.

the water droplets of the shower softly padded against the walls of your apartment for a couple of minutes before it was quickly shut off. seungmin stepped out right after, lazily drying his hair with a towel as he walked straight into the bedroom. you hummed, waiting for him to come back after changing into his sleep clothes. but a couple minutes soon became ten, which soon became fifteen. you got up from the sofa and walked into the bedroom, worried as to what was taking him so long. you found him lying in bed, scrolling through his phone.

“coming to bed?” he mumbled, not looking up from the screen.

“I made dinner and put out some gatorade for you, come eat.” you said, tugging his leg a little as a sign for him to get up.

“not hungry.” he sighed, turning a little in bed.

“come on, seung. I know you and you definitely skipped lunch to practice more. you need to eat well if you want to do your best tomorrow.” you told him firmly but gently so he knew you were serious.

“why are you so pushy, y/n,” he rolled his eyes, “you’re not my mom. I’ll eat whenever I want.”

you cringed a little at his rudeness but persisted. “seungmin, just eat something. and then we’ll go to bed, it’s not that hard. just do it for me?” you asked.

“oh my god, you are so pushy and clingy. please just leave me alone, you don’t need to always be on my ass.” he groaned, turning off his phone, and turning his face into the pillow.

you were bewildered. seungmin knew you were the type to look out for him; if anything, he should be sympathizing with you, considering he would’ve done the same for you after a rough day. his words felt like being slapped, the hurt fresh and confusing. you turned around and left the room.

“where are you going? can we please just sleep.” he whined.

“I’m sleeping on the couch, I do not want to be next to you right now.” you muttered, heading to the living room.

“seriously? dramatic much?” he groaned, “whatever, suit yourself.” he mumbled turning off the bedside lamp to sleep. you sighed, closing the door behind you.

you covered the food you had ready for seungmin before plopping down onto the couch. you pulled the living room throw blanket on top of you and tried to fall asleep. your legs were cramped together on the too-small couch and your neck was in an awkward position that you knew would hurt in the morning but all you could do was accept your fate and sigh. you shuffled a little, closing your eyes tightly. but with seungmin’s words still reeling in your mind, you knew there was no way you would be getting any sleep tonight.

jeongin

jeongin was your best friend as much as he was your boyfriend; teasing and poking fun at each other was a natural part of your relationship. it wasn’t uncommon for you to take light jabs at each other; you both knew not to take it too seriously---or to take it too far.

it was an unusually quiet evening at the dorms. a bunch of the guys had gone out for a drink and dinner, save for jeongin, who stayed back to spend time with you. you guys were sitting on the couch, stuffed to the brim with a bunch of takeout---you had gotten a promotion at work and jeongin was keen on celebrating. jeongin laid down in your lap with a whiny groan.

“remind me to never order food on an empty stomach ever again.” he mumbled into your lap, making you giggle.

“thank you for treating me, baby.” you hummed, running your fingers through his hair.

he shot up to look you in the eyes and smiled sweetly, pulling your face closer to his and kissing you gently.

“ew, jeongin!” you heard felix yell from the door.

“in the living room? our innie’s an adult!” lino laughed.

jeongin practically flew to the other side of the couch. neither one of you had heard the door unlock and open, nor had you seen all the members pile into the room.

“he has a way of surprising people,” you chuckled a little, patting him on the cheek, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, be right back.” you winked at him as the red on his cheeks only grew brighter from your teasing.

you headed to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, laughing to yourself thinking about the hell the members were probably giving jeongin right now. you quickly used the bathroom and cleaned up your appearance a bit before you headed back. you straightened out your clothes as you walked back. before you turned the corner, you heard jeongin’s voice loudly defending himself to the boys.

“and besides, y/n’s super clingy and needy for attention. she wouldn’t have left me alone until I gave her a damn kiss! leave me alone, you guys are the worst.” he huffed angrily.

“so you’re just going to make shit up about me and blame me for a kiss you initiated? what, so your friends won’t tease you a little? grow the fuck up.” you rolled your eyes, feeling the irritation start to make your skin burn.

he sat there silently, not even bothering to correct himself or apologize. the boys dispersed immediately, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire of your (albeit justified) explosive temper. you scoffed at his immaturity, turning for the door and angrily shoving your feet into your shoes and grabbing your coat off of its hanger.

“call me when you decide to stop acting like a dumb kid who can’t handle his friends seeing him act like a boyfriend to his girlfriend.” you spat. you slammed the front door behind you, still coming down from the adrenaline rush your confrontation with jeongin gave you. it hurt you; how could jeongin of all people make you into a needy, annoying girlfriend? all of that, for what? to save face in front of his friends? you sighed, deciding to just head home to your apartment and call it a night.

#skz angst #skz fanfic #skz fluff #skz headcanons #skz imagines #skz reactions #stray kids #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids reactions #skz han #skz felix #skz jisung #skz seungmin #skz jeongin #skz i.n #skz scenarios #skz #stray kids headcanons

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wineauntie · 3 months

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ahhh how would Father’s Day be with single!mother x Quinn and evie?

FATHER’S DAY — Quinn Hughes x single!mom reader

summary: in which, Evie gets to celebrate her very first Father’s Day and Quinn gets to be at the centre of it.

note: thank you so much for this ask, lovely! more of these three because they have my heart <33

warnings: literally nothing major, just heartwarming fluff. Quinn being the best dad, use of y/n, y/n/n, nicknames like bug, darling and love.

word count: 2.5k+

Father's Day had always been a rocky territory for you and Evie, especially before you'd introduced her to Quinn. You remembered so clearly when she was two, that she had come home from kindergarten with a Father's Day card, telling you "daddy card, daddy card!" over and over again. You had to break it to her that there was no "daddy" to give that card to.

The topic of Evie's father wasn't one you liked to think about. You were childhood sweethearts and when you found out you were pregnant, he was the first one you'd told. You'd expected tears and perhaps a bit of uncertainty, the two of you had often discussed a life beyond what the two of you had and that included children and marriage. You'd rushed over to his house as soon as the test had shown positive, brandishing the stick in your hand when he'd opened the door. You hadn't really known what else to do...you were still relatively young and this pregnancy wasn't necessarily planned.

He'd dumped you on the spot.

Actually no...he'd told you to get rid of "it" and then he'd dumped you...all while dropping the nuclear bomb of knowledge that he'd been sleeping with your best friend.

You'd frozen, not even flinching when the door slammed in your face. You'd gone into autopilot making your way back home and once you'd entered the safety of the four walls, you'd finally broken down.

It was safe to say that Evie's biological father wasn't a topic you wished to dwell upon.

But then you'd met Quinn and all of a sudden, every single definition of a dad seemed to befit him– it was something Evie had noticed too.

So when Evie was four and calling Quinn "dad" more often than not, the celebrations of Father's Day now seemed more appealing.

"Mom, Mom!"

You turned around from your place at the counter as Evie bounded into the apartment, her backpack swinging on her shoulders as she rushed to hug your legs.

"Hey, baby," you hummed, wrapping your arms around her, and stroking her hair as she looked up at you. "How was school?"

"Mom, I have a secret," Evie whispered as much as she could, giggling as you tilted your head in wonder. Your daughter tucked herself into your side with a smile across her face while Quinn entered the kitchen behind Evie, his keys swinging from his fingers.

"I swear that pickup line gets bigger by the day," he sighed, but despite his exasperated words, the soft smile reserved for you and Evie remained steady on his face. He placed the keys in a ceramic bowl before bending down and poking Evie's cheek lightly. "I'll need to start bringing a bed and pyjamas with me at this rate."

"Dad, that's silly!" Evie giggled heartily as she practically fizzed in her spot. Quinn's smile widened as he ruffled her hair before moving upwards to come face to face with you.

"Hey," Quinn spoke again, his voice low as he pressed a kiss to your welcoming lips. You hummed in response, your hand resting on his cheeks as he kissed you.

"Ew! Mom, Dad, stop!" Evie squirmed and broke free from where she'd become trapped and basically ran away screaming, her hands thrown up into the air.

You and Quinn fell into a fit of laughter, breaking apart to watch Evie disappear into her room. He pressed another chaste kiss to your temple before he flicked the switch on the kettle. You tidied up your laptop, which you'd been working on before they arrived home, tucking it aside, before picking up Evie's dropped backpack. You brushed it off before carrying it towards her room.

"Evie, darling, you left your bag in the kitchen," you spoke gently pushing the door open.

"Mom, in, quick!" Evie rushed to say, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the room as she closed the door.

The excitement in Evie's eyes was contagious as she held up a handmade Father's Day card, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Look what I made!" she exclaimed, practically bursting with pride, waving the card around, allowing you to take it gently.

The front of the card was adorned with a drawing of what you presumed to be Evie and Quinn holding hands– the latter indicated by a scribbled "Winnie", as well as the fact, the man in the drawing held a hockey stick in his other hand. The two were surrounded by colourful scribbles of writing.

Evie looked at you in question, her eyes wide as she waited for your reaction. You smiled warmly, opening up the card to reveal the inside, in which Evie's scribbled handwriting tried its best to be neat.

"It's beautiful, sweetheart," your tone softened as you crouched down to face Evie, handing the card back to her.

"You like it?" Evie asked carefully, as if afraid of your reaction.

"I love it," you reassured her while your thumb caressed her cheekbone. "How about you and I plan the entire day for Quinn tomorrow? Make it nice and fun for him, hm?

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Evie nodded rapidly as she pulled you towards the bed so you could scheme.

As you both sat on the edge of her bed, Evie began to share her plans for Father's Day through childish babbled, with you listening as intently as possible. The two of you huddled together, discussing the details of your surprise day for Quinn.

It was seven thirty in the morning when you felt a soft poke on your cheek. Allowing your eyes to flutter open, you lazily smiled as Evie silently urged you to get up before she "sneakily" crawled out of the room, her bare feet slapping against the floor of the hallway as she ran.

You rolled over to face Quinn, who had pulled you deep into his arms throughout the night, your nose gently brushing his before you carefully untangled yourself from him, tucking the blankets back over his sleeping figure before you crept out, following Evie.

Evie was practically fizzing in the living room as she clutched her card to her chest. You gently pressed a kiss to her forehead before placing a finger to your lips, signalling for her to keep quiet. Together, you and Evie tip-toed to the kitchen, where you both embarked on the mission of creating the perfect Father's Day breakfast for Quinn.

You'd been dating Quinn long enough to know he loved waffles. Not only was it his go-to cheat breakfast, but also his favourite meal to make for you and Evie. You and Evie got to work, following a recipe from an old cookbook you'd thrifted a few years ago, creating a waffle mixture. You'd tasked Evie with the important role of assistant chef, letting her stir and add a range of ingredients into the bowl.

Keeping a close eye on Evie, you moved away to heat an oiled pan to cook some bacon to go with the breakfast. You flicked on the radio, keeping the music at a lull, hoping to keep you and Evie's activities as secret as possible. Your daughter's tongue stuck out between her lips in concentration as she mixed, careful so as not to splash herself with the batter.

The scent of freshly brewing coffee began to fill the air as you worked side by side, flipping the bacon as Evie pushed the bowl aside. You watched from your peripherals as Evie opened the fridge and stood on her tiptoes to reach for the fruit you kept inside.

"Careful, love," you chided, scooping the bacon off of the pan and onto a plate before moving the pan from the hob. You turned and helped Evie gather the fruit and bring it towards the counter, where you chopped and sliced it up and put it all in bowls for Quinn.

"Mom! There's someone at the door," Evie whispered, her pyjama-clad arm pointed towards the entrance to the apartment in worry as a knock resounded.

"Perfect," you smiled, moving around Evie to get the door. You unlocked the door and peeked your head around the edge, to lay your eyes on a delivery man holding a bunch of neatly wrapped flowers. "Hello! Are those for me?"

"Ms. y/n?" The delivery man asked, glancing down at his clipboard.

"The very one!" You beamed, opening the door wider and taking the flowers that had been passed over to you. "Thank you!"

"No problem, have a nice morning," the delivery man nodded before he turned around, leaving you with the bunch of flowers. You closed the door quietly as you walked back towards the kitchen.

"Pretty, Mom!" Evie all but squealed before her hands clapped over her mouth at the volume. You chuckled and nodded in agreement as you set them down on the counter.

"They are, aren't they?"

Evie's excitement radiated as she carefully arranged the breakfast tray, making sure everything looked just right. The handmade card, now carefully positioned next to the wrapped flowers– you'd been surprised to learn that the florists had allowed you to order them last night for delivery this morning.

"Do you think Dad will love it?" Evie whispered, her eyes wide with anticipation as she surveyed the breakfast spread. The waffles were a golden brown with whipped cream and the bacon beside it with all the fruit bowls laid neatly on the tray.

"Absolutely, sweetheart," you assured her, sharing a conspiratorial smile. "Especially when he knows it's from you."

With the tray complete, you and Evie tip-toed back towards you and Quinn's shared room. The tray was clutched in your hands as Evie carefully clutched the bunch of flowers and her card.

Quinn stirred awake as the bedroom door creaked open. He opened a singular eye–which widened at the sight of his girls in the doorway.

"Good morning," he rasped, stretching up his arms as he sat against the headboard. His tired eyes glanced between you and Evie in wonder. "What's all this for?"

"Happy Father's Day!" Evie suddenly exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious as she jumped onto the bed beside Quinn, nestling into his side. Evie beamed with pride, holding up her handmade card and flowers for Quinn to see.

"W-what?" Quinn's voice cracked with emotion as he looked at Evie with softened eyes. His arm that had naturally fallen around Evie's shoulders had tightened around the girl.

"She wanted to surprise you," You spoke up, your weight shifting on your feet. The tray was getting heavier in your hands, but you tried to hide it so Evie could do this at her pace.

"I've never done today before," Evie muttered, her gaze falling to the bedsheets. "But you're my dad now." Quinn tilted his head to look down at her and you swore you saw the shimmer of tears brewing along his lower lashes.

"I'll let you in on a secret, bug," Quinn started, his soft voice so gentle and caring. "I've never had today done for me, and that means it's both our first time." Evie looked up to meet his eyes, her own wide and childlike.

"We're both babies at this," Evie said rather seriously, her head going lax against Quinn's shoulder. Her words caused Quinn to laugh and pull her closer to his side, his eyes flitting towards you.

"Oh, y/n/n, come put that down here," Quinn rushed to move and help you, but you merely pierced him with a gaze that threatened 'you stay where you are Quinn Hughes or I swear...' You placed the laden tray on his lap, perching on the bed by his feet.

"Oh, wow, look at all this!" Quinn exhaled with a smile. "This looks incredible!"

"Mom made it!" Evie burst, looking at you with a wide grin. "And I got to help make the batter and the fruits. She even let me sort the fruit into the bowls!"

"No way! That's my favourite part of the tray," Quinn remarked causing Evie to duck her head in embarrassment. He looked up towards you and pushed into the centre of the bed, moving carefully to not spill anything as he gestured for you to join his free side.

You were more than willing to sink into the warmth of his side of the bed as he pulled you into a short, but loving kiss. Your hand brushed through his mussed hair, as you pulled away and curled up beside him.

"Thank you for the breakfast," Quinn murmured as he nuzzled his nose against the side of your face.

"I had the best helper," you smiled, looking towards Evie who was sneaking a raspberry from a fruit bowl. Quinn followed your gaze and once more, his gaze melted completely.

"So, bug," Quinn started, "what are those in your hands?"

"Oh!" Evie bounced onto her knees, picking up the flowers that she had placed half-mindedly on the bed in front of her and holding out the card for him to take. "These are for you!"

Quinn smiled and took both items from Evie. He emitted an indescribable noise as he saw the front of the card and the inside message. His lip jutted out as he buried his head into Evie's hair, his face smothered as she giggled.

"That's me, that's you, and that's your hockey stick" Evie pointed out matter of factly, as Quinn glanced up. This time he couldn't hide his watery eyes as he listened to Evie explain his card, his free hand found yours and squeezed gently, his head resting atop Evie's. "And I wrote inside all myself!"

"I love it, bug," Quinn croaked, wiping his eye briefly as he pulled her into a side hug. "I'm gonna put it on the mantlepiece so everyone can see."

Evie bashfully smiled and wrapped her small arms around Quinn as much as she could. She'd once again forgotten all about the flowers which Quinn had swiped at the last moment to save them from being squished.

"These are very nice," Quinn commented, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. "Don't think I've ever gotten flowers before."

"There's a first for everything it seems," you hummed softly, resting your head on his shoulder quite like Evie was doing on his opposite side. Quinn pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of your head before placing the flowers carefully at the end of Evie's legs.

"Yeah...there is," Quinn mumbled, "thank you...both of you," you and Evie both found yourselves nodding, the smell of food in front of you now growing more and more intense. "I might need both of your help with this breakfast, though."

Evie didn't need any other prompting before she grabbed at an entire bowl of fruit and started scoffing it down like a girl starved– which you knew she wasn't considering you'd already fed her plenty of waffles before you'd entered.

As you sat down and listened to Evie, who was telling Quinn all about the day ahead through a full mouth, you marvelled at how this Father's Day had transformed into a celebration you cherished, a far cry from the painful memories of the past.

Together, as a family, you were creating a different kind of story to the one your past had tried to force you to live—one filled with laughter, warmth, and the genuine bond between you, your daughter, and the man she proudly called "Dad."

more single mom!reader x quinn is coming I swearrrr!

#wineauntie #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #nhl x reader #quinn hughes fluff #Quinn hughes x single!mom #Quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #i love quinn hughes what a man #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fanfic #Quinn hughes x single mom!reader #family is family universe

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kingkatsuki · 1 year

Note

Everyone leaving a business course in Japan knows that Dynamight PR is THE job to get. Everyone strives and works for it without really knowing what they’re getting into. They just know it’s the highest paying job you can get and you’ll either never need to go job hunting again, or you’ll have an amazing job on your CV. That is until they work there and realise that Dynamight is a dog that cannot be contained by his PR team and the reason you get hired on the spot if you go looking for other jobs is ‘well if you can work for Dynamight, you can work for anyone’

I could write about this trope for hours I’m so obsessed with it— he’d make your job so insufferable whilst simultaneously being the best part of it😫

On paper, a job at Dynamight’s agency is the dream for anyone in business— never mind a student fresh out of school with no experience. Strict NDA’s meant there was little information about what a job working for Dynamight’s PR team was really like, but the fact that his current manager was signed off sick for stress should’ve been an indication of what the job would be like for you.

You didn’t meet Dynamight during your interview, even though it was held at his agency. A fact you found a little peculiar, thinking a Hero climbing the rankings would be invested in who he’d have as his PR assistant— especially as it could help further his career, but it didn’t surprise you. Dynamight was one of the most in-demand heroes, with the media, fans and public desperate for his attention. Of course he wouldn’t have the time to interview everyone that applied for the job.

But you didn’t even meet Dynamight when you got the job. The three weeks since had been surprisingly calm, surprisingly easy. You’d spend your days filtering through emails, most of them from fans who’d beg for a chance of meeting the Pro, or autographs or merch. Not unlike a lot of the emails from the media, trying to arrange interviews or publicity stunts while trying to offer their fees.

The only complaint you’d received was from a young photographer that hadn’t known any better when he shoved his camera directly under Bakugou’s nose during a rescue mission, the hulking Pro carrying an injured civilian over one of his broad shoulders as he grabbed the camera with his palm. The heat of his quirk no match for the intricate technology as it melted beneath his touch, effectively destroying the memory card as he let it drop to the ground. The only evidence a blurry, charred JPEG of Bakugou’s angry face as he reached out for the device. The complaint quickly settled with a new photography set as compensation, as well as a well scripted apology from the Pro. An apology, which you soon realised, was carefully scripted by yourself and signed by the Pro-Hero himself.

“What do you want?” You hadn’t expected these to be the first words your new boss would say to you, and yet here you were.

“Oh, I’m your new PR assistant,” You understood now why people felt intimidated in his presence. Crimson eyes shot you a glare from across the room before he quickly went back to the laptop on his desk, even though thick-rimmed glasses he still felt as intimidating as ever. Even if he did look much cuter like this— “I just need you to sign this apology to the photographer from last week—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ signing that shit,” He scoffed, “Tell that prick he’s lucky it wasn’t his head.”

Now you understood why there were always vacancies available for this job.

You were certain Dynamight wasn’t trying to make your job difficult on purpose, he always seemed to answer your calls when he was inside his office— even if it was usually with an abrupt “what?”. And he even agreed to tone down his aggressive views online, “Fine, sweetheart. I’ll cut the fuckin’ politics. But you know those fuckers need tellin’ how dumb they are”. The peace could only ever be short lived, because no matter how hard you tried, things just seemed to get worse.

If the hero commission weren’t a bunch of pussies Deku wouldn’t be number one for another year in a row.

“Oh my god,” Your eyes squinted as you read the tweet at six in the morning, before you’d even had a chance to wake up and get ready for the day.

The likes and retweets continued to grow as you began to get messages from your team at the agency, and the media as you contemplated just never coming back.

Usually someone in the IT department would lock his account just in time, or intercept the tweets but it wasn’t always quick enough. You really were in the trenches as you decided to take matters into your own hands. Scrolling to your contacts as you called your boss immediately, pinching the bridge of your nose to try and calm the migraine you knew was coming on.

“You’re callin’ a bit late for a bootycall, sweetheart—” He grunted, his breathing laboured on the other side of the phone so you assumed he was at the gym. Or so you hoped, not wanting to imagine him on top of another woman whilst talking to you, “Don’t you start work in an hour?”

“Cut the crap, Bakugou,” You snapped, irritated by the offensive tweet mere hours after he’d promised to tone it down, “You said no more ridiculous tweets.”

“You said no more ridiculous tweets,” He mimicked your tone, “I’m just posting pure fuckin’ facts and you know it. If the commission weren’t so far up Deku’s ass I’d be number one by now.”

“No,” You growled, “If you weren’t such an insufferable asshole all the fucking time and actually tried to show up to some of the events that were organised for you, you might actually have a chance of changing public perception of you. Nevermind the simple fact that Deku had better numbers than you this month. Deku’s number one because he deserves to be, but you deserve it too. So maybe if you fixed up we could get you there, but instead you choose to be a jerk.”

You couldn’t believe the words had left your mouth. Every single ounce of annoyance and irritation you’d felt working under Dynamight for the past month had spewed out in under thirty seconds. The emotions you’d kept bottled up every time you received a new complaint or read a new interview or post from Bakugou, now released from your system.

And even though you were certain that you’d lost your job now, at least you could say that you’d given your notice in style.

“Well shit,” You heard the running stop on the other side of the phone as you assumed he paused his treadmill, panting into the receiver.

“I’m sorry, sir,” You sighed, “Maybe it’s better if you get someone else for the job—”

“I like it when you’re pissed, sweetheart.” He cut you off completely, catching you off guard, “I’ll see you in an hour. You can tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

#YOU KNOW HE’S HIDING HIS CHUB ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PHONE #bakugou x reader

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unseededtoast · 3 months

Text

All I Know | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: Five years after leaving Spencer Reid, it seems that fate might have given you a second chance. Inspired by "Everything Has Changed" by Taylor Swift/Ed Sheeran

Part two of Glimpse of Us, but can be read standalone!

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

wc: 6.5k

a/n: Hi everyone! It's good to be back and I hope this lives up to your expectations. This one felt different from my usual style but I think it's different in a good way. And thank you once again for being patient, I appreciate each and every one of you

You're not sure what you did to deserve this opportunity, to be reunited with the love of your life, but you choose not to question it. All you know is that you're his, and he is yours, until the end of your days.

And that is more than you could have ever wished for.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Nerves wake Spencer up far before his alarm even sounds. Anxiety over the "what ifs" of the day eat away at his mind, he hopes the day goes well. He hasn't had a first day at work in a long time, he had become accustomed to his life at the BAU. But his FBI days are in the rear view mirror now, a career-ending injury forced him to forge a new path in life.

And this new path he chose was becoming a professor. Sure, he had guest lectured before but he had never been a full blown professor. In preparation he reviewed his curriculum at least a hundred times to make sure it was perfect and rehearsed his first lecture.

While he should be happy and excited for a new start, he can't help but feel that it's all too bittersweet for his taste.

It had been five years since you left him. You walked out because you became unable to deal with his bustling lifestyle, and he understood. But now, here he is, forced to slow down and without you by his side. Spencer had effectively lost the two most important things in his life.

His alarm finally sounds and knocks Spencer out of his thoughts, and quickly gets ready for his first day of teaching.

- - - - -

Your pen glides across the paper in front of you quickly as you glance at the clock to see how much time you have left. Five minutes. You can do this.

After you quickly scribble your name on the card, you slide it in the envelope and rush out of your office with the card and laptop in hand. Students and faculty alike scatter through the halls, eager for the first day of classes.

You find the office you're looking for and slide the envelope under the closed door. Hopefully the new professor hadn't been in yet, you hope the card will be a nice surprise for them.

Two weeks ago at the faculty meeting it was announced a new professor was hired in your department. They wouldn't divulge a name, but you didn't think it mattered much, everyone likes a greeting card. And you hope it'll make the new professor feel right at home.

After dropping the card off you make your way to the lecture hall, excited to meet the new faces of students for the semester. Though this is only your third semester of teaching, it feels like you've been doing this a lifetime and it doesn't even feel like a job most times. You think you finally found your calling in life, and it's the first time you felt real happiness in years.

Once your lecture is over, you make your way to the break room for a much needed cup of coffee. As you sit down at one of the tables your coworker-turned-friend Jamie walks in with a smile on her face. Her first day must be going well.

"It's good to see you." You stand to hug her.

"I have a feeling this is going to be the best semester yet." Her smile is wide and bright, her enthusiasm starts rubbing off on you.

"Why's that?" You ask, sipping on your coffee as you sit back down. Jamie takes the seat across from you and leans close.

"You know the new professor they hired?" Her voice lowers so that people can't eavesdrop.

"I know they hired one but I have no idea who." You tell her the truth.

"Well whoever does the hiring around here deserves a raise. He's hot. And I mean like, hot hot." Her words pique your interest, and suddenly you wish you had stuck around to meet the man in person.

"Hmm maybe we'll have to make a habit of walking by his office." Your own smile breaks out across your face.

"Perhaps we will." The two of you laugh together and you think Jamie might just be right, this might be the best semester yet.

- - - - -

The second day of the semester went well, as did the next, and the one after that. Your students all seem to be excited for the course content, except a few, and you're excited to see the projects they come up with.

With a smile on your face from a successful lecture full of intellectual conversation, you retire to the break room for a little bit, before your next lecture. The air outside is getting quite cold and so you settle for a warm tea today.

However, your peace doesn't last long as Jamie walks in minutes later. She takes a seat across from you and sets her laptop down on the table.

"What do you have there?" She asks, gesturing to your cup. You look down at the tea that still has steam rising from it.

"Oh, just some tea." You answer and venture to take a sip that burns your tongue.

"It's a good day for it too." She says as she rises from her seat to grab a cup as well.

When she returns the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. Jamie works on her notes while you enjoy the peace. You don't even look to see who entered the room when the door opens.

But, Jamie's not-so-subtle kick under the table gives you a clue as to who it might be. She's been pestering you all week about finding the new professor, and you're willing to bet he just walked in.

Casually, you look over and see a tall, slim man pouring a cup of coffee. His hair is long, down to his shoulders, and you watch as he pours sugar into the cup; an ungodly amount of sugar. Your stomach twists nervously as the man's silhouette and coffee order seems all too familiar.

Unable to tear your gaze away, you watch as the man finally turns around and meets your eyes. And it's like the world has stopped spinning, your heart has stopped pumping, and you can no longer remember how to breathe.

Spencer Reid is standing ten feet away from you.

His forest-colored eyes are just as beautiful as you remember. Gold tones still as soft as honey, green hues reminiscent of fresh spring grass. And it catapults you to the first moment you met him.

It was a nice, sunny day and you had decided to go to the park to finish your book. You had been inside for far too long and it would have been a waste to not enjoy such a lovely day. And to take full advantage of it you wore your favorite sundress.

You had picked a spot on a bench that was partially shaded from the sun and you enjoyed the sounds of nature as you turned each page. That was until someone stood in front of you and blocked your light. You closed the cover of your book and looked up to the handsome man in front of you.

"Hi, I'm Spencer and I um, I just thought I'd come and introduce myself." You hear the nerves in his voice and see them in the way he scratches as the back of his neck.

"Hi Spencer, it's nice to meet you." You smiled up at him.

You had always thought it was endearing how nervous he was to make a good impression and you've never been able to forget the fullness your heart felt that day. But then your mind plays a cruel joke, and suddenly your head is filled with the moment you left him.

No matter how hard you try to forget, you will always remember the tears running down his cheeks and the way his voice cracked as he begged you to stay. It took every ounce of strength you had to follow through with your plan.

Every now and then you think long and hard about if you had made the right decision. You still hold a deep love for Spencer, but with the lifestyle he was living and the future you wanted, eventually the two of you would have drove each other to madness one way or another. It was in the best interest of both of you to separate, or at least that's what you had convinced yourself of.

Jamie clears her throat and you're swiftly brought back to reality. She looks between them two of you, both frozen in place like statues. Now that you look at him, really look, you see how much he's changed and how much he's stayed the same.

His hair is longer, he's filled out just slightly more, his fashion sense is relatively the same and he still has kind eyes. He's still your Spencer, the one you left all those years ago.

"I can't, I have to, I have to go." You clumsily stand from your spot and rush out of the door.

Your chest begins feeling heavy and tight, your palms sweat and your heart races. Getting to your office is your only priority. Shaking fingertips grasp the edge of the solid wood desk, your eyes squeeze shut and all you can hear is your thumping heartbeat.

"Hey, are you okay?" Jamie's voice sounds muffled to you, and you pay her no mind. Your only focus right now is to breathe again.

Minutes could've passed by, or even hours, before you finally feel your senses coming back to you. Your muscles ache from the tension, and you open your eyes to find Jamie standing right next to you, her hand resting on your shoulder. Blinking a few times, you try to remain calm as the nerves tangle your inside.

"Hey." Jamie speaks softly. Glancing at the clock on the wall behind her, only five minutes passed.

"Sorry about that." You stand up straight and try to regain your normal composure.

"What happened?" There isn't a trace of judgment to be found in her voice, just concern and curiosity. With a sigh, you sit on the edge of your desk and cross your arms, unable to meet her gaze.

"That was Spencer." You plainly tell her, knowing she will understand.

Over the course of the past year, you and Jamie had grown quite close. The two of you swapped stories of your pasts; you know about her exes and she knows of yours. At first, you had worried she might judge you for breaking off an engagement over a man you willingly left, but instead of judgment, she met you with understanding. And you were ever so grateful for that.

"Oh." Her tone is heavy, and all you can do is nod your head.

How are you supposed to continue working here when he shares the same halls? And had he known that you were here? Surely he recognized your name on the card. He had to have known. And yet he never sought you out once. Your mind wrestles with why that may be. Perhaps he didn't want to see you after you broke his heart, maybe he had looked for you but you were out of office. A million different scenarios fill your mind at once.

- - - - -

A week passes without seeing Spencer again. Physically, of course, but you saw him plenty in your dreams. You had been free from dreaming of Spencer Reid for about seven months now, until a week ago and now he's all you can dream about.

While you sleep you're met with different scenes, each of them about how your life might've looked like if you had stayed. Some scenes are sweet and tranquil, while others are full of fighting and misery. And you aren't sure which ones are worse.

One night you had felt particularly curious and you found yourself looking at his Instagram again. You navigated to the pictures he's been tagged in and noticed all the ones you had seen previously are no longer posted. A quick trip to the woman's profile shows that she is with a new man now, and there's no trace of Spencer left on her account. From the looks of it, Spencer never got into another relationship after her.

A part of you is relieved he hasn't moved on. For if he moved on a second time, it would have solidified to you that he truly has moved on. After all, you were never able to move on after you broke off the engagement with your last boyfriend.

Getting back together with Spencer never seemed like a viable option until now. Now he no longer lives on the fly, there's no risk of him getting called away for weeks on end. No, his schedule is normal now, a solid, unchanging schedule, one that allows for personal time. This idea had been blossoming in your mind for a few days now, after you had been able to process that he works at the same university.

Now, even while you're awake you daydream about being back together with him. In your mind, he's able to be home every evening now, he's able to be there for holidays and birthdays. There would be no more occasions spent alone. The thought of that warms your heart, but it's always quickly refuted by a tiny voice in the back of your mind. Why would he want you back after all? You had walked out on him and broke his heart, there's no reason why he would desire to have you back.

And so you live partially in sadness and partially in happiness, feelings changing on a whim depending on which thought intrudes into the forefront of your mind. You can tell others are noticing how you've withdrawn, but thankfully they haven't said anything yet. Even Jamie has been giving you more space than normal. You feel bad for distancing yourself, and promise yourself that you will try harder to get back to normal.

Normalcy is what you're hoping for tonight. It's the university's annual holiday dinner, hosted at a local five star hotel and catered by a Michelin star restaurant, you wouldn't miss it for anything. Jamie had texted you earlier asking if you wanted to carpool and when you check your phone you see that you only have fifteen minutes left before she's going to be here.

The dress code is black tie formal, and you enjoy getting dressed up, you don't get to do it often. For tonight you had decided on something simple, yet elegant. The floor length dress hugs your body just right, and the heels sparkle tastefully with every step you take. Finalizing your look, you put on a pair of earrings that catches the light beautifully. Before you go to wait for Jamie, you take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror. And for the first time in a long time, you feel content with how you look, excited for the night to come.

"There are more people here than there were last year." You say to Jamie as you two wait to be seated. There's easily double the amount of people here, word must have got out about how good the food is.

"Tell me about it." She looks around at the other faculty members who are also dressed to the nines.

"Ladies, if you are willing, we have a group table that is ready to be sat." A posh waiter interrupts your conversation politely. Jamie and you look to each other and shrug.

"That's fine with me." You confirm, and Jamie nods her head. The waiter smiles,

"Right this way." He leads you through the hotel's reception room, lights dim with a string quartet playing in the background. As you pass by the musicians, you can't help but wonder how much money the university allocates to this night, and if it could perhaps be better spent. But that thought doesn't last long once the fresh bread basket is placed in front of you.

"So good." Jamie says through mouthfuls of warm, toasted bread. All you can do is nod in agreement, enjoying how the butter and bread compliment each other well.

Other faculty members begin being sat at the table with you, and you greet them all though you haven't a clue who they are. Everyone at the table gets swept away in their own conversations, so much so that you don't even realize who they had sat right next to Jamie, and you probably wouldn't have noticed for a while if Jamie's body language didn't give away that something was wrong.

Your eyebrows crease at the sudden tension in her shoulders, the tightening of her jaw. Her eyes grow wider just slightly, as if she's trying to communicate something telepathically. Your eyes sweep to the right and find nothing out of the ordinary, but once they move to the left you realize that what was supposed to be a good night, might end up being a terrible one after all. Of course the universe would have fated that Spencer get sat at this table as well.

You avert your gaze from him quickly, feeling your face flush red. If it wouldn't be considered rude, you would get up from this table right now and go back home. But you know Jamie has been looking forward to this dinner all year and you don't want to let her down because of your personal problems. If you just keep your focus on Jamie, maybe tonight will be more bearable.

Keeping your eyes off of Spencer is easier said than done you come to find. As if it's a habit, you find yourself stealing glances at him. He's decided on a nicely tailored suit for tonight, and the warm lighting compliments the golden hues in his eyes. And it's because he looks so good that you can only half pay attention to the words coming out of Jamie's mouth for the rest of the night.

The table's food arrives and your one glass of wine turns to two, which turns into three. Jamie has had more than you, and has used her newfound confidence to go mingle with the other faculty in the open part of the room. Typically, after the dinner, the floor opens for dancing and socialization, neither of which you feel like doing now. Slowly, but surely, the others at the table leave to go mingle as well, leaving only you and Spencer at the table together. With this realization, you finish off your third glass of the night and wonder where to get your fourth.

Just as you're about to get up and track a waiter down, you hear Spencer clear his throat. Like a deer caught in headlights, you look at him with wide eyes. He's already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Something makes you sit back down though you know you should be running the other way. Seconds tick by like hours, you watch with intent eyes how he licks his lips, a nervous habit he's always had. And finally, he breaks the silence.

"Hello."

- - - - -

Spencer had never been one for fancy outings, especially outside of work hours, but tonight he is happy to make an exception. Ever since he saw you in the break room you're all that he can think about; more so than usual.

Over the years he had kept light tabs on you, asking Penelope every few months how you were doing and if you were still in the area. All she ever said was that you're doing well and you're still around. And that was enough for Spencer, he could live with that vagueness. Until he set eyes on you again. Now, you consume his thoughts every second of every day.

He had never stopped missing you, loving you. No, he still searched for things that reminded him of you. The blankets you had picked out all those years ago are still draped over his couch. And now there's a shred of hope blossoming within him that his apartment may be your shared space once more.

The only issue is that he's not even sure you want him back. He doesn't know if you're seeing somebody else, or if you even want a relationship at all; especially with him. After all, you had left for good reason so why would you want to come back?

The pessimism and optimism wrestle in his mind as he finishes tying his tie in the mirror. Spencer hadn't been working at the university long enough to have any real acquaintances or friends, and usually that would stress him out. But tonight, all he's focused on is you.

He wants to see who you show up with and get a gauge of your feelings towards him. Spencer is still fairly confident he can read your body language. And he promises to himself that if you show up with a man, or act disinterested, that he will leave you alone and look for another job. After all, you were there first and he doesn't want you to feel suffocated in your place of work. Plus, he knows he wouldn't be able to share the halls with you without speaking to you. The wound would never heal, but then again, he's had five years to heal it yet it remains open.

Spencer hands the valet his car keys as he walks inside the high-end dinner. The lights are moody and it feels like something straight out of a movie. He joins the line to be seated, and there he spots you for the first time, looking around and talking to Jamie.

On his first day Jamie had found her way to his office to introduce herself. She taught in the humanities department and was friendly enough, Spencer liked her, he thought she may prove to be a helpful friend to have around. His nerves were still at an all time high as she explained who had offices in this hall as well, and his interest piqued when she mentioned your name. He contained his surprise and thanked Jamie for coming by. Once he opened the card that was left on the floor of his office, it was glaringly obvious you had no idea he was the new guy, for you had signed the card,

"We're so glad to have you here, can't wait to meet you! Welcome to the team!" Followed by your signature. He would recognize that signature anywhere. He remembers seeing it scrawled across sticky notes you used to leave in his bag, ones he would find while he was out working a case. He always looked forward to finding those notes, it was like having a piece of you there with him. And if he's honest, they still reside in an interior pocket of his bag, he could never find the resolve to get rid of them.

He watches as you and Jamie get seated, and he feels nerves creep up his spine. What if this all ends badly? He doesn't want you to run out of the even like you did the break room, no, that was the last thing he wanted to happen. All he wants is to gauge your reaction when you notice him, that's all. That will be enough for him to make his decision.

After a few long minutes had passed, he was finally being seated. While he followed the host he scanned the room for you but failed to see you amongst the sea of people. Surely you were here somewhere. Thanking the host as he took his seat, he took a deep breath and became acquainted with his surroundings. This was a large group table, there are likely others to be seated around him, so maybe he will make some new friends after all.

He's just about to open the menu when he catches the glimmer of jewelry out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, he sees that it's you sitting just across from him. He's been sat beside Jamie, and he can tell from their stiff posture that they've both noticed him.

Averting his gaze quickly, he tries to think of how to handle the situation but comes up with no good answers. So he settles on just trying to make it through the dinner and to get a decent read of your body language without you noticing him looking at you.

All of which is easier said than done. Every time he goes to sneak a glance at you, it seems that your eyes are already on him. He doesn't miss the way your drinking increases or how you fidget with the necklace resting on your chest.

The night passes unbearably slowly until it seems like it's coming to an abrupt end. Jamie leaves the table to talk to other friends, leaving just you and Spencer alone at the table. Unable to keep his eyes off of you any longer, he glances over and sees you finish off your third glass of wine for the night. And judging by the way your eyes dance across the people in the room, you're on the hunt for another, likely because his presence has unnerved you.

You go to stand from your seat when something inexplicable happens. Before Spencer can comprehend why he's doing this, the word just tumbles out of his mouth, just a simple,

"Hello."

The word seems to have made you sit back down, and he quickly assess that as being receptive to what he has to say. You clear your throat, buying yourself some time before answering.

"Hi." Your voice is airy and like music to Spencer's ears. How he's missed hearing your voice.

The shred of hope within him grows, and he only hopes this conversation goes well.

- - - - -

The two of you are unable to break each other's gaze. Your eyes stare into his with intensity and your heart pounds in your chest. For a second you're worried you might have a heart attack because of the quick pace.

"You look lovely tonight." Spencer tells you, a ghost of a smile teasing the edge of his lips. You glance down at your dress.

"Thank you, you clean up pretty well too." You tell him the truth.

You're not sure where this is going to go, you feel as if you're treading in dangerous waters and you're not sure if you're going to be rescued or swallowed up. Spencer glances down at the tablecloth and smiles softly.

"Thank you." He says, looking back up into your eyes.

The two of you fall into a silence and you're not quite sure what to do from here. There's so much that's left unsaid but you don't know if you have the nerve to say any of it. But after a few minutes pass without anything, you rise from the table, unable to be so close yet so far from him.

"Goodnight, I hope you enjoy the rest of the dinner." You keep your exit friendly and turn to go stand on the curb and wait for an Uber. You don't want to end Jamie's fun, you'll just send her a text that you caught a ride home.

The night air is chilly and it sends a shiver up your spine so you wrap your arms around yourself. You unlock your phone and are just about to request a ride when you hear footsteps coming from behind. Looking to your right you see Spencer, lips parted and eyes scanning your face.

"I can take you home, if you want of course. I drove here and it wouldn't be a problem at all. I was probably going to head out soon anyways." His words are rushed and slightly jumbled, but send butterflies straight to your stomach.

"That would be nice." You accept his offer, feeling the familiar tingle of nerves engulfing your body. He nods and smiles before offering you his arm to take.

Hesitantly, you reach out and loop your arm with his. He's warm and oh so familiar. The two of you walk in stride together, and you take a shaky breath to keep your emotions in check. A gentle breeze carries the scent of his cologne into your nose and it transports you back to a time you reminisce about frequently.

You look up at Spencer as you walk, noticing how much more grown up he looks now. Stubble lines his jaw more noticeably, his arms feel sturdier, the smile lines by his eyes more prominent, but still the most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes on.

Feeling your gaze on him, he looks down at you and smiles kindly. Your eyes burn and you look forward, seeing his car only a few rows back. It almost doesn't feel real.

Spencer opens the door for you and you sit in the passenger seat. Before he gets in, you pinch your leg harshly, reminding yourself that this is very much real and is actually happening. Suddenly your palms feel sweaty and your throat feels tighter. The sound of Spencer closing his door snaps you out of it.

Without asking for directions, Spencer drives off into the night. The streetlights offer a warm glow as he passes street after street. You pick at the edges of your nails as he drives, not feeling confident enough to say anything, you honestly don't even know what to say. And you're so distracted you don't even realize where he's taken you until he turns the car off. Looking out the window, you see his apartment building.

"If you want, I'd like for you to come inside for a little bit. If not, just tell me where you want me to take you." His voice wavers with nerves. The car is dark, but you're close enough to see him. Nodding your head, you reach for the doorhandle.

"I can come in." Your voice is like a whisper.

You follow Spencer up the stairs to his apartment, and you take it all in. You never thought you'd see this place again. Stepping inside, you see that not a lot has changed. There are some new pictures on the walls and there's an entirely new bookcase in the living room, but it's almost just as you left it. A moment frozen in time.

Spencer drops his keys on the counter and hangs his coat on the rack beside the door. You take a deep breath as you realize the last time you two were here together, he was pleading with you not to leave.

"Would you like any water?" He asks and you shake your head,

"No, I'm okay, thank you though." You decline and watch as he loosens the tie around his neck.

"I didn't know you pursued teaching." He ignites the conversation again and tries to make it all seem more casual by rearranging things that clutter the dining table.

"Yeah, I started about a year ago."

"Do you like it?" He asks, pausing his rearranging to give you his undivided attention.

"I do. Well, so far at least. Each semester its like the courses become richer with content and I just love seeing the passion some of them have. It's inspiring. Why'd you start teaching?" You open up a little in an attempt to shake the tension that hangs in the air between you. Spencer chews on his lip before answering.

"We were working a case and I got shot in the knee, and it ruptured some tendons. And my choices were to either work strictly behind a desk or pursue something else." At the mention of him being shot, you eyes widen and your jaw falls slack.

"You got shot?" An all too familiar feeling of anxiety shoots through you and you remember how many nights you stayed awake contemplating that very thing happening.

"I did, but as you can see it wasn't fatal." He cracks a small smile, but all you can think of is how easily he could've been taken from this world.

"Well I'm glad it wasn't." You truthfully tell him. A life without Spencer in it is quite miserable, but living in a world without Spencer would be like swimming in a lake of fire; torturous and inconceivable.

"Me too. But it forced me to put things into perspective, to slow down and enjoy what life has to offer." You're not sure if his choice of words is intentional, or what exactly he means by telling you this. But there's a small, optimistic part of you that can only imagine why he's saying these things.

"I'm sure it's not an easy adjustment." You elect to skirt around the question you want to ask, not knowing if you're just being foolishly hopeful or not. Spencer nods and motions to the living room,

"Would you like to sit down?" He asks, looking down at the heels you're wearing.

"That would be nice." You say and sit down on the leather couch, where you always used to sit. It almost feels like the couch remembers you. And your eyes catch the blanket draped over the back, you remember it well as you have the other one still.

Spencer sits next to you, the two of you close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him. It takes everything within you to not just lean into him and act like nothing ever happened. You miss him so much, you miss his touch, you miss his kisses, you miss his love.

"How have you been?" The question feels out of place, but you're not exactly sure of what would feel right. Meeting his eyes again, you tell him the truth.

"There have been a lot of ups and downs. Long story short I pursued a new career, as you've found out, moved two different times, visited Europe, and then I was engaged but broke it off." Your voice dies at the end, still feeling guilty over breaking yet another heart with the failed engagement.

"Engaged?" Spencer's voice is tight and filled with worry.

"I was, but I couldn't follow through with it." You tell him. Though you're not sure why you're spilling everything, but it just feels like the right thing to do.

"Why not?" He asks, his eyes dancing between your eyes, your hands, and your lips. You shrug,

"He just wasn't the right one. But how have you been?" You ask, already knowing about one girlfriend he had. Spencer's eyebrows raise,

"Well, I stayed with the FBI up until just recently, I made some friends and lost some, and I had a girlfriend, but that didn't end well either." He says though you're sure he's summarizing dramatically, as you had also done.

"Oh. Well I'm sorry about the FBI and about your, your girlfriend." The word is almost impossible for you to say, but you force yourself to.

"Don't be sorry. I guess she just wasn't the right one." He whispers as his eyes finally land on your again.

Your lips fall slack and you can't help but look between his eyes and lips, remembering what they felt like over every square inch of your body. And it's as if Spencer has his own gravitational pull, but you find yourself leaning further and further towards him until his hand lands on top of yours.

His larger hand completely engulfs yours, and you look down to see him holding your hand with such gentleness. The feeling of his skin on yours is almost enough to bring you to tears. Five years you had spent trying to remember what he felt like, yearning to have him in front of you, to be able to see him, hear him, smell him, have him again.

By the time you look back up from your hands, his other had already come up to your face to cradle your jaw. Your lips meet his tenderly, softly, as if you were both afraid the other would jump away.

But instead, it's like you melt into each other. With your free hand, you grip the front of his shirt and pull him closer. Your lips fall into a long forgotten rhythm as if no time had passed. His lips as soft against yours and you feel his hand let go of your own and wrap around your waist. Pressed against one another, you wish this moment would never end.

Your lungs burn for oxygen, so you pull away from Spencer's kiss and rest your forehead against his. You keep hold of him, afraid that if you let go that you'll wake up from some kind of cruel dream. With closed eyes, you take it all in, it's so much more than you could've ever dreamed of.

"I've missed you every day for the last five years. And I am so sorry that I drove you away." Spencer's voice wavers. Leaning away from him, you hold his head in your hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. There are tears in his waterline, and the tremble in his lower lip makes your own eyes water.

"Spencer, oh Spencer." You say as tears fall from your eyes and down your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to him. You rest your head against his shoulder and the two of you cling to each other as you cry.

"I have spent every single day missing you and loving you. And I'm sorry I walked away." You say as another round of tears fall down your face, landing on his shirt. Instead of answering, he just holds you tighter, and whatever you don't express in words is made clear in the way you two meld together.

"I love you so much." He eventually says, letting you adjust in his grasp.

"I love you, Spencer Reid." You tell him, knowing that it's the full and honest truth.

You're not sure what you did to deserve this opportunity, to be reunited with the love of your life, but you choose not to question it. Instead, you kiss him again and know that this time you're not going to let him go. All you know is that you're his, and he is yours, until the end of your days.

And that is more than you could have ever wished for.

- - - - -

Three months after being reunited, you and Spencer had fallen into a comfortable routine. You had moved back in after the two of you had a long discussion about what the future of your relationship means to the two of you. Both of you agreed that nothing on this planet was worth jeopardizing the relationship, not after the most agonizing five years without each other.

You're beyond happy that you finally get to come home with him every day, that he's able to be here for holidays and everything in between. The two of you do your best to make up for lost time, you relish every moment you get with him, no matter how small or insignificant that time may be.

Everything had changed in the five years that you spent apart, and you both had grown up in several ways. Not drastically, but enough that you needed to get to know one another again. Date nights are spent talking about newfound interests and what has remained the same. Nothing feels strained or forced anymore, it's all tranquil and full of love.

One night, after you had gone to bed early, Spencer finds himself sitting at the dining table with a velvet box in his hands. He opens it and looks over the ring he had bought over five years ago. And now he knows that it will finally reside on the hand it was meant for. With a smile on his lips, he slides the box into his suit pocket for the date he planned for tomorrow.

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starryspeculation · 2 years

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looking for a new laptop is harder than looking for a good date i'm telling you

#it's just. i need at least gforce graphics card but i need it to be as light and small as possible #AND i need at least 1tb ssd harddisk AND i need a good ram for PS to work #illa bir yerden file veriyoruz birinden biri olcak ikisi birden olmuyor #worst thing is the best quality laptops are ugly af 😭

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highhhfiveee · 5 months

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safety net [p3] (pornstar!mike schmidt x reader)

part two: 🚿 | part four: 🏆

tags: lots of mentions of porn, smut (descriptions of sex being filmed, featuring unprotected sex, dirty talk, clit rubbing, squirting, some workplace intimacy lmao), angst?, exposition! reader gets a taste of mike's world and things begin to shift. proofread many times but if there are still errors, idk what to say lmao

“wow."

"i know right," you say plainly, eyes wide at your best friend, claire, as you take a large gulp of your hot latte. claire cuts her gaze to you, puffing her cheeks out in a sigh. you were always so in awe by her, the feeling proved once again when she'd actually agreed wholeheartedly to view your boyfriend's porn.

"i still don't believe that you're dating him," she sputters with outrage as she points to your computer on the dining room table, open to a still of mike with dick in hand, coming on some dark-haired girl's keen face. "and i don't believe it even more so because you decided to wait six months before telling me. i thought we were best friends!"

you can tell her outrage is whimsical by the way she faints into your arms, and you reach forward to catch her.

"yeah but, like, best friends from adolescence that don't see each other very often. last time i saw you was three months ago."

"okay, but by then you'd been dating him for three months, and that's almost half a year!"

"barely, claire."

you couldn't even believe that you were dating him. you hadn't known how you two went from meeting outside an underwhelming, overpriced restaurant to making out and cuddling intimately in mike's bed four out of seven days a week. it'd felt like no time had passed at all; you'd just been living without thinking. mike took every worry off your shoulders, freeing you of anxiety in so many ways that you couldn't believe someone that caring and accommodating was real.

he paid for your sessions after you'd mindlessly rambled about not being able to afford this therapist you really liked. he sent you the credentials to his grocery delivery membership, encouraging you to get anything you wanted or needed. you could finally consistently get things that were good, and healthy. he paid your rent, and respected the fact that you didn't want to move in with him and wanted autonomy to work and pay for your other personal expenses.

"i just want you to be happy. you tell me what you want, and we'll make it happen."

he had you and it didn't feel real. you felt like you couldn't tell anyone about it, terrified that everything would crumble if you spoke even a word about him being your partner, so sweet and good and rewarding. you didn't want to hide him, but you didn't want things to collapse. not this time.

you wouldn't be able to take it this time.

you explain all this to claire, ending with, "i'm sorry it took so long. i just really want this to last." you'd told her about everything, even about dating simon briefly and how he led you to mike.

claire nods, chewing on a wedge of pineapple speared by a fork. she's given up her fainting performance, once again munching on her breakfast and clicking the pad on your laptop. the video you two were watching resumes, and you watch her face for bit, eyes shifting around the screen in intrigue, before turning back to it as well.

"you deserve it, y/n. that simon guy sounded like a dickhead. an expired card, and the bathroom excuse? fucking lame." her voice doesn't chop through the amplified sound of both mike and the girl moaning, whiny and feral. they're absolutely gone, and you're really not thinking about simon anymore. fuck him.

now, you thought of mike.

granted, you hadn't been like the people in mike's videos, up to a certain point. you'd done the kissing and the heavy petting, but you hadn't had sex at all, in any form, and he didn't pressure you into feeling like it was some sort of requirement. he agreed with taking it slow, placing emphasis on the romantic before the sexual. you knew there would be no issues with the sexual; why rush into it when you could have the slow burn, all the tension you wanted up until you were ready?

mike hadn't fought it, and yeah, you thought, you did deserve it. you deserved to be treated like this.

"called me over for an art date, i guess you still painted," the girl mewls with a devilish smile, licking at mike's---sorry, chase cox's---come around her mouth.

"mhm, baby. masterpiece, if i do say so myself." mike is so pretty on the screen; sweaty and flustered, but so confident at the same time, polite too. even when he's in an act, he's so attentive; he moves hair away from eyes and wipes spit off chins and cradles waists while he adjusts his hips to hit various angles, turning almost everyone he filmed with into a "braindead fucktoy"---claire's filthy words, not yours (though you didn't mind the idea).

the video ends with a snippet of aftercare, the both of them wiping at each other's bodies with gentle motions. it's how they all end, and you think it's really nice, showing a crucial part of sex that most people forgo. you'd seen plenty of mike's videos by now, and knew that while some were vastly more kinky than others, they all followed the same formula of care, concern, and curtesy.

you could tell mike lived by that, too.

"well, i gotta scoot to work," claire murmurs, leaning down to grab for her bag. "but thank you for inviting me to breakfast so you could show and tell me that you've been dating a wildly handsome, generous, and charismatic sex worker. best videos i've seen by far, honestly. are you seeing him today?"

you nod sheepishly, and claire laughs into the sky, doctored with comical bitterness. "well, let the record show that i am both extremely jealous and extraordinarily happy for you." she gives you a toothy smile, poking at your shoulder with both index fingers. "seriously. you deserve it all."

you carry this thought with you as you ride in one of the company's chartered cars, traversing through the roads to their main studio, the biggest one in the city. there were only 4 throughout the metro area, but this one, a gigantic penthouse isolated at the top of a 275-foot tall apartment complex, had the most space and atmosphere of them all. you remember coming here to take your picture for the all-access card mike had given you. he was so happy to gift it to you a few months ago, finally getting through after bugging the execs to give him another card with unhindered access for months.

"finally got the hard copy, just for you. got your name on it and everything," he'd smiled so wide, clipping it on one of his merch lanyards; white with black, serif text that read, "chase cox world domination". you'd fallen over in laughter, kissing at his cheeks while thanking him between giggles.

you hadn't been here many times over the last three months, but when you were, you were able to slip through every door and security checkpoint without hassle. people knew who you were and attended to you, telling you exactly where mike was in the studio or offering to get you any refreshments or sundries you were after. you'd always declined, extending extreme gratitude to everyone servicing you, but today, you ask for a bottle of fancy artesian water. you deserve it.

the few times you'd been here before were usually half-hours after mike had finished a scene, helping him pack up to head home for the day, but this time, you'd come early, wanting to catch a glimpse of him at work.

you take the elevator to the top, stepping out into the concrete foyer of the industrial workspace. the gray of the material was accented with bright art and other pops of color in furniture and decor that conveyed the new age principles and ideology of the production company. it made sense why the videos were so honored, with the people behind them being young and progressive and on the right side of history (and design).

there are eight rooms on the floor; three for shooting, three for aesthetics and dressing, one for an office, and one for storage. there were bathrooms in three of them and two down the main hallway that opened into the formal living room/break area and kitchen. you'd been told that mike was in the hunger room; this one set up for messier, more bodily fluid oriented videos, as opposed to the softer passion and kinkier desire shooting rooms.

the rooms are all hidden behind frosted, sliding glass doors with the titles printed onto placards affixed next to them. you find hunger after walking a little, and gently pull on the handle. the door slides open soundlessly, and you're closing it behind you as you step inside, your eyes locked on the scene in front of you.

mike and his partner are arranged on a leather couch in a living room set, his hips shoving into her in this perceptive way. he's reading her body language and reacting accordingly, and you can see why she's moaning so genuinely, feet dangling by the ankle over mike's shoulders. the couch is already drenched in liquid, wet and puddled under the girl's ass.

he grabs for the back of the couch to go deeper, leaning down to press kisses on her lips as the cameraman focuses in on where they're connected. the sound is so lewd, and it makes you press your thighs together as you watch alongside the small production crew.

"feel good? happy to have a friend like me? someone who knows you, knows your body? someone who makes you feel better and come harder than your stupid fucking boyfriend?" his partner mewls out a broken, exasperated, "y-yyesssss" between gritted teeth as her moans get higher and higher pitched. suddenly, she's reaching at mike's back to scratch at his skin, screaming out as mike leans off to the side of her, massaging his fingertips over her clit and cooing, "yeah, just let go. know he's never made you feel like this, wasting this perfect pussy..."

his partner squirts against the camera with a screech, loud and raw but pretty. the lens is covered in a heavy spray of bodily fluid as she arches her back and grinds her mound into mike's hand, chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. "that's fucking it," he encourages, speaking in her ear as he looks down at the mess in his peripherals and rides her through it. "just the way you deserve." you swear he locks eyes with you when he says it, and he only confirms it with the small smirk he throws your way, managing to fit it into the ending of the shot. his eyes twinkle through the aftercare segment, and he talks with his spent coworker, calling, "she just wants to sit for a second" to a PA with a chuckle.

"okay, ten minute break and then we're shooting the come shot."

her legs slowly straighten out as mike throws the towel he's handed around his waist and slides his feet into the slippers stored behind the couch. he grabs a water from an outstretched hand as he makes his way over to you, smelling like sweat and sex and glistening with this nearly angelic post-fuck glow. it's like he's coming down from the gates of porn heaven.

"hi, my love," he muses, pulling you into a tight hug before saying, "how much did you see?"

"like right before the squirting. it's very..." you're not sure what to say, really. maybe, just maybe, you need to change your underwear, but you don't want to be weird about it. you're sure he's heard weird, and beyond weird, but you want to maintain composure in front of his coworkers. you give him a tight smile, resting your hand on his pulsing bicep. "just makes me think things."

"maybe we should add 'thought-provoking' to the list of labels for the company," he jokes, taking a sip of water while winking at you. "you're a genius, baby."

you're giggling along with him, opening your mouth to continue the joke when two tanned arms reach from behind him to cross in an X over his chest. a head peeks from behind him, and she's immediately unmistakable to you.

it's his current scene partner, who is also the girl from the video you watched earlier today. the one eager for his come, whining for him to make a mess of her face while letting him beat his dick on her tongue. you think back to all of the videos you've seen her in where she's with mike. she always comes the hardest working with him, and vice versa. something about it makes you sick.

she's smiling at his cheek, eyes focused on his as he turns his glance towards her. her arms get tighter around him and you notice how she gets closer, pressing her front tighter against his back. "caught your breath?"

"you know i always do," she brags, licking at her canines as her stare moves to you, looking you up and down with snarky scrutiny. "casting department's starting to slack."

you shrink, feeling so small that you don't feel like you're interrupting something anymore. you might as well just not be there, and you're about to sink into pitiful posture when mike snarls, "hey, watch yourself. y/n, this is amelie, and li, this is y/n, my girlfriend. i told you about her." the sound of mike saying the nickname turns to bile in your throat, searing you on the way down and keeping you from speaking.

amelie gives you a blank expression now, standing beside mike with no qualms at being fully naked in front of a stranger. "y/n, y/n...not ringing any bells," she places her hands on her hips, tossing her dark, sex-tousled hair over her collarbones. "sorry."

you don't know why you're daunted by her; you're usually daunted by no one, and able to speak up for yourself when people are acting catty. this time, you can't help but be unnerved by her perfection, or how close she is to it. perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect body, perfect boobs...

"i'm kidding," amelie's smooth, beguiling voice rips you from your thoughts, and you're gasping for something to say when she continues, "he's shown me endless pictures, and knows that i think you're gorgeous." her tone picks up the tiniest bit as she quips, "my eyes are up here, by the way." she's throwing you off, frustrating you in so many ways and you're just stammering with mike looking between the two of you.

"i'm sorry---"

"it's really fine. millions of people have seen them, everyone's always thirsty for more of me and chase cox..." she drags the end of her sentence out as she runs the tips of her long, cherry red nails along the back of mike's neck, ending in a laugh.

"'mike schmidt' isn't a porn name, we already had this conversation."

"neither is chase cox, if we're being real," they launch into a chitchat, and you once again feel like you're intruding. there's no denying that they have insane chemistry, but it still rips at you; you're aware of them having an entire moment in front of you, complete with the body language and glances and suddenly, you don't care about their connection. mike was your boyfriend, and it didn't matter what she said or did. they'd made so many videos together, yet, every night he came home to you, and not her.

"yeah, well you're still moaning chase when you come,"

"because i can't dox you like that--"

you clear your throat noisily, gaining their attention with an eyeroll, and amelie observes you and your curled lip with recognition of your game. she didn't expect you to have bite, not with the way you look now. you're not the assertive, 'take-no-shit' girl from the pictures mike showed her. she thinks you're merely a hint of that, and that it completely evaporates when someone lights a fire under your ass, but maybe she's wrong for once. "watched a bunch of your stuff. it was really good, you're talented."

"thanks," her gratitude is dry and bitchy, and you're about to say more when a PA calls a two minute warning and she squints her eyes into slits at you. "hope you're ready to see a lot more of me." she uses mike's shoulder to pivot with a sly smirk, sauntering back to the now wiped down leather couch, ripples coursing through her ass with every step.

you look to mike with astonishment, wondering where he's been during this whole thing, and who that girl is, and if she's genuine bad news or simply one of those callous girls that guys love to chase.

mike had defended you, sure, but he'd gotten captured too. what if she's indoctrinating him some--

"she's nice," you blurt, stopping yourself from the overthinking you'd resorted to. you needed to be nice to yourself. you deserved this, deserved everything you had with mike. nothing was taking that away from you, and you could feel secure in that. mike would reassure you.

he does, saying, "isn't she?" with a snicker. "don't worry about her, okay? it's her personality, and she does everyone like that, so she's not just targeting you. ignore her, and if you don't like the small jokes either, i can tell her to knock it off. whatever you want. also, lunch after i wrap?"

you nod your head, about to say something again when the PA announces that it's time for shooting to start back up. mike gives you a fat kiss on the lips as he drops his towel into a director's chair next to you, and makes his way back over to amelie folded on the couch. her knees are by her chin at a filthy angle, and she's using a squeeze bottle with a tapered tip to squeeze shiny lube all over her clit and both holes.

mike watches, rubbing his hand all through it to spread it around. amelie bites at her lip as he does, staring up at him with eyes that are filled with unadulterated lust, and he uses the leftover lube on his dick, stroking the slippery surface as he gets harder and harder in his hand.

the director asks them if they're ready, and when they both answer yes, she says, "okay, we're gonna go insertion, sink in, wait five for the kiss, and go from there. alright...rolling...action."

amelie flicks her eyes to you in a leer, winking at you like mike did earlier as he plunges into her sopping wet walls. her head falls back against the couch while she outstares you, open-mouthed moans transitioning into "cockdrunk" laughs that you know are calculated.

you begin to chug your bottle of water, deliberately ogling her in return. you were down with playing a game for two, but not for long.

lord. the hell i've gone through to get this up /: lmao i need to go to bed. things are about to heat up, so prepare yourselves for what's next to come!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt angst #mike schmidt fluff #faire's (pornstar) mike schmidt <3 #josh hutcherson #faire is writing stuff #heat is coming #hehe (:#also to all the 'chase cox's out there #my b lmao

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erensangel444 · 6 months

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hey this had been playing on my mind so i was wondering if i could request a eren x fem reader. so what do you think about a scenario where eren is tutoring the girl and she is sitting on his lap while they study but she accidentally keeps shifting around and he gets hard and then things progress from there …

anonnie. you're killing me. tutor eren = my dream man

bjhTHIS IS AAHHH' THIS IS AAHHHH

okay lemme stop losing my mind n here you go....

content warnings: unprotected sex(WRAP IT BEFORE U TAP IT!!!), degradation, praise, choking, creampie.

word count: 6.2k

edit: so this actually turned into a whole fic ummmm my bad. i heard tutor eren and got a little carried away.....

if anyone asked you, chemistry was the thing you hated most in this world. frankly, in your opinion, it was unnecessary and it made no sense! no matter how much you studied, the material seemed like another language to you.

inevitably, and much to your dismay, you were forced to get a tutor. you had never struggled so much in a subject before, so this was a first to you.

you needed a tutoring session as soon as possible, hoping to boost your grade in the class. when you had gotten the notification on your school email that you were assigned a tutor, you quickly opened it.

to: y/n5411@edu

from: chemistrydepartment@edu

Thank you for contacting us about enrolling with a tutor. This email is meant to notify you of your assigned tutor and provide you with their contact information. If you have any questions or are unable to view any contents of this email, please email us back or contact this number 913-470-8999. If you have any trouble getting in contact with your tutor, please also refer to the contact information just stated. Thank you!

URL to tutor information

you quickly opened the url, navigating the chemistry department website. once you logged in, your eyes widened when you read the name.

Tutor: Eren Jaeger

Contact Information: Phone - 913-875-9022

Email - erenjaeger4113@edu

this was just your luck. of course your tutor was the TA that you couldn't take your eyes off of when you were in class.

eren was a TA for your class section, so you saw him every monday, wednesday, and friday. for some reason, those were always the days you decided to ditch the sweatpants and put on light makeup.

eren was....hard not to notice. with his height and sea-green eyes, you couldn't help but glance over at him about 100 times throughout each class.

maybe that's why you were failing chemistry.

if he was your tutor, how were you meant to focus? you were convinced the universe was playing some sort of sick joke on you. either way, you had no choice but to play with the cards you were dealt. your next exam was at the end of this week, and there was no way they'd assign you a new tutor before then.

also, what reason were you meant to give them? you couldn't exactly send the chemistry department an email saying you had the hots for the tutor they assigned you, so you needed a new one.

you decided you could be civil enough to control yourself, and really focus on the material. you were here to get your degree, not to get heart eyes over some stupid boy.

you quickly drafted an email to eren,

to: erenjaeger4113@edu

from: y/n5411@edu

Hi Eren, my name is Y/N L/N. You were assigned as my tutor for chemistry 110, and I was wondering if you'd be open to go over material sometime this week? I'm really hoping to clarify some of the content before the exam on Friday, so it'd be great if you'd be free for a tutoring session. If not, I completely understand. Either way, thank you so much and have a great rest of your night.

Best,

Y/N L/N

you sent the email before you could stop yourself, and quickly shut your laptop. god, what were you getting yourself into?

when you had woken up next morning, eren had emailed you back.

to: y/n5411@edu

from: erenjaeger4113@edu

Hi Y/N! I'm actually free tonight at 6 if that works for you? Would you be okay with meeting at my dorm? I live in Mckee Hall. We can study in the common room. You can come with some example questions of what's been confusing you. Take some practice problems from the lecture slides that you didn't understand and we'll work through them together. Let me know if tonight works. Have a great rest of your day!

Sincerely, Eren Jaeger

you had to stop yourself from blushing at his message. he was simply being polite and doing his job but for some reason you were smiling. you quickly drafted a reply thanking him and letting him know that tonight works and you'd see him then.

you shook your head, chastising yourself for getting all worked-up from a simple message. you closed your laptop and got ready for the day.

you don't know why you were so nervous. it was 6pm, exactly, and you were standing outside the main door of Mckee Hall, where eren had told you to meet him.

the door opened, and there he was, a pretty smile on his face. "y/n, right?"

you nodded your head, unable to form words. eren had on a simple brown sweater with a white shirt underneath, and khaki pants. his hair was done up in a half up, half down style, a bun tied at the back of his head.

"here, come on in, s'cold," he said, holding the door open for you. you thanked him, walking inside. eren led you to the study room, asking if you were able to find the dorm alright, to which you said yes. you thanked him for "being able to schedule so soon," to which eren smiled, saying it was no problem.

once the two of you were settled in to the study room, eren asked if you had gone through the lecture slides. you stuttered out a "y-yeah," pulling your notebook out of your backpack, opening up to the page where you had written down the problems.

eren stood up abruptly, startling you slightly. he laughed softly, grabbing his chair and moving it to your side of the table, directly next to yours. "sorry, just thought it'd be easier if we were next to each other," he spoke, looking right at you, "is that alright?"

"yeah s'alright m-makes sense," you said, smiling softly before looking back down at your notebook. your cheeks felt so hot, and you felt embarrassed getting nervous simply due to his proximity.

as he got closer, a vanilla, woody scent waved by your nose. it must be his cologne. god, he was pretty, he could dress, and he smelt good! how were you supposed to focus for the next two hours?

"mmkay," eren mumbled, looking at your notebook, "you have really nice handwriting," he said, smiling over at you. you gave him a quiet, "thank you," as eren read the first problem.

"okay, okay, so walk me through this first one. how would you start it?"

you grabbed your pencil and started by writing out the variables you knew, "mhm, good," eren assured you as you continued. you made a mishap with your first calculation, and eren stopped you.

"okay, hold on," he said softly. "d'you mind if i steal your pencil real fast?" he asked. "oh-oh! yeah yeah of course," eren laughed at you softly. your fingers brushed his as you handed him the pencil, and you swear your heart skipped a beat.

"okay so when we have heating curves like this one, it's important to recognize which equation we need to use." you nodded your head.

"you already started off really well, by writing what variables you have, that was really really great," he said smiling. you swear your cheeks were growing hotter by the second.

"so there's 3 possible equations we can use and we can find the right one based on the variables we know we have. first, deltaH minus the specific heat capacity...."

the two hours with eren seemed to go by in minutes. you were surprised that you were actually seeming to grasp some of the content. it helped how encouraging eren was, smiling and praising what you did correctly, and helping you re-route when you did something wrong.

he actually cheered when you did the last question correctly without any help from him, getting a "shh!" from another person in the study lounge. you giggled softly at his embarrassed face.

as you began to pack up, eren's voice caused your ears to perk up, "did you want to meet again this week to go over the study guide? and i can help with any questions you have as you work through it."

"u-uhm, yeah! that would be great, thank you so much," you smiled at him, eren returning an even bigger smile.

"does tuesday at 7 work?" eren asked, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "that's perfect," you said, zipping yours closed. "o-okay, i'll see you then," he said, an almost shy demeanor taking over. "see you then," you copied, eren grinning at that. he held open the study lounge door for you, letting you walk out first.

you both paused, "well, uhm, thank you again, eren, this was really helpful,"

"of course, anytime, and i'll see you on tuesday," eren said. "tuesday," you smiled. "tuesday." eren said in a joking-serious tone causing you to giggle softly, his grin widening at the sound.

you started to walk away, giving eren a quick wave. eren gave you one back, smiling before he turned to walk up the staircase.

you couldn't help but grin the whole walk home.

tuesday came, and at exactly 6:58pm you were walking towards the main door of Mckee Hall, surprised to see eren sitting outside on the bench, waiting for you.

he looked up from his phone, smiling when he saw you. he stood up, putting his hands in his pockets, "hey," he said softly, "hi," you said back, in the same tone.

"ready to get your chemistry on?" eren joked, causing you to laugh softly. "please never ever say that again," you joked, eren giggling.

eren scanned his id card to get the two of you into the building, holding the door open for you.

it was cute that he had waited outside for you, backpack on and everything. the two of you walked to the study room, eren asking about how your day had been.

your conversation came to an abrupt end when the two of you entered the study room, to see there were no tables open. you looked at each other with a sort of "what now?" look.

eren's cheeks flushed slightly pink, "well uhm, w-we could study up in my room, o-only if you want! i-i just figured since we're already here, and like if you don't want to that's completely okay because.." he began to ramble on, unable to hear your "eren," as you smiled. "i-i only suggested it because the lounge s'full, n like n-no funny business or anything, like obviously! and i uh..." you began to laugh, eren's rambling coming to a pause as he looked over at you.

he smiled, thinking to himself how pretty you were when you laughed. "eren," you said, once you had caught your breath, still smiling. "i'm more than okay with studying in your room"

"yeah?" he asked, his cheeks still a pretty pink. "yeah," you smiled, eren smiling softly before looking down at his shoes.

"u-uhm okay, alright, follow me," he said, leading you out of the study lounge and up to his room.

eren's room was nothing like you expected. being in his room let you take a little peek inside his brain. in looking at eren, you wouldn't expect it, but he was actually quite the nerd.

the top of his desk was lined with books, and funko pops from different animes. you smiled softly at the little nanami kento funko pop.

his walls were lined with posters and canvases. "you watch cowboy bebop?" you said, smiling at the poster.

"yeah, s'one of my favorites," he said. "me too," you replied turning to look at him with a soft smile.

eren watched as you explored his room, smiling at the way you were so intrigued. "these canvases," you started, "did you paint these?"

"uhm yeah," he said, coming to stand next to you, "my mom's actually an artist, so i kinda get it from her i guess."

"they're beautiful, eren," you complimented, eren trying to stop his cheeks from getting any redder.

eventually after you had your fill, you had asked eren where you should sit. "uhm, you can take my bed, o-or the desk if you want! whichever one you prefer."

you plopped up on his bed, eren laughing softly at your jump. he grabbed your backpack for you, setting it next to you on the bed. "thank you," you said, eren smiling at you with a "mhm".

eventually, the two of you had gotten into the content of the study guide, eren helping you work through problems you were confused on, and explaining them to you.

at around 10pm, you guys had finished the study guide. "eren, i actually understand chemistry, it's a miracle," you joked, eren laughing softly. "seriously though," you continued, "thank you, you don't understand how big of a help you've been."

"well, you're a great student so s'not hard," eren smiled, and there came that fluttering feeling in your stomach again.

"have you eaten?" eren asked, catching you off guard. "i-i just realized, we kinda spent dinner time studying, and i was gonna go down to the kitchen n make some mac n cheese if, uh, if you want some?"

"y-yeah, i could go for some mac n' cheese."

"i'm convinced you're gordon ramsey or some shit," you said as you took another bite of mac n cheese. eren laughed, "don't boost my ego like that."

as the two of you ate, you continued to converse about random things. the conversation initially started with you asking eren what his major was, which you found out, was biology. you laughed asking him why he TA'd for chemistry and not biology, and eren was quick to joke,

"i guess i'm just that multi-faceted, you know it's a struggle just having so much genius in my head," "oh shut up," you giggled, eren smiling over at you.

the conversation eventually drifted into anime, which the two of you bonded over. you were ranting about jujutsu kaisen,

"and i just don't get how people are complaining about this season's animation! like i'd like to see you do it, mr. i live in my mom's basement," eren snorted at that, causing you to laugh loudly.

it was a dinner filled with laughs and smiles, and that warm feeling in both of your chests that just would not go away.

and to be honest, neither of you wanted to let go of that feeling.

since eren was a TA, he was also a proctor for the exams. he smiled when you came to the front to grab your scantron. he handed it to you, with a soft whisper of, "you're gonna do great, don't stress."

you smiled at him, walking back to your seat. and for the first time this year, the questions on your exam didn't look like a child's scribbling. you still struggled on some questions, but you mostly understood what you were doing.

for once, you finished the exam with a feeling of hope instead of impending doom.

and when you got your score back the next day, you had gotten an 85!

your first thought was that you couldn't wait to tell eren.

"an 85!" he yelped. you nodded, biting your lip with a big smile. "holy shit, y/n!" he cheered, his arms wrapping around you in a big hug.

it caught you off guard, but you quickly melted into his embrace, hugging him back. after 10 seconds, eren pulled away, awkwardly putting his hands at his side.

"s-sorry!" he apologized, "just got really excited," he said softly, his cheeks that pretty shade of pink that they often turned.

"s'okay," you smiled, "thank you," was all you could say.

"i'm....i'm really proud of you," eren said softly.

that sentence had you on top of the world.

" i couldn't of done it without you, eren."

december had quickly approached, and with it so had snowstorms and finals week. eren had continued to tutoring you, helping you cover content that had confused you during lectures, and providing you with weekly quizzes to help test your knowledge on each chapter.

now that finals week was here, you and eren had been in cram-mode. eren was intent on helping you ace this final, and he knew you could do it.

the two of you were in his room, as you usually were. after that first study session in his room, you asked eren if you guys could keep studying in his room. you said, "s'just nice in there. feels comfortable, i think it helps me focus," and who was he to say no?

if anything, the image of you on his bed, pencil in between your teeth was more than enough motivation for you guys to have your study sessions in his dorm room.

like now, you were sitting on his bed, in spandex and a big T-shirt. you had came in sweats and a sweatshirt, with your big winter coat over you.

when you had asked eren if you could take your sweats off, he was at a loss for words, just looking at you with wide eyes. "i-i have shorts on underneath," you promised, eren sputtering out words, "uhm, uh yeah, of course! s-sorry,"

when you had said shorts, eren wasn't expecting spandex that clung to your figure. he was trying his best to respectful, but, oh my god, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

and then your sweatshirt came off, revealing your big T-shirt, and he couldn't help but imagine how you'd look in one of his shirts. how you'd put it on in the morning, and the way it would drape over your figure. that combined with the image of you sat atop his bed, had him shifting in his pants.

he was doing his best to not pop a boner right now.

regardless, he was here to help you study! and that's what he was trying to do, but...you seemed distracted. your pencil was between your teeth as usual, but your eyes were glazed over with something he had never seen in you before.

you hadn't written anything in your notebook for the past 5 minutes. eren cleared his throat, causing you to shake your head slightly and let out a shaky breath.

"you good?" he asked, to which you gave a simple, "mhm."

eren didn't believe you.

"c'mere," he said, causing you to look at him, with raised eyebrows. "y/n, c'mere," he repeated. you listened, getting down from the bed.

he pushed the chair he was sitting in back from the desk slightly, "sit," was all he said. "h-huh?" you spoke softly, trying to stop your thighs from clenching together.

"y/n, you seem distracted up on the bed, so just sit n' i'll keep you focused. you can't do good on the exam if you spend our whole study session chewing on your pencil."

your cheeks were getting hotter, "o-okay," was all you said, sitting down on eren's lap.

eren was convinced he like to torture himself because the second you sat down on his lap, he was trying his best not to run his hand over your thighs.

eren let out a soft, shaky breath. "a-am i too heavy? m'sorry i-i can get up," you said, lifting yourself up from eren's lap. eren's hands came to your waist, pulling you back down, "mm mm s'not it, jus hot n here s'all."

"o-okay," eren stuttered, "walk me through problem 6," he said referencing to his open binder on the desk. "u-uhm" you said, your voice shaking, "so it's asking a-about dihedral angles."

you could feel yourself getting wet and you were beginning to curse yourself for wearing such thin spandex.

eren listened as you spoke, "so it's either psi, phi, or omega." "mhm, keep going," he said, voice low.

eren's eyes widened as you continued to speak. he doesn't think you notice how you're slightly rocking your hips over his lap.

fuck. he couldn't stop it even if he wanted to. his dick was starting to twitch in his pants, getting thicker as your pretty hips started to rock over him. the slightest whimpers were slipping out in between your words and eren swears he must of died and gone to heaven.

was it okay to put his hands on you now? could he? god, he wanted to so badly. would you be okay with it? fuck, if the way you were moving over his dick had anything to say about it, he thinks you'd be okay with it.

fuck it. eren brought his hands to your thigh, humming as you continued. you paused what you were saying, hips stuttering in their movements. "s'this okay?' eren asked. "y-yeah," you said, cringing at the whimper that accompanied your words.

"okay, keep working through the problem for me," eren sighed, his hands resting on your thighs. "uhm, so the psi angle is from the alpha carbon to the carbonyl carbon, and the, uhm.." you words began to drift off as eren's hands began to trace over your thighs.

"c'mon y/n, focus," eren said, resting his chin over your shoulder as he watched your hand shake as you held the pencil. "m'trying, i'm sorry," you said voice shaky, your hips still rocking over eren's lap.

"don't apologize, pretty girl. just finish the problem for me and then we can take a break," eren promised, his hands rubbing over the inside of your thighs now.

pretty girl. he was trying to kill you.

"o-okay, ren', i-i'll focus," you said softly. "u-uhm this angle, though, is from the alpha carbon to the nitrogen, w-which would uhm," eren's fingers were lightly rubbing over your clit through your spandex.

"c'mon baby spit it out. what would it be, you're s'close," eren hummed softly. "i-it would be t-the phi angle, p-please eren,"

eren was grinning at how desperate you had gotten, your hips were rocking with fervor now, and you had thrown your head back to rest on his shoulder, leaning your body into his as he rubbed over your clit.

"mmm good job, baby, so smart, hmm?" eren's dick was throbbing, you just looked so pretty for him. he couldn't take his eyes off of your face, the way your eyebrows scrunched together, your pretty lips open in an o-shape.

"c'mon baby tell me how smart you are," eren said, rubbing over your clit more intensely now. "i-i'm smart," you said breathlessly, rocking your hips into eren's hand. "yeah you are, angel," eren said, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"n i think you deserve something for being so good, huh? whaddya' think?" "yes, yes, please ren', need it," you whined.

eren laughed at you softly, removing his hand from over your clit, and tapping at your thigh, "stand up, baby," he said lowly.

you whimpered at the loss of his touch, but listened nonetheless, standing up and turning around to face him. eren sat up straight, bringing his hands to your thighs once more. "so, so pretty," he murmured to himself. "wanna take this off for me, angel?" eren said, tugging at your shirt. "mhm," you hummed, lifting your shirt over your head.

"fuck me," eren sighed. you had on a pretty, lacy pink bra. eren was convinced he was the luckiest man on earth. "shorts too, baby," he said, and you were more than happy to oblige.

eren swore his heart was going to beat out of his chest. pretty pink underwear with a little bow in the middle. you were pure perfection. "oh my god, c'mere," he said pulling at your waist, having you straddle him. you giggled as he pulled you on top of him, the both of you smiling at one another.

your hands looped around his neck, and eren's hand came up to your face softly stroking your cheek. "you're so pretty, y'know that?" he said, his eyes entrapped with yours.

you couldn't take the attention, looking down. "mm mm, look at me," he said, his hand falling to your chin to force your eyes back on his. "so so pretty," he repeated, pulling you in for a kiss.

it was everything you had imagined and more. the way eren's lips moved against yours had your hips rocking in his lap once more. the soft sounds the both of you were making being muffled by the other's lips.

eren's tongue slipped in to your mouth, brushing against yours. eren pulled away, lips slick with spit. you were breathing heavily, pouting as you looked at eren.

"w-wanna see you too," you said, your hand bunched into his shirt. eren smiled at you, "yeah? help me take it off.""

your hands came to the bottom of his shirt lifting it up, eren grabbed at the neckline of his shirt to pull it over his head, but not before it got stuck slightly, causing the two of you to laugh.

he finally got it off, grinning at your pretty smile. your hands came to trace over his abs, looking back up at him and back down at them.

"let's get on the bed, hmm?" eren said, his hand coming back to rub softly at your cheek. you looked up at him, nodding. eren wrapped his arm around you, standing up. eren tossed you softly on to the bed, before joining you atop it.

you were laying down, head propped up on his pillow. eren hovered over you, leaning down for a kiss. what started off soft and slow, quickly became more desperate.

eren's hands were running over your body, yours arching into his. he took the chance to reach for the clasp of your bra and undo it. after feeling it come undone, you slid the straps over your arms and let it fall down slightly.

eren pulled away from your lips, grabbing your bra and tossing it down onto the floor. he looked down at your breasts, moaning at the sight. your nipples were stiff from the cold air.

eren didn't know what he wanted to do first, but he knew he had to have his lips on you. he kissed you once more, moving to your cheek, then your neck. he kissed down your shoulder, to your collarbone, finally landing one on your breasts.

he looked up at you before sucking a nipple into his mouth, evoking a soft whimper from you. his right hand began to tweak at your other nipple, rubbing the bud between his fingers, pinching and twisting softly.

he loved how reactive you were, the way you moaned and whimpered at each touch. he needed to taste you.

eren kissed down your stomach, right to the bow on your panties. his hands came to the hem of your panties as he looked up at you. "s'this okay?" he asked, wanting to make sure you were comfortable.

"s'more than okay, please touch me," you begged so sweetly, eren couldn't help but smile. he landed one more kiss right below your belly button before pulling your panties down your legs.

your panties were left dangling around your left foot as eren spread your thighs apart. you were dripping, your arousal evident as he took his fingers and spread you apart.

you were hiding your face in your hands when eren looked up at you. "getting shy on me now?" he asked, voice low. "there's no reason to be," he said, breathless as he watched you clench around nothing.

"s'so perfect," he muttered, before landing a kiss on your clit. his lips quickly wrapped around your clit, suckling softly at the bundle of nerves.

you were a mess, legs kicking, thighs trying to shut close around eren's head. he just put a hand around each thigh, and kept you spread open for him.

"ren', ren!" you whine, sounding like a broken record. eren was in heaven. there's no way he was letting you go anywhere after this.

he brought a finger down to your entrance, softly licking at your clit as he slid it in. his finger was reaching depths that yours never could. he curled it slightly, feeling that gummy, sensitive spot that had you losing your mind.

your hips bucked when he first touched it, eren laughing softly at your reaction. he continued to push his fingers against that spot, and you were going dumb, whining absolute nonsense, "mm oh my! oh e-eren oh fff-please!"

eren needed you to cum on his face, needed to see how pretty you looked when you reached your peak. he hadn't taken his eyes off of your face as he analyzed your every reaction and expression.

"r-ren', i-i'm gonna! gonna-oh!" you were trying to tell him you were close. eren understood, and sucked at your clit even harder, lightly grazing his teeth against it. you were so loud, he knows his dorm neighbors probably hated him.

"c'mon baby," he said, words muffled by his face pressed into your clit. your hips were grinding into his face now, your hands coming down to grab onto his hair. eren moaned at the feeling, the vibrations making you haywire.

you were so, so, so close, and with one final press of his fingers, your orgasm was washing over you, juices pooling out of you and into eren's mouth.

"mmmm" he hummed as he worked you through it. eren pulled away, his chin wet with your arousal. "ren', p-please kiss me," you said softly, your hands coming to his cheek as you pulled him up towards you.

his lips were on yours once more and you could taste yourself on his lips. "taste s'good, huh?" eren grinned at you. "w-wanna make you feel good, too," you said, your hand coming down to softly palm at eren's cock through his boxers.

"oh, fuck," he sighed, his forehead resting against yours. " can i, ren?" you asked so sweetly, your eyes boring into his. "y-yeah," he choked out.

you told him to sit back as you two swapped positions.

you were on your knees in front of eren, who had spread his legs enough to make room for you in between them. you pulled his boxers down along with his shorts, eren helping as he lifted himself off the bed so you could get them off.

his cock sprung out, hitting his stomach softly. he was so big, your mouth started to water. the tip was a blush red, his cock curved slightly. he was so thick, you didn't know how he was going to fit inside of you.

the second you wrapped your hand around his cock, eren was a goner. he was watching you so intently, and when your pretty lips opened to take his tip into your mouth, eren threw his head back with a soft groan.

he looked back down, watching as you sucked softly on the tip. when your eyes looked up to stare into his, eren whimpered. "d-doing so good, baby," he praised you, his hand coming to softly rest on your head.

you took his cock out of your mouth, looking up at him ever-so-innocently, "what do you wanna do to me, ren?"

you were stroking his cock, the pre-cum leaking from his tip helping you as your hand slip up and down. "f-fuck, oh my god," he whined.

"want you to use me however you want," you said, your pretty voice sweet and soft. "f-fuck, however i want?" eren said, voice breaking.

god, what were you doing to him?

"mhm," you hummed, kissing the tip softly. "c'mon ren," you pouted, "don't you wanna use my throat?" eren groaned, both of his hands coming down to rest on your cheeks now. "f-fuck, c'mon open up," he ordered, the change in his tone making your clit throb.

eren's hands move to your hair, wrapping around it. you opened your mouth, lips around eren's cock once more. "yeah just like that," eren said as he pushed your head down softly, forcing more of his cock down your throat.

"god, you take it so good," he sighed, his hips bucking at the feeling. you gagged softly, eren groaning at the feeling before pulling you off his cock.

you were breathing heavily, eyes watering slightly as you looked up at eren. "m-more, please," you whined, eren's thumb coming to play with your bottom lip.

"you're such a slut for it, hmm?" he said, his words causing you to whimper. "you like that too, don't you?" he spoke, voice gravely as he stared down at you.

"wanna be a good slut for me, yeah?" he asked, to which you nodded. eren softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon use your words for me,"

"y-yes eren wanna be your good slut."

eren was smirking down at you now, "then be good n choke on it," he said, bringing you back down to his cock. eren was moaning as you took him deeper, his hips bucking.

"f-fuck, oh y/n," he sighed, his hands falling from your hair. you took the chance to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking and sucking at the same time.

eren thinks he was starting to lose his mind. "g-god baby! go-gotta stop m' gonna cum," he was saying, his voice breaking in between the words.

you took his cock out of your mouth, still stroking him slowly. you looked up at him, smiling, and eren knew that image would forever be engrained in his brain.

"baby c'mere," he said, his hands coming to your cheeks as he pulled you in for a kiss. eren was smooth as he flipped your bodies over, hovering on top of you now.

"needa be inside you, pretty girl," eren said, his cock resting over your stomach. "h-hold on," he said, "i n-needa grab a condom."

your hands braced against his shoulders to stop him. "wanna feel you," you said, eren's eyes widening. "n, n i'm clean and i'm on birth control," you rationalized, as if eren needed a reason to be inside you raw.

"fuck, baby, are you sure?" "mhm," you nodded, pulling him in for a kiss. eren's hand wrapped around the base of his cock as he stroked the tip of his cock in between your folds. "f-fuck," eren moaned at the feeling of your wetness coating his tip.

every time his tip nudged your clit, you jolted, causing eren to smile devilishly. eren brought the tip down to your entrance, softly pushing inside. when the tip slipped in the both of you let out a soft sigh.

as eren pushed further in, you were whining. there was so much of him, so much to take. "you can do it, pretty girl," eren said softly, slowing pressing himself in further and further.

when he was fully inside, he just sat there, giving you a moment to adjust. he watched your face scrunch, getting used to the feeling of him inside of you.

he watched as your facial expression then relaxed, eyes opening to look at him. "s-so full," you whimpered, "p-please move," you whined, eager to feel eren more.

eren was quick to listen, pulling out till just the tip was in before thrusting back inside of you roughly. you both were reeling at the feeling, you from how deep eren was hitting, and eren from how wet and warm you felt around him.

"f-fuck, such a good fucking girl," eren moaned, his hand drifting up to rest on your neck. you took your hand and wrapped it around his rest, signaling you wanted more.

eren just grinned down at you before wrapping his hand around your neck. he couldn't help but think how pretty you looked being fucked stupid.

"god, the way you're squeezing around me baby, trying to milk me for all m'worth huh?" eren groaned. your legs were wrapped around him tight now, not wanting to let him go.

"please, please ren' want you to cum, w-want you to fill me up," you begged. if eren thought he was close before, he was right on the edge now, his hips stuttering as he spoke, "f-fuck, you want it inside?" eren asked, his eyes raking over your body, hand still wrapped around your pretty neck.

"p-please!" you whined, eren thrusting even faster now. "fuck, gotta cum for me then angel," eren said, taking his hand that was wrapped around your neck and bringing it down to your clit, his thumb rubbing circles on the bundle.

"f-fuck ren!" you were moaning loudly now, hips having a mind of their own, your wetness creating a squelching sound with each of eren's thrust.

"that's it baby, c'mon cum for me," eren was moaning too, so close, but he needed you to cum first. "show me how good you are," eren groaned, that being the final thing to tip you over the edge.

your orgasm triggered eren's, his warm cum filling you up as he moaned your name loudly, hips stuttering as pumped you full. "f-fuck" he sighed, as he came down from his high, looking down at your dazed-out expression.

"did so good for me baby," he said softly, pulling out of you. "t-thank you, ren," you said, your voice so soft.

"think after a shower n some food you'll be able to focus now?" eren joked. "mmm, i don't know," you said, turning to him with a smile, "think you may have to help me focus again."

thank you for reading! i sincerely hope you enjoyed the fic<333

also for anyone who's watched the finale can we talk about cabin eren. oh my lawd i am feral over him!!!

if you would like to, reblog or leave comment if you liked the fic! my requests are also open:D

also if there are any spelling/grammar errors, let me know!

sending you all lots of love, and happiness - angel (*o*)

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