#and he’s just perfect in whatever scene he is

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

everyone knows dr. zayne is cool as a cucumber, and it's a given for him that you're known as his wife, but when a fresh-faced new resident seemingly makes a move on you... what will he do?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, jealousy (a very jealous zayne, in fact), making out in his office, crack, fluff, hunter!reader, you and zayne have a daughter

note: inspired by that one kim min-kyu scene in business proposal :D this is actually an extension for nocturne of twilight and dawn's first light but can also be read as standalone

You hadn't seen your husband for two weeks.

There was a spring on your step when you entered Akso Hospital right after your long intercity mission. You had acquired some bruises and they weren't anything serious, so you figured you’d just have Greyson treat them. Besides, it gave you the perfect excuse to hand him some cookies as a souvenir.

And, of course, ask him to ring for Zayne to meet you once he had the time.

"Miss, do you need help?"

But a curious voice addressed you when you loitered around in the lobby, and you turned around to find a bright-faced young man with red hair and wearing doctor's coat.

"Ah, yes, I want to meet Dr. Zayne," you smiled. "Or Dr. Greyson will do."

The young doctor perked up at the names you mentioned. "Oh, are you a patient? Do you have an appointment already?"

"Hmm, no, actually I am—"

You halted mid-sentence before the words his wife slipped out, rethinking your choice. You knew of Zayne's infamous reputation in the hospital, and while almost everyone in his floor knew you, this new doctor didn't, and you thought it was best to leave it that way.

"Yeah, I already have an appointment," you nodded, plastering an thin smile. "Just tell Dr. Greyson that Y/N wants to meet him."

"Right, right, I'll page him now..." he mumbled, pulling out his pager and his phone. "I'll text him too..."

"Thank you."

"O-oh, Miss! Wait!" the young man called after you in a hurry when you turned around. "I've noticed it for a while, you have a cut on the side of your lips..."

"Ah, this..." Your fingers instinctively brushed the dried blood on your lips. You hadn’t thought the small cut was noticeable. "Yes, it’s from earlier—"

"Actually, I’m an ER resident!" he interrupted with a bright grin. "Let me treat you first!"

Caught off guard by his enthusiasm, you barely had time to react as he gently but firmly guided you towards the emergency room.

"Dr. Zayne! Dr. Zayne! Your wife is here~!"

Zayne had barely stepped into his office after a grueling surgery when Greyson barged in, all too casually, delivering the news with a grin. "She’s waiting in the lobby!"

He blinked, slightly taken aback. "Oh?"

You're back? He pulled out his muted phone, checking the notifications. Sure enough, you’d sent him a message an hour ago, letting him know you’d safely landed in Linkon.

His little, snarky wife. For the past two weeks you had been away, the house had felt lonelier. Sure, his daughter—who resembled you in personality, no less—was a bundle of sunshine and adorable beyond words, but without you, there was always that subtle void in the air.

Or maybe it wasn’t the house at all? Maybe it was just him—utterly, hopelessly whipped.

"Why isn’t she coming up to my office?" he asked suddenly, noticing the odd detail.

"Hmm, yeah, and it’s weird... why did the new resident say she’s asking for me?" Greyson mused, turning toward Zayne. "Don’t you want to meet her instead? Whatever she needs me for, I’m sure you could handle it."

Zayne promptly left his office and took long strides toward the elevator. As the doors started to close, he even half-sprinted, calling out to the person inside to hold it for him.

Okay, maybe he was a little too eager, but was it really so wrong to be this excited to see his wife again when the two of you had been apart for two weeks?

...then again, you didn't need to know. You would roast him to bits should you know he missed you this much.

Zayne got off at the lobby, expecting to find you there— only to find the usual flow of hospital staff and visitors. He was about to call you when he wandered past the emergency room and turned the corner—and that’s when he got his shock of the day.

There you were. But not alone.

With a guy.

Whose hand is touching your lips.

"It must be tough being a hunter, huh?"

The red-haired resident carefully tended to your bruised arm, wrapping it in a fresh bandage as you sighed, thinking back to the mission. "Yeah, there are definitely some hard days..."

"But despite all that, you still keep yourself in shape!" he remarked, eyeing your toned arms with a hint of admiration.

You let out a sheepish laugh, remembering those pull-ups sessions with Zayne. "Haha, that's because my husband makes sure I'm getting enough exercise..."

"You're married?!" His voice was filled with disbelief, and it caught you off guard, yet he grinned afterwards. "Wow! Is he a hunter too?"

You would've never guessed, boy. This resident doctor was cute, you thought, ever so curious at everything. You could only imagine the look on his face if you told him that the Dr. Zayne was your husband.

You were about to refute it when his fingers brushed against your lips. "Oh, sorry, let me apply some ointment here first..."

His touch felt cool to your lips and you were momentarily stunned at the contact— but then a gruff cough startled you so much you almost jumped.

The towering figure of your husband behind him. Zayne's dark gaze was fixed on the man in front of you, like he could murder the poor guy with just a look.

"Z-Zayne...?" you squeaked against the ointment on your lips, and the resident quickly turned behind him in surprise, hastily greeting him, "Oh, Dr. Zayne!"

Zayne shot the poor man a single, pointed look before his gaze shifted to you, clearly unamused.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and, without sparing the resident another glance, swiftly pulled you away. The other guy was left standing there, speechless, as Zayne led you off, leaving him in the dust.

. . .

"Zayne!"

Oh, how he actually missed his name coming out from your lips.

"Are you done with your schedule?" you asked as he pulled you into the elevator, confusion evident in the way you tilted your head. But when he didn’t answer, you glanced down at his firm grip on your arm, suddenly realizing something. "Wait, no... are you angry?"

Sigh. It irked him so much, actually. Because, how could you, after weeks—

No, he actually knew he was being irrational. He shouldn’t overreact like this just because someone else touched you. But why is he so annoyed, still?

"Wait, why?" you kept asking, wide-eyed, as the two of you stepped out and made way towards his office. "I'm not injured! I'm fine! It's just some bruises—"

Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his office, swiftly locking the door behind him. Before you could say another word, he cornered you against the wall, and you fell silent instantly.

It had been a while since he’d seen you this way—stunned, caught off guard, and utterly silent under his gaze. He studied your face closely, watching the way your breath hitched as the tension between you both thickened.

It sparked something inside him seeing you like this, a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t quite explain, but one he welcomed nonetheless.

That was when he saw the blood on your lips. "Did you get punched in the face?"

"Y-Yes, but— it's nothing severe!" you defended, trying to convince him. "It's such a small cut anyway!"

He frowned. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"What? Hey, I was about to ask Greyson, but—"

That got him frown even deeper, even irate. "Why Greyson? When you come home with any injuries, you come to me, not anyone else."

You let out a resigned sigh, slumping your shoulders in defeat. "Because I know you'll fuss over me, duh."

"I don't fuss," he retorted.

"You do," you shot back, pursing your lips. "You try to act like this cool, calm robot all the time, but you always drone on and on whenever you patch me up. You're worried, it shows."

Zayne huffed, shifting his gaze away from you as he felt his face burn. Was he that obvious? How could he not, though, when you managed to get hurt so often and yet acted so innocent about it?

Then as if inspired, you caught on immediately. Your eyes sparkled, and a mischievous smirk tugged at your lips. "Wait, just now... don't tell me... Are you jealous?"

Damn.

"Heh, Dr. Zayne, really?" Your voice was playful now, mocking him. "Whoa, how can this be?"

How had you figured him out so easily?

You continued in a sing-song voice, putting both hands on your chest, "Ah, my heart flutters! My husband is apparently—"

Enough. This time, his patience snapped.

He didn’t hesitate even for a moment. A low growl escaped him, and in one swift motion, he crashed his lips against yours, silencing you with the most effective method he could think of.

"Mmph!" You gasped in surprise, the teasing words at the end of your tongue completely forgotten. His gray eyes gleamed. Been too long, he thought, and now he was making sure you knew just how badly he craved this.

The kiss was searing as he deepened it, his tongue seeking yours with urgency. "Hngh!" You let out a feeble whine when he teased you by biting your lips.

Zayne held back a snort. One of his hand then strayed inside your hunter uniform, unclasping your bra with a flick.

"—?!" Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening, and before you could process it, he pulled away. But you were far from right in thinking it was over. The dangerous gleam in his eyes kept you tense as he swiftly removed his glasses...

...before he pulled you back towards him and claimed your lips once again.

With a swift, commanding motion, he guided you toward his desk. His papers scattered at the sudden movement, but he had you bent over it regardless, forcing your body to arch. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, while his right hand fondled your breasts, repeatedly squeezing, palming and switching between them.

"Mmm...!" You let out a strangled moan, instinctively holding onto his shoulder, feeling the way how he groped you ignited your core. "Ahh..."

Your body was tantalizing as always. Hardened and sometimes bruised from your work it may be, but to Zayne, you were still beautiful as ever.

When you gasped for air, he decided he was done with your swollen lips. His lips then trailed down to your neck, sucking hard on it, creating a squelching sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"W-what's... gotten into you...?" you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair, hyperaware of his hands still roaming over your nipples.

In response, he nibbled at your skin and flicked your breasts at the same time, causing you to freeze and draw a sharp, hitched breath. "Haah...!"

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curled wickedly at your reaction, and he continued to pepper your neck with series of wet sucks as if to mark you altogether. You writhed under him, whiny and sighing, relishing his hot breath on your skin.

You were utterly at his mercy, pliant and helpless in his hands. There was a deep satisfaction in knowing he was the only one who could bring you, his lawfully wedded wife, to this state—

Still, he wouldn’t allow you to be indecent in a place like this. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, eyes dark with lust, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. "Don’t tempt me," he muttered, voice low and raspy.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. "Zayne..." you whispered, a whine broke through the heat on your flushed face.

His expression softened just enough, a flicker of tenderness cutting through the intensity. Pretty. That’s what you were, undeniably so. How he had missed out on you so long once was his greatest regret.

Carefully, he helped you sit upright, his touch gentle as he clasped your bra and began buttoning up your uniform, disheveled from his earlier ministrations.

The gentle way he touched you was a stark contrast to how it was earlier. "Is that a new way to treat busted lip?" you nudged his collar, feeling a little braver now.

"For bad wives, yeah."

"I'm not a bad wife! Just disobedient on some occasion."

Zayne's fingers brushed your face as he finished with your uniform, his dark-gray eyes steady on you. You pouted.

"You're the one who's bad," you accused with slight resentment, not missing a beat as the heat between your legs started to dissipate. "Leaving me unfinished like that."

"Hmm? Am I?" he murmured, the faintest amusement in his tone.

"You have to take responsibility tonight, you big meanie," you mumbled, your pout deepening as you avoided meeting his gaze.

Zayne snorted at the sight of you—so precious in his eyes, his thumb lightly grazing the corner of your lips in a gesture so tender it made your heart skip, before whispering in your ear:

"Well, if your voice won't wake our daughter, that is."

Epilogue

Not long after, just as you had gathered yourself and were preparing to leave the hospital to head home, a sudden knock at the door of his office startled you both.

Quickly, you moved to sit on the patient’s seat, feigning nonchalance as you braced yourself for whoever was on the other side. Zayne reached for the door, but before he could unlock it, a familiar voice called out.

"Excuse me!" the resident's voice sounded a bit hesitant but firm. "Dr. Zayne, the miss left her handbag earlier!"

Zayne let out a low, irked sigh. You glanced at him curiously, watching as he opened the door and came face-to-face with the redheaded resident.

Without a word, he extended his hand, and the resident blinked before handing over the bag.

"I-is the miss still here?" the young doctor asked, almost intimidated by his unfriendly gaze.

"Ma'am," Zayne corrected, his voice flat.

"Huh?"

"Call her ma'am. She's someone's wife."

"O-oh, and her husband is—"

"Me. I am her husband."

Your eyes widened in surprise at the matter-of-fact exchange, heat rising to your cheeks as Zayne’s words hung confidently in the air. He curtly thanked the poor resident before slamming the door shut in his face.

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "Zayne!" you gasped, staring at him as he turned back towards you, entirely unbothered.

Your husband was as cold as the snowman he often made, but somehow the way he boldly declared he was your husband was just so him that it made you so giddy.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms with a playful smile. "You’re really jealous, huh? How?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed elsewhere, most definitely trying to save his dignity.

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to him with a teasing sway. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, turning him to face you, and you winked at him mischievously.

"Well, I’m all yours. But if it makes you feel better, maybe I’ll stay away from any ER residents for a while~"

[vibeswithdivs]

He’s more patient than he looks

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

The hum of conversation filled the Red Bull Racing headquarters as employees bustled about with an energy that was almost infectious. Engineers huddled over laptops, mechanics leaned against tool racks with grease-streaked hands, and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air. It was a world that thrummed with purpose, speed, and precision—qualities that the newcomer sitting at her desk felt slightly out of sync with.

You can do this, she told herself for the hundredth time that day.

Being a social media manager for one of the most prominent teams in Formula 1 was a dream job. Yet, as she stared at the screen, where a half-finished tweet about race day statistics blinked back at her, that dream felt a lot more like a free-fall. She wasn’t just crafting posts about breakfast specials or gym memberships anymore—she was managing the online presence of an entire racing empire.

And, truthfully, she was floundering.

“Morning!”

The cheerful voice made her jump, and she turned to see her colleague, Sophie, leaning over her cubicle wall with a grin. “How’s the newbie settling in?” Sophie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh… good!” she replied quickly, pasting on a smile that she hoped masked her nerves.

Sophie tilted her head, unconvinced. “You’ve been staring at that screen for an hour, and the only thing you’ve posted today is a retweet from Pirelli. Do you need help?”

“No, I’m just—” She paused, biting her lip. “I don’t even know what half these terms mean. DRS, power unit, undercut… it’s like everyone here is speaking a different language.”

Sophie’s face softened. “It is a different language,” she said with a chuckle. “Give it time. It’s only your first week. You’ll get the hang of it. And if you’re still lost, you’ve got plenty of people to ask.”

“Like who?”

“Like me,” Sophie said with a wink. “Or, if you’re feeling brave, you could ask the drivers. Max and Checo are usually good sports about answering questions.”

“Right,” she said, laughing nervously. “Because it’s totally normal to walk up to Max Verstappen and ask him to explain tire degradation.”

“You’d be surprised,” Sophie replied with a grin. “He’s more patient than he looks.”

She didn’t expect to test Sophie’s theory quite so soon. Later that afternoon, while she was setting up her phone to record a behind-the-scenes video in the garage, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Need help?”

She turned, almost dropping her phone when she saw Max Verstappen standing there, dressed in his Red Bull team kit and holding a bottle of water. His blue eyes were bright with curiosity, and his expression was disarmingly friendly.

“Uh… no! I mean, yes. Maybe?” she stammered, fumbling with the tripod. “Sorry, I’m still figuring all this out.”

Max chuckled, setting his water down on a nearby workbench. “Don’t worry about it. What are you trying to do?”

“I’m supposed to get some footage of the engineers prepping your car, but I can’t get the angle right, and—” She broke off, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “It’s my first week. I’m still getting the hang of everything.”

“You’re doing fine,” Max said, his tone reassuring as he stepped closer. “Here, let me see.”

She handed him the phone, watching as he adjusted the tripod with practiced ease. He crouched slightly, angling the camera until it perfectly captured the scene in the garage.

“Like this?” he asked, stepping back to let her check.

She stared at the screen in amazement. “That’s… perfect. How did you do that so quickly?”

“Years of media obligations,” he said with a shrug. “You pick up a thing or two.”

She smiled, feeling some of her nervousness ebb away. “Thanks, Max.”

“No problem,” he replied, picking up his water bottle. “And if you ever need help with anything else—questions, technical stuff, whatever—just ask. It’s better than guessing.”

Max wasn’t kidding. Over the next few weeks, she found herself turning to him more often than she expected, and he answered every question with surprising patience.

“What’s a DRS zone?” she asked one afternoon during a lunch break.

“It’s where we can open the rear wing to go faster,” Max explained, demonstrating with his hands. “But only in certain areas and under certain conditions. You know, to make overtaking easier.”

“And what’s an undercut?” she asked the next day while filming a promo video in the paddock.

Max smirked. “That’s when you pit earlier than the car ahead of you to get fresher tires and gain track position. But timing is everything. If you mess it up, it doesn’t work.”

“Right,” she said, nodding along even though she still felt a bit lost.

Max seemed to notice her confusion because he added, “It’s like beating someone to the front of the line at a concert by taking a shortcut. Make sense?”

“Ahh,” she said, grinning. “That actually helps.”

With Max’s encouragement, her confidence grew. She started experimenting with different content ideas, from quirky Instagram stories to polished YouTube vlogs. Her colleagues noticed the change, offering praise and feedback that bolstered her even further.

But it was Max’s quiet support that made the biggest difference. He never made her feel stupid for asking questions or stumbling over her words, and his humor often turned stressful moments into something lighter.

One evening, as she sat in the media center editing a race weekend highlight reel, Max walked by and paused to watch over her shoulder.

“Not bad,” he said, nodding at the screen.

“‘Not bad’?” she repeated, turning to him with a mock glare.

He grinned. “Okay, fine. It’s great. But you missed the part where I overtook Checo in Turn 3. That was the best move of the race.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “I’ll add it to the blooper reel.”

“Bloopers?” he said, pretending to look offended. “That was pure talent.”

She shook her head, unable to suppress her smile. “You’re impossible, Verstappen.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” he said, his tone softening. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

By the time the season reached its midpoint, she felt like she’d finally found her footing. The fast-paced world of Formula 1 no longer felt overwhelming; instead, it felt exhilarating.

One evening, after a particularly successful social media campaign, she found herself standing on the balcony of the team’s hospitality unit, watching the sun set over the paddock. Max joined her a few minutes later, leaning against the railing with a relaxed smile.

“Long day?” he asked.

“Always,” she replied with a chuckle. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“I’d say you’re more than getting the hang of it,” Max said. “You’ve been killing it lately. Everyone’s noticed.”

She glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, meeting her gaze. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve made this job your own. You’ve brought something new to the team. It’s good.”

Her chest swelled with gratitude, and she looked down, trying to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thanks, Max. For everything. I don’t think I would’ve survived my first month without you.”

He chuckled, reaching out to nudge her shoulder playfully. “Anytime. You’re part of the team now, and we take care of our own. Even if you still ask a million questions.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Get used to it, Verstappen. I’ve got plenty more where those came from.”

Max smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Bring it on.”

[faithshouseofchaos]

Something familiar — Lando Norris x reader x Oscar piastri

Word count— 1206

Fluff

Summary— after a rough emotional week you just want to eat something familiar with your boys

I wrote this last night while watching the movie.

You didn’t want to admit it, but the past few days had taken a toll on you. It felt like a storm cloud had settled over your head, darkening everything you tried to do. You weren’t sure why you felt so down—maybe it was a culmination of stress, self-doubt, and the weight of small disappointments—but it was overwhelming. So when Oscar and Lando found you sitting on the couch, eyes red and cheeks damp, they knew something was wrong.

“What’s going on, love?” Oscar asked softly, sitting beside you. His hand immediately found your knee, his thumb rubbing soothing circles.

Lando appeared a moment later, holding a blanket he must’ve grabbed from the bedroom. “Bad day?” he asked, draping it over your shoulders as he slid onto the other side of you.

You nodded wordlessly, letting out a shaky breath. You didn’t have the energy to explain; luckily, you didn’t have to. Oscar pressed a kiss to your temple, and Lando tucked the blanket snugly around you, their presence alone melting some of the tension in your chest.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Lando said after a moment of quiet. “We’re going to do whatever makes you feel better. Want food? A walk? A boxing match between me and Oscar? I’d win, by the way.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head. “In your dreams. But seriously, what do you need, sweetheart?”

You hesitated before murmuring, “Can we just… watch Spirit? I think I just need something familiar.”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron? The horse movie?”

“Yes, the horse movie,” you replied, managing a small smile despite yourself.

Oscar grinned, pulling you closer. “Done. Whatever you need, baby.”

Ten minutes later, you were nestled between them on the couch, the movie queued up on the TV. Lando had insisted on making popcorn, though you had to stop him from adding his ridiculous “secret seasoning” of chili powder and sugar. Oscar brought over a cup of tea for you, handing it over with a kiss to your knuckles.

As the opening music played, Lando leaned in, whispering to Oscar, “So, is this like Black Beauty or The Lion King? I’m not ready to cry over a horse.”

“Shh,” you hushed him, though your lips twitched into a smile. “Just watch.”

Oscar nudged him. “No interruptions. She loves this movie.”

The first notes of Here I Am began, and you couldn’t help but hum along. Oscar noticed, and without missing a beat, he joined in softly, his warm voice a perfect counterpoint to yours. Lando looked between the two of you, grinning.

“Wait, is this a duet now? Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Because you don’t know the words,” you teased, smiling despite yourself.

“I can learn,” he shot back, then dramatically cleared his throat and belted out, “HERE I AMMMM!” His voice cracked on the high note, sending Oscar into a fit of laughter.

“Stop, you’re going to scare Spirit away,” Oscar teased, nudging Lando with his elbow.

“Fine, fine,” Lando said, holding up his hands in surrender. “But I’ll crush the next song.”

You shook your head, giggling. It was impossible to feel down with these two.

When Get Off of My Back came on, Lando was fully committed. He stood up, pretending to be Spirit bucking off his rider, singing dramatically, “WHY DON’T YOU GET OFF OF MY BACK?!” He even threw in a little kick for effect.

Oscar groaned, burying his face in his hands, though he was clearly holding back a laugh. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you love me,” Lando said with a cheeky grin before dropping back onto the couch.

“Debatable,” Oscar muttered, but his hand found yours beneath the blanket, giving it a squeeze.

When Spirit met Rain, both of them immediately leaned forward, invested in the unfolding scene.

“So this is a love story?” Lando asked, gesturing to the screen. “They’re just… staring at each other?”

“It’s called chemistry,” Oscar replied, amused.

You rolled your eyes. “Shh, just watch. This is the best part.”

As Spirit and Rain started running through the field, splashing through water and nudging one another playfully, Oscar let out a soft chuckle. “Okay, I admit, this is kind of sweet.”

Lando, on the other hand, was smirking. “Sweet? He’s showing off for her. Classic move.”

When Rain splashed Spirit, Lando mimicked her with an exaggerated, “Gotcha!” Oscar snorted but didn’t take his eyes off the screen, and you shook your head, trying not to laugh at their antics.

The real emotional reactions came when spirit was protecting a hurt Rain. The screen fell silent except for the mournful music, and you noticed Oscar’s jaw tightening.

“She—she’s okay, right?” he asked, glancing at you.

You nodded softly. “Just keep watching.”

Lando, on the other hand, looked visibly distressed. “No, no, no. He saved her! This can’t be how it ends for him.”

When Sound the Bugle began, Oscar surprised you by singing softly along with Bryan Adams. His voice was low and steady, the emotion in it making your chest ache in the best way. You leaned into him, closing your eyes as his arm tightened around you.

“Okay, why is he actually good at this?” Lando muttered, pouting. “It’s not fair.”

“You could’ve joined the choir too,” Oscar teased.

“Not when I’m already busy being the fun one,” Lando replied, earning another round of laughter from you.

By the time the movie reached the triumphant I Will Always Return, the three of you were singing together—not in harmony, but loud and unapologetically off-key.

When Little Creek freed Spirit to return to Rain, both of them visibly relaxed. Lando threw his hands up in relief. “Finally! Took him long enough to realize Spirit’s a hero.”

Oscar shook his head, his expression softening as Spirit and Rain reunited. “That’s love right there,” he said, his voice quieter now. He glanced at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re tearing up.”

You sniffled, smiling sheepishly. “It’s a good moment, okay?”

“See?” Lando said afterward, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “We’re basically Spirit’s backup singers now. We should tour.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “We’d get booed off stage in two minutes.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m a star,” Lando shot back, making you laugh harder than you had in days.

When the credits rolled, Lando stretched his legs out with an exaggerated groan. “I take back everything I said. That movie was brilliant. The music, the action, the emotional depth… 10 out of 10.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You just like the chase scenes.”

“Maybe,” Lando admitted, grinning. “But seriously, I get why you love it now.” He turned to you, his expression softening. “Thanks for sharing it with us.”

Oscar nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We should make this a tradition. Every time you’re feeling low, we watch Spirit—or anything else you want.”

Your chest swelled with warmth as you looked at the two of them. They didn’t have to do any of this, yet they always found a way to make you feel cared for. “I love you guys,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Love you more,” Lando said instantly, pulling you into his chest.

“Impossible,” Oscar added, wrapping his arms around both of you.

The three of you stayed like that for a while, the TV still glowing softly in the background. You realized then that no matter how heavy life got, you’d always have them to lean on. And for now, that was enough.

[estellan0vella]

Hopelessly In Love: Y.J Yang Jeongin x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 15.8K

CW: Jeongin being a flirt, Minsung content, Mentions of sexuality denial, Jeongin being hopeless, Felix, Jisung, Minho and Hyunjin wingmanning from behind the scenes

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The walk to the Alpha Phi house feels longer than it should, partly because you’ve been replaying every possible interaction in your head since Seungmin texted you the address. Your white tote bag swings at your side, the word “ugh” printed in bold brown lettering staring back at you as a perfect encapsulation of how out of place you feel. The thought of stepping into a frat house, this frat house, the infamous Alpha Phi, makes your palms sweat and your stomach twist.

But Seungmin’s your best friend. If he can handle living there, you can survive one visit for the sake of finishing your mechanical engineering project. Right?

The house looms large and imposing, its brick facade and dark shutters practically daring anyone who isn’t part of the frat to approach. It’s obnoxiously clean for a frat house, like it’s overcompensating for whatever chaos goes on inside.

You clutch your tote bag a little tighter, adjust your cropped white blouse, and tug at the waistband of your brown cargo trousers as you climb the front steps. Faint laughter and bass-heavy music filter through the thick wooden door. It feels like a warning.

Your hand hovers for a moment before you muster up the courage to knock.

It swings open almost immediately, and you’re greeted by a boy with sharp features and dark hair falling loosely over his forehead. He leans against the doorframe like he’s been practising the pose for years. His smirk is lazy, confident, the kind that makes you immediately wary.

“Oh, look at that,” he says smoothly, his tone dripping with mock delight. “Fate drops a pretty girl right on my doorstep.”

Your brain stutters. “Uh…”

The smirk widens like he’s amused by your discomfort. “Name’s Jeongin. And you are?”

You fidget with the strap of your tote bag. “I’m here for Seungmin.”

“Seungmin?” He tilts his head, feigning confusion. “Didn’t know he liked shy girls. Cute.”

“I’m just here for a project.”

“Oh, so you’re single?” he shoots back, like it’s the most natural follow-up question in the world. His voice is laced with teasing, but his sharp eyes watch you closely, clearly enjoying the way you’re struggling to form a coherent response.

You blink at him, entirely caught off guard. “What? I- I don’t-”

“Jeongin, leave her the fuck alone!” The voice cuts through the tension, and you glance past Jeongin to see a man with cherry-red hair appearing at the base of the stairs. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that clings to his frame, and his arms are crossed in a way that screams both authority and exasperation. “You’re fucking scaring her, man.”

“I wasn’t scaring her,” Jeongin argues, though he steps aside to let you into the house. His voice drops into a mock whisper as you pass. “I was flirting.”

“Whatever the fuck you call that, stop,” the red-haired guy shoots back sharply before turning his attention to you. His gaze softens slightly. “You’re here for Seungmin?”

“Yeah,” you manage, relieved to have someone else to focus on. “We’re working on a project.”

“Of course you are,” Jeongin chimes in from his spot by the door. “What kind of project?”

“Mechanical engineering,” you mutter, trying not to meet his eyes.

Jeongin lets out a low whistle. “Smart and pretty? Fuck, Seungmin really hit the jackpot with this one.”

“Jeongin,” the red-haired guy groans, his tone bordering on murderous. “Shut the fuck up before you scare her into running away. I’m Minho, by the way.” He offers you a brief, almost apologetic smile. “Ignore him. He’s an absolute fucking idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Jeongin protests, grinning like he knows exactly how irritating he is. “I’m charming.”

“You’re a cunt,” Minho fires back, not missing a beat.

Before you can even process that exchange, a new voice cuts through the chaos. “What the fuck is going on down there?” You look up to see Seungmin standing at the top of the stairs, his orange hair sticking up like he’s been running his hands through it. He’s wearing a hoodie that looks two sizes too big and a scowl that looks permanent. “Jeongin, are you harassing my friend?”

“Harassing?” Jeongin repeats, his tone dripping with mock indignation. “I’m just processing the fact that you have a pretty little friend.”

“She’s nice, unlike you fucking hyenas,” Seungmin snaps as he descends the stairs, his arms crossed tight over his chest. “She doesn’t need you drooling all over her.”

“I’m more thinking about swapping spit than drooling,” Jeongin says casually, winking in your direction.

You freeze, your face heating up like someone just turned a spotlight on you. “I- I should probably…”

“Jeongin, shut the fuck up,” Minho barks, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. He grabs Jeongin by the collar of his shirt and yanks him back. “That’s it. I’m telling Chan.”

Jeongin whines like a child being sent to time-out. “What the fuck? Don’t do me like that!”

“Shut it, Innie,” Minho says flatly, dragging him deeper into the house. “You’re a fucking disaster.”

“I’m not a disaster,” Jeongin protests, his voice fading as they disappear around a corner. “I’m just-”

“Fucking insufferable,” Minho finishes for him.

Seungmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose like this whole ordeal has already shaved years off his life. “I’m so fucking sorry about them. Let’s just go upstairs and get away from those fucking idiots.”

“Uh, yeah,” you mumble, more than ready to escape the chaos. You glance back toward the direction Minho dragged Jeongin and lower your voice. “Are they always like this?”

Seungmin pauses, hesitating for a beat before sighing. “Yes. Yes, they fucking are. But you get used to it.”

You doubt that. A lot.

As soon as you and Seungmin disappear up the stairs, Jeongin leans back with a theatrical groan, scrubbing a hand down his face. He watches the spot where you vanished, his expression a mix of longing and pure drama, before turning to Minho, who’s still standing nearby with his arms crossed and a look of sheer disbelief.

“That right there,” Jeongin announces, jabbing a thumb toward the stairs. “That’s my future fucking wife.”

Minho doesn’t even try to hide his emotions, raising an eyebrow so high it’s practically halfway up his forehead. “The socially anxious bundle of nerves in the brown cargo pants?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jeongin says without missing a beat. His voice is firm, his expression dead serious. “Did you see her ass in those cargos? Fucking poetry, Minho. Pure poetry. I’m gonna marry her.”

Minho blinks, slowly tilting his head like he can’t believe the words coming out of Jeongin’s mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re absolutely fucking hopeless.”

Jeongin shrugs, entirely unbothered by the insult. “Hopelessly in love.”

Minho rolls his eyes so hard you half expect him to sprain something. “Or just hopelessly fucking horny. Seriously, Innie, you’ve got the emotional depth of a fucking spoon.”

Jeongin smirks, leaning against the wall like the cocky little shit he is. “Hey, at least I know what I want.”

Minho snorts. “Oh yeah? What you want is to scare the poor girl so bad she never comes within a hundred fucking miles of you. Because that’s exactly what you’re doing with your smirking, ‘I’m a fuckboy, love me’ bullshit.”

Jeongin frowns, the smirk faltering just a little. “You think I scared her off?”

“Oh, I fucking know you scared her off,” Minho snaps. “She was practically vibrating with anxiety, and there you are, smirking and talking about swapping spit. Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jeongin groans, running a hand through his hair as he paces a few steps back and forth. “Okay, okay. Fuck. Fine. What the fuck do I do, then? Help me out here, Minho. You’re supposed to be my hyung.”

Minho crosses his arms tighter, clearly enjoying watching Jeongin squirm. “Oh no, fuckface. This one’s all on you. You wanna fix this shit, you better find someone who knows how to act like a fucking human being.”

Jeongin stops pacing, his face lighting up like he’s just had the most brilliant idea in the history of ideas. “Felix.”

Minho raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re gonna drag Felix into this? The fuck’s he gonna do? Bake her a cake that says ‘I’m sorry for being a fucking creep’?”

“No, dumbass,” Jeongin snaps, already heading toward the kitchen. “Felix is the nicest motherfucker in this house. He’s practically oozing ‘soft boy’ vibes. He’s gonna teach me how to be sweet.”

“Sweet?” Minho repeats, his tone laced with disbelief as he follows Jeongin. “You? Sweet? That’s fucking rich. This I’ve gotta see.”

The kitchen smells faintly of spices, and Felix is at the counter, carefully slicing vegetables with the kind of precision that makes him look like a Michelin-star chef despite the fact that he’s wearing a hoodie that swallows his frame. His blonde hair glints under the overhead light, and his tongue pokes out slightly in concentration as he arranges the slices on a cutting board.

“Felix!” Jeongin bursts into the kitchen like a man on a mission, dragging a stool over and plopping down dramatically. “I need your help. It’s a fucking emergency.”

Felix looks up, his knife pausing mid-slice. He blinks at Jeongin, then at Minho, who leans against the doorway with an amused smirk. “What the fuck did you do this time?”

“Nothing!” Jeongin protests, holding his hands up like he’s being wrongfully accused. “I met my future wife.”

Felix stares at him for a long, silent moment before bursting into laughter. “Oh, this is gonna be fucking good. Go on. What’s the problem?”

“She’s perfect,” Jeongin says, his tone reverent. “She’s smart, shy, sweet, and her ass in those cargo pants…” He trails off, gesturing wildly with both hands. “Breathtaking. Like, life-changing.”

Felix snorts, shaking his head as he resumes chopping. “And let me guess, you scared the absolute shit out of her.”

Jeongin groans, slumping forward to bang his head lightly against the counter. “Minho already fucking bullied me for that.”

“Because he’s not wrong,” Felix says, laughing. “What’d you say to her?”

Jeongin lifts his head, avoiding Felix’s gaze. “I might’ve asked if she was single.”

Felix freezes, the knife hovering mid-air. He stares at Jeongin like he’s trying to figure out if he’s serious. “Dude.”

“What?!” Jeongin exclaims, throwing his hands up defensively. “It’s a valid fucking question!”

“Not when you’ve just met her, you fucking idiot!” Felix says, shaking his head in disbelief.

Jeongin groans again, running both hands through his hair. “Fuck. I’m so fucked, aren’t I?”

Felix sighs, finally setting the knife down and leaning on the counter to face Jeongin directly. “Not necessarily. You just need to stop being, well, you.”

Minho barks out a laugh from the doorway. “Good luck with that.”

“Fuck off, Minho,” Jeongin snaps before turning back to Felix. “Okay, fine. What do I do?”

Felix shrugs, his tone calm and thoughtful. “Be genuine. Girls like that don’t fall for flashy, cocky shit. You’ve gotta show her you’re not just some loudmouth frat bro.”

“Genuine,” Jeongin repeats, frowning like he’s trying to solve a fucking physics equation. “How the fuck do I do that?”

“Start by not commenting on her ass again,” Felix says, deadpan.

Jeongin groans. “But it’s such a-”

“Jeongin,” Felix interrupts, throwing a dish towel at him. “For fuck’s sake, focus. Be sweet. Thoughtful. Maybe even a little vulnerable. Show her you’ve got layers or some shit.”

Jeongin catches the towel, muttering under his breath. “Sweet. Thoughtful. Vulnerable. No ass comments. Got it.”

Felix smirks, already turning back to his vegetables. “Good luck, loverboy. You’re gonna need it.”

Jeongin leans lazily against the counter, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face as he surveys Felix and Minho. “You two are now my official romance senseis. Help me bag the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen.”

Felix doesn’t even bother looking up from the stove, where he’s stirring a simmering pot of something that smells obnoxiously good. “Met the girl today and you’re already planning the fucking wedding?”

Jeongin nods, dead serious, like Felix has just complimented his strategic brilliance. “Obviously. Did you see her? Smart, shy, beautiful and those brown cargos?” He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head like he’s in mourning. “Fucking breathtaking.”

Felix finally glances up, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and pity. “Brown cargos, huh? That’s the hill you’re dying on?”

“Dying, getting married, whatever,” Jeongin replies with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Same difference when you’re in love, Felix.”

Minho, perched on a barstool by the counter, nearly chokes on his laugh. “Love? You’re a fucking clown. You’ve known her for what, thirty seconds? And all you did was scare the shit out of her.”

“I didn’t scare her,” Jeongin argues, shooting Minho a glare. “I was—”

“Being a cocky little cunt,” Minho interrupts, his smirk widening. “Which, by the way, she did not look impressed by. You’ve got zero fucking game, Innie.”

Jeongin glares harder, but Felix interrupts by holding out a spoonful of sauce in Minho’s direction. “Here. Taste this. Too spicy? Too bland? It’s for my culinary course.”

Minho leans forward obligingly, taking the spoon into his mouth with the kind of practiced care that makes Jeongin groan in frustration. “What the fuck, guys? My entire love life is on the line, and you’re worried about sauce?”

Minho holds up a finger, ignoring Jeongin entirely as he chews thoughtfully. “Mmm. Pretty good. Needs more garlic, though.”

“More garlic?” Felix echoes, thoughtful, already reaching for the bulb. “Good call.”

“HELLO?” Jeongin’s voice rises to a near shout. “I’m pouring my fucking heart out over here, and you two are acting like fucking Gordon Ramsey and Julia Child!”

Felix chuckles, still focused on his cooking. “Calm your tits, Romeo. You’ll survive another minute.”

Jeongin groans, dragging both hands down his face in frustration. “I can’t believe I’m trusting my future happiness to two fucking culinary nerds.”

Finally, Felix sets the spoon down and turns to Jeongin, wiping his hands on a towel. “Alright, alright. Let’s get serious for a second. First piece of advice? Don't be a cocky shit around her.”

“Yeah,” Minho chimes in, leaning back against the counter. “You looked like you were auditioning for the role of Frat Boy Douchebag #1. That shit’s not gonna fly with someone like her.”

Jeongin narrows his eyes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Felix says, shooting him a look, “that she’s not the type to fall for your usual bullshit. She’s shy. She’s reserved. You need to ease her in, not bulldoze her with your overconfident dickhead act.”

Jeongin frowns, considering this. “Alright, fine. What the fuck do I do instead?”

Felix leans against the counter, his tone calm but firm. “Be approachable. Genuine. Maybe even a little awkward, it’s endearing if you don’t overdo it.”

“Be awkward?” Jeongin repeats, his face twisting in confusion. “You’re telling me to be awkward on purpose?”

“Yes, dumbass,” Minho says with a smirk. “Girls like her don’t fall for the alpha-male crap. They want someone real. Someone relatable.”

“And don’t fucking comment on her ass again,” Felix adds pointedly. “Compliment her brain, her ideas, her sense of humour, literally anything else.”

Jeongin groans, throwing his head back. “No ass comments? But that’s, like, my signature move.”

“Then retire it,” Minho snaps. “Unless you wanna keep being single.”

Jeongin mutters something under his breath before straightening up, a spark of determination in his eyes. “Alright. What if I take something out of my car engine and ask her to fix it?”

Both Felix and Minho freeze, staring at him like he’s just suggested burning the house down for fun.

“What the actual fuck are you talking about?” Felix asks, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“Think about it,” Jeongin says, his voice picking up momentum like he’s just cracked the Da Vinci Code. “She’s a mechanical engineering major, right? If I pretend my car’s fucked, she’ll feel all smart and capable for fixing it for me. Bonding over machinery and shit. It’s genius.”

Minho groans, burying his face in his hands. “You’re a fucking moron.”

Felix sighs, looking genuinely exhausted. “Jeongin, no. Do not fuck with your car. That’s manipulative as shit.”

“It’s charming,” Jeongin counters, grinning like he’s won the argument. “I’m showing interest in her skills.”

“You’re using her skills to fake your way into her pants,” Minho corrects sharply. “There’s a difference, dumbass.”

Felix nods. “If you wanna impress her, ask about her work. Don’t make her do it for you.”

Jeongin waves them off, already halfway out the kitchen. “Nah, you guys don’t get it. This is gonna fucking work. Thanks for the advice, senseis.”

Felix watches him go, shaking his head. “We didn’t fucking agree to this.”

Minho snorts, grabbing another spoonful of sauce. “Should we stop him?”

Felix shrugs, smirking. “Nah. Let the dumbass burn. It’ll be entertaining as fuck.”

“You’re not wrong,” Minho says, grinning. “This is gonna be a fucking trainwreck.”

The Alpha Phi house looms just as fucking intimidating as the first time you stepped up to it. You fidget with the strap of your light blue tote bag, its shade perfectly matching your cargos and your scuffed Converse. The cream blouse you’re wearing feels just a little too cropped for comfort, you tug at the hem nervously, wishing you’d chosen literally anything else to wear. But here you are.

It’s just another fucking study session. With Seungmin. Not the chaos crew downstairs. Just focus on that.

You knock on the door, half hoping it’ll take forever for someone to answer. Instead, it swings open so quickly that you take a startled step back. And there he is, Jeongin. He leans against the doorframe like he owns the fucking place, dark hair falling carelessly over his forehead, lips curved into that smug smirk you remember all too well.

“Hey,” he says, his voice smooth but tinged with something that might actually be nerves. “You’re just the person I was hoping to see.”

You blink, thrown off immediately. “Uh, hi?”

“While I’ve got you here,” Jeongin continues, rubbing the back of his neck, “my car’s been acting like shit. Think you could take a look? You know, since you’re the resident engineering genius.”

“Your car?” you echo, your fingers tightening around your tote bag. “I mean, sure, but I thought Seungmin was-”

“He’s upstairs,” Jeongin interrupts quickly, already stepping outside and gesturing toward the driveway. “This’ll only take a minute, I promise. You’re an engineering major, right? This is totally your thing.”

You hesitate, nerves crawling up your spine, but eventually, you nod. “Okay, I guess.”

Jeongin’s grin widens as he leads the way, his hands stuffed into his pockets. The sleek black car parked in the driveway looks immaculate, which makes you immediately suspicious. He pops the hood with a theatrical flourish, stepping back to give you room.

“Yeah, so it just won’t fucking start,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the engine like it’s some unsolvable mystery. “No idea what the fuck’s wrong.”

You lean over the open hood, the faint smell of motor oil and metal hitting you as you scan the engine. It doesn’t take long for you to notice the glaring issue, and your brows furrow as confusion creeps into your voice. “Uh, your spark plug is gone.”

Jeongin leans in closer, peering over your shoulder like he has any clue what he’s looking at. “What? No way. How the fuck does that even happen?”

You glance at him. “Sometimes car thieves pull a spark plug. That way, the owner can’t drive it, and they can come back later to steal the whole thing.”

His jaw drops, eyes wide. “Are you fucking kidding me? That’s a thing?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, poking around the engine for good measure. “It’s not super common, but yeah, it happens.”

Jeongin steps back, running a hand through his hair like he’s just learned some devastating truth about the world. “Fuck me. That’s so fucked up.”

You nod absently, fiddling with a loose wire. “I mean, I can fix some of these shitty connections you’ve got going on, but without a replacement spark plug, you’re kind of fucked.”

“Shit,” Jeongin mutters. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, glancing at you from under his lashes. “Hey, while we’re here, I just wanna say something.”

You pause, looking up at him. “What?”

“I wanted to apologize,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. There’s no smirk this time, no cocky bravado. “For last week. I was a fucking idiot.”

You blink, completely caught off guard. “Apologize? For what?”

“For being an obnoxious ass,” Jeongin says bluntly. “I made you uncomfortable, and that’s not fucking okay. I get that. I’m really fucking sorry.”

“Oh,” you say softly, the unexpected sincerity in his tone making you shift awkwardly. “It’s… it’s fine.”

“It’s not fucking fine,” he insists, stepping closer. “I was trying to be funny, but I was just a dick. You didn’t deserve that.”

You hesitate, his unexpected earnestness throwing you for a loop. Finally, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “I appreciate the apology.”

Jeongin exhales like he’s been holding his breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good. Because I mean it.”

The moment lingers, awkward but oddly genuine, until you turn back to the engine, desperate to shift the focus. “So, uh, like I said, your wiring’s kind of fucked, but I can fix that. You’ll just need to buy a new spark plug. Call an auto shop, tell them your car’s make and model, and they’ll get you sorted.”

Jeongin perks up slightly, his smirk making a cautious return. “If I buy one, would you help me put it in?”

You hesitate, then sigh. “It’s not hard, but sure. I can do that.”

His grin spreads wider, more relaxed now. “Fuck yeah. You’re the best.”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, brushing your hands off on your cargos. “Don’t make it a habit.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jeongin replies smoothly, though the playful glint in his eye suggests otherwise. "Let's go!"

"Now?"

"Yes! Why not?!" Jeongin beams at you and you nod with a resigned shrug.

Jeongin practically skips down the sidewalk beside you, his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, humming some off-key tune like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. He keeps sneaking glances at you, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth every time you adjust the strap of your light blue tote bag or glance nervously at the road ahead.

You grip your tote bag tighter, the bag of matching blue fabric almost a security blanket at this point. Your cargos and scuffed Converse feel comfortable enough, but the cropped cream blouse keeps riding up every time you shift, and it’s fucking impossible not to fidget.

Jeongin, of course, doesn’t notice your growing anxiety. Or if he does, he sure as fuck doesn’t show it.

“So,” he pipes up, still bouncing along like a golden retriever. “This Dewie guy, what’s his deal? He, like, your personal mechanic or some shit?”

You glance at him briefly, debating how much to say. “Something like that,” you mutter, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll see.”

Jeongin doesn’t push for more details, instead whistling tunelessly as the auto shop comes into view. The weathered sign above the door creaks in the faint breeze, and the smell of motor oil and grease hits you before you even step inside.

Jeongin slows his pace, squinting up at the building like he’s about to walk onto another planet. “Fuck, this place smells like a mechanic’s fever dream.”

“That’s because it is a mechanic’s fever dream,” you reply softly, shooting him a look. “Don’t insult it.”

His lips twitch in amusement. “Noted.”

The bell above the door jingles as you step inside, the sound instantly grounding you. The shop smells exactly the same as it always does—metal, grease, and faintly of shitty coffee that Dewie insists is “just fine.”

Behind the counter, Dewie is flipping through a massive parts catalogue, his greying hair sticking out in all directions like he’s been too busy to care. His work shirt is streaked with grease and old oil stains, a testament to the hours he spends buried under car hoods.

“Hey, Dewie,” you call out, a small but genuine smile tugging at your lips.

Dewie’s head snaps up at your voice, and his lined face splits into a grin. “Hey, kiddo! What brings you in? Don’t tell me you’re tinkering with another piece of shit.”

You shake your head quickly, already feeling your cheeks flush. “Not me. It’s his car.” You gesture toward Jeongin, who stands just inside the doorway like he doesn’t know where to put himself. “He needs a new spark plug.”

Dewie’s sharp gaze shifts to Jeongin, his arms crossing as he leans on the counter. “What happened? Someone jack it?”

Jeongin stammers, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. That’s what she said, anyway.”

Dewie snorts. “Figures. These fuckers don’t miss a beat these days.” He jerks his chin toward Jeongin. “Make and model?”

“2018 Kia Stinger,” Jeongin replies quickly, trying to sound confident.

Dewie nods once, scrawling something onto a notepad. “Alright, hang tight. I’ll grab one from the back.”

As Dewie disappears through a side door, Jeongin leans down, lowering his voice. “You didn’t mention this guy’s basically your uncle.”

You blink, taken aback. “How’d you figure that?”

Jeongin tilts his head, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. “The way he called you ‘kiddo.’ That’s not just some mechanic shit.”

You hesitate, then shrug, looking down at your sneakers. “He’s not my uncle. But he raised me.”

Jeongin’s smirk fades into something softer, gentler. “Shit. Really?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, shifting awkwardly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Sounds like a big deal to me,” he replies, his voice unusually sincere. “That’s kinda badass.”

You glance at him, unsure what to say. Before you can come up with a response, Dewie reappears, a spark plug in hand. He slaps it onto the counter with a grin. “Here you go. Should do the trick.”

“Thanks,” Jeongin says, reaching into his pocket. “How much?”

“Twenty bucks,” Dewie replies, his sharp eyes flicking back to you for a moment. “How’s school, kiddo? Still kicking ass?”

You nod. “It’s fine. Just busy.”

“Bullshit,” Dewie says with a knowing chuckle. “You’re probably running circles around all those other nerds.”

You mumble something incoherent, fidgeting with the strap of your tote bag. Jeongin, sensing your discomfort, steps forward and slaps a twenty onto the counter. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

Dewie hands over the spark plug but doesn’t miss the chance to give Jeongin a critical once-over. “You sure you’re worth her time, kid?”

Your head snaps up. “We’re not- he’s not-”

Jeongin grins, cutting you off smoothly. “Don’t worry, sir. I’m working on it.”

Dewie barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Good luck with that. She’s a tough one.”

“Tell me about it,” Jeongin says with a wink, tossing the spark plug lightly in the air and catching it.

You groan, hiding your face behind your hand. “Can we just go?”

“Take care, kiddo!” Dewie calls as Jeongin holds the door open for you. “Don’t let this one get on your nerves too much!”

Jeongin laughs as you step outside, the cool air hitting your flushed face. “So he raised you, huh?”

You nod, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah.”

“That’s fucking cool,” he says, his tone softer than usual. He tosses the spark plug again, catching it effortlessly. “He seems like a good guy.”

“He is,” you reply quietly, clutching your tote bag tighter. “He’s done a lot for me.”

Jeongin bumps your shoulder lightly, his grin softer now. “You’re lucky to have him.”

You glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I am.”

The two of you fall into a companionable silence as you make your way back to the Alpha Phi house, the spark plug bouncing in Jeongin’s hand and a strange warmth blooming in your chest that you can’t quite shake.

Back at the Alpha Phi house, Jeongin practically bounces toward his car, spark plug clutched in one hand like it’s some kind of golden ticket. The afternoon sun glints off the car’s sleek black hood, making it look like it just rolled off a showroom floor. You trail behind him, your light blue tote bag swinging slightly at your side, the strap gripped tightly in your hand as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Jeongin grins as he pops the hood, gesturing grandly like he’s unveiling some masterpiece. “Alright, genius. Work your magic.”

You roll your eyes lightly, setting your tote bag on the ground and stepping closer to inspect the engine. “It’s not magic. It’s just… basic mechanics.”

Jeongin leans against the side of the car, folding his arms as he watches you, his grin widening. “Basic mechanics to you. Black fucking sorcery to me.”

You bite back a small smile, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingers. Focusing on the engine, you twist the spark plug into place with practised precision, your fingers navigating the intricate components like it’s second nature. “Alright, this part’s easy. Shouldn’t take long.”

Jeongin tilts his head, watching you with open admiration. “Take all the time you need. It’s nice watching a genius do her thing.”

Your cheeks burn at the compliment, but you keep your eyes firmly on the engine. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Bullshit,” Jeongin says with a snort. “You could tell me this thing runs on unicorn jizz, and I’d believe you.”

A soft laugh escapes you before you can stop it, and you quickly cover your mouth with one hand. “Unicorn jizz? Really?”

“Hey, you’re the expert,” Jeongin says, his grin turning shameless. “I’m just along for the ride.”

Shaking your head, you finish securing the spark plug and step back to inspect the rest of the engine. Your brows knit together when you notice something out of place. “Your fuel line is disconnected.”

Jeongin straightens up, his grin faltering slightly. “Shit. Is that bad?”

“It’s not great,” you mutter, leaning in to get a closer look. “What the hell happened here?”

Jeongin scratches the back of his neck, his sheepish expression already giving him away. “Okay, so, that might’ve been me.”

You turn to him, crossing your arms as your lips press into a thin line. “Might’ve been you?”

“Alright, fine. It was me,” he admits, holding up his hands in surrender. “It wouldn’t start yesterday, and I didn’t know about the whole missing spark plug thing yet, so I may have fiddled with it.”

“You fiddled with it,” you repeat, incredulous.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging helplessly. “I thought I could figure it out. Turns out I couldn’t.”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat before you can stop it, and you shake your head, a small smile breaking through. “You’re an idiot.”

“Guilty,” Jeongin replies, his grin returning, though it’s softer now. “Can you fix it?”

“I can fix it,” you reply, already crouching to rummage through your tote bag. You pull out a small, well-loved tool kit that Dewie insisted you carry everywhere. “Just promise me you won’t touch anything under the hood ever again.”

Jeongin presses a hand to his chest, his tone mock-serious. “Scout’s honor.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile that lingers as you reconnect the fuel line with quick, efficient movements. Jeongin watches closely, leaning in just enough to make you nervous, though his expression isn’t teasing this time. There’s something genuine in the way he watches you, like he’s genuinely impressed.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” he says suddenly, his voice soft but firm.

Your hands falter slightly, and you glance up at him, your face already burning. “I- it’s just a fuel line. It’s not-”

“Nope,” he interrupts, holding up a finger. “None of that modest shit. What you’re doing right now? Badass as fuck. Own it.”

You duck your head, letting your hair fall into your face as you mumble, “It’s really not that special.”

Jeongin leans a little closer, his grin softening into something more sincere. “It is to me.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you don’t let yourself dwell on it. Instead, you focus on finishing the repair, your hands moving with quiet confidence. Once you’re done, you step back, brushing your hands off on your cargos.

“There,” you say, closing the hood with a solid click. “That should do it. Try starting it now.”

Jeongin doesn’t hesitate, practically sprinting to the driver’s seat. He slides in, turns the key, and grins as the engine roars to life, smooth and steady. “Holy shit, you actually fixed it.”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Did you think I couldn’t?”

“Never doubted you for a second,” Jeongin replies, hopping out of the car with a triumphant laugh. He walks back over to you, his grin wider than ever. “Seriously, how much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” you say, bending down to pick up your tote bag. “Just don’t touch your engine again, alright? If something’s wrong, take it to Dewie. Or call me.”

Jeongin perks up at that, his eyebrows raising. “Call you, huh? You offering to be my personal mechanic?”

“Only if you’re desperate,” you mumble, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Don’t make it a habit.”

“Got it,” he says, his tone warm and teasing. “No unnecessary car emergencies. But for real, thank you. You saved my ass.”

You nod quickly, keeping your gaze on the ground. “It’s fine. Really.”

Jeongin watches you for a moment, his usual cocky demeanour replaced by something softer, more thoughtful. “You know,” he says, breaking the silence, “you’re kind of hard to figure out.”

Your brows knit together as you glance up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he says, shrugging. “You’re all quiet and nervous, but then you do shit like this, and it’s like damn. You’re a total badass.”

You fumble for something to say, but Jeongin doesn’t seem to expect a response. Instead, he grins again and jerks his head toward the house.

“C’mon,” he says. “Seungmin’s probably wondering where the fuck you are.”

You nod, trailing after him, your mind spinning with his words and the warmth in his voice. You try to push it away, but it lingers, making it even harder to ignore the way he makes your heart race.

Jeongin bursts into Minho’s room without so much as a knock, throwing the door open so hard it bounces off the wall. Minho jerks upright from where he’s sprawled on his bed, phone clutched in one hand, his brows furrowing in annoyance.

“What the fuck, Jeongin?” Minho snaps, glaring at him. “I was busy!”

“You were doomscrolling,” Jeongin shoots back, marching straight to the bed and grabbing Minho’s wrist. “That’s not busy.”

“Excuse me,” Minho retorts, trying and failing to wrench his arm free. “It’s called research. Ever heard of it, dipshit?”

“Research later,” Jeongin grunts, dragging him out the door with surprising strength. “This is important.”

Minho stumbles into the hallway, still protesting. “You are so lucky I don’t punch people younger and weaker than me. What the fuck is this about?”

“You’ll see,” Jeongin says cryptically, tugging him toward Felix’s room. He doesn’t even knock before barging in, nearly tripping over Felix’s chair in the process.

Felix is sitting cross-legged on his bed, headphones around his neck and a laptop balanced on his knees. He looks up, startled. “What the fuck is going on?”

Jeongin lets go of Minho and drops dramatically onto the floor, spreading his arms like a martyr. “Emergency.”

Felix blinks, closing his laptop and setting it aside. "An actual emergency, or a Jeongin emergency?”

“Both,” Jeongin replies, his grin sharp as he leans back on his hands. “So, yesterday? I executed The Plan. Spoke to her. Met her uncle slash guardian. All because I jacked up my car on purpose, which, by the way, she doesn’t fucking know about.”

Minho groans, dropping into Felix’s chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. This is about her? Again?”

Felix raises a brow, intrigued despite himself. “Hold on. Back up. Your dumbass plan actually worked?”

“Fuck yeah, it did,” Jeongin says, his grin turning smug. “She was there, in blue cargos, God, that ass, fixing my car like an angel descended straight from car-heaven.”

“Dickhead,” Minho mutters, glaring at him. “Can you go five fucking seconds without talking about her ass?”

Felix smirks, leaning back against the headboard. “Doubt it. But hey, you talked to her? Like a full conversation?”

“Full fucking conversation,” Jeongin confirms, his chest puffing out. “She didn’t run away. She didn’t tell me to fuck off. Progress, right?”

Felix whistles low, impressed. “Alright, that’s something. What did you talk about?”

“She mostly talked about the car,” Jeongin admits. “But I told her she was amazing. And get this, she told me to call her if I needed help again.”

Minho leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “She actually said that? Or did you hallucinate it in one of your horny delusions?”

“She fucking said it,” Jeongin says, glaring back at him. “I’m not delusional. And now I need to figure out how to make her fall in love with me.”

Felix snorts, covering his face with one hand. “You’ve had one normal interaction and now you’re planning a wedding?”

“Felix,” Jeongin says seriously, sitting up. “This is destiny. Don’t laugh.”

Minho groans, slouching in his chair. “Destiny my ass. You’re obsessed with a girl who probably doesn’t even know how to take a compliment without spontaneously combusting.”

“Exactly!” Jeongin says, pointing at him. “She’s different. She’s shy, soft-spoken, and she’s so fucking smart. I’m not gonna screw this up.”

Felix exhales, his tone shifting to something more patient. “Alright, fine. Let’s workshop this. It's doable.”

Jeongin claps his hands together, grinning. “This is why you’re my favourite.”

“Jesus,” Minho mutters. “You’re lucky Felix has more patience than me.”

Felix sits up straighter, clasping his hands like he’s about to deliver a lecture. “First rule: You cannot go full Jeongin on her.”

Jeongin frowns. “Full Jeongin?”

“Yeah, like your usual loud, cocky bullshit,” Minho chimes in. “She’s not gonna respond to you strutting around like a frat-boy peacock.”

Felix nods. “She’s shy, right? You need to be approachable. Soft. Make her feel comfortable.”

“Comfortable,” Jeongin repeats, his expression serious. “Okay. How?”

“Patience,” Felix says, ticking off his fingers. “Be genuine. Talk to her, but don’t push. Ask about what she’s into. Show her you’re actually interested in her, not just her ass.”

Jeongin sighs dramatically. “Why does everyone keep attacking me over this?”

“Because you talk about her ass constantly,” Minho deadpans. “Compliment her brain, her personality, her work ethic, anything but her fucking cargo pants.”

“I did!” Jeongin protests. “I told her she was amazing while she was fixing my car.”

“Good,” Felix says with a small smile. “Do more of that. Make her feel seen.”

Jeongin fidgets, his confidence faltering slightly. “What if I mess it up? Say the wrong thing?”

“You will,” Minho says flatly, earning a glare from Jeongin. “But if you’re sincere, she’ll forgive you. Probably.”

Felix sighs, shooting Minho a look. “Ignore him. It’s okay to mess up as long as you’re making an effort. She’ll notice.”

Jeongin nods slowly, absorbing the advice. “What about hanging out? Like, casually?”

Felix brightens. “Yes! Somewhere low-pressure. Somewhere she feels comfortable.”

“A study date,” Jeongin says, his eyes lighting up. “That’s fucking genius.”

Felix shakes his head. “Not a date. Not yet. Just hang out. Be chill.”

Jeongin leans back, a determined grin spreading across his face. “Okay. Be patient. Be genuine. Compliment her brain. Hang out somewhere low-pressure. Got it.”

Minho chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “You’re actually taking this seriously, huh?”

“Of course I am,” Jeongin says earnestly. “She’s not like anyone I’ve met before.”

Felix smiles softly. “Then don’t fuck it up, Innie.”

Jeongin grins, his usual cockiness tinged with real hope. “I won’t.”

The college mechanics' garage hums with the faint buzz of overhead fluorescent lights, their sterile glow casting long shadows on the polished concrete floor. The air is thick with the smell of motor oil, grease, and faint traces of burnt rubber. A comforting scent that’s come to feel like home.

You’re crouched over an engine mounted on a heavy metal workbench, black cargos streaked with grime and your cropped black blouse tugging higher every time you reach forward. A red bandana is knotted tightly around your head, though it does little to keep stray hairs from escaping, forcing you to constantly push them back with oil-stained fingers.

The engine looms in front of you, its tangled maze of components taunting you like some sadistic puzzle. Something’s wrong. Something you should be able to figure out, and yet the solution keeps fucking eluding you.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, glaring at the carburettor like it personally offended you. “What the fuck is your problem?”

The sharp squeak of sneakers on the concrete pulls your attention for half a second, but you don’t need to look up to know who it is. Jeongin. Of course. His footsteps are unhurried, confident, and that faint whiff of expensive cologne follows him like a calling card.

“Hey,” Jeongin calls out, his voice smooth but softer than usual, like he’s testing the waters. “Seungmin said you’d be here, working yourself to death over something you can’t let go.”

You glance at him briefly before going back to your work, wiping your hands on a rag tucked into your pocket. “Something in this stupid engine doesn’t work,” you mumble, the frustration clear in your tone. “And I can’t figure it out.”

Jeongin steps closer, his sneakers scuffing slightly against the floor. He stops a few feet away, tilting his head as he studies the scene in front of him: you, bent over the workbench, fingers deftly navigating the guts of the engine, black cargos clinging to your legs, streaks of oil smudged on your skin. He has to force himself to look away before his thoughts go to places he’ll regret voicing.

“Okay,” Jeongin says, clearing his throat and stepping closer. “Use me.”

You straighten up, turning to him with a confused look. “What?”

“Use me,” he repeats, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Explain the engine to me, like I’m five. Sometimes talking it out helps people figure shit out, right?”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. He steps forward, holding out a coffee cup. “Also, I brought you this. Vanilla chai latte. Took a guess, it seemed like your kind of thing.”

Your fingers hesitate before reaching for the cup, the warmth seeping through the cardboard sleeve and into your cold, grease-smeared hands. “Thanks,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over the hum of the garage. The tension in your shoulders eases slightly as you take a sip, the sweet flavour grounding you.

Jeongin grins, leaning his hip against the workbench. “Alright. Walk me through it.”

You sigh, gesturing for him to come closer. “Fine. But you’ll need to actually look at the engine.”

Jeongin steps up beside you, close enough that you catch the faint warmth radiating from him. His cologne mingles with the metallic tang of the garage, creating an oddly intoxicating mix. He leans in as you start pointing to different components, his eyes following the movements of your hands.

“This is the carburettor,” you explain. “It mixes air and fuel for combustion. If it’s clogged or not working right, the engine’s fucked.”

Jeongin nods seriously, though the smirk playing on his lips betrays him. “Air, fuel, kaboom. Got it.”

You huff out a soft laugh despite yourself, glancing at him. “Basically.”

Encouraged by your reaction, Jeongin leans a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “And what’s this thing?” he asks, pointing vaguely at a random cluster of wires.

“That’s the distributor,” you say, nudging his hand away so you can show him properly. “It sends voltage to the spark plugs. If something’s wrong here, the engine misfires.”

Jeongin whistles low, his tone equal parts admiration and disbelief. “You weren’t kidding when you said this shit’s complicated.”

You shrug, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not that bad once you know what you’re doing.”

“Uh-huh,” Jeongin teases, tilting his head to get a better look. “Says the fucking genius.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to the engine. “I’m not a genius. It’s just practice.”

“Still impressive,” Jeongin says softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he forces himself to focus. “Alright, what else?”

As you continue explaining, something starts to click in your mind. You step back slightly, your brows furrowing. “Wait a second-”

“What?” Jeongin asks, watching your face light up with realization.

You lean in, carefully pulling at a small, almost hidden wire near the distributor. “This wire isn’t connected properly. It’s part of the ignition system. Without it, the spark plugs won’t fire right.”

Jeongin frowns, squinting at the tiny wire. “That tiny thing? Seriously? That’s the whole problem?”

“It’s not obvious,” you admit, reaching for a screwdriver from your kit. “That’s probably why I missed it the first ten fucking times.”

Jeongin watches as you secure the wire, his tone filled with awe. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

You pause for half a second, your cheeks flushing, but you quickly shake it off and finish tightening the connection. “It’s just an engine,” you mumble, ducking your head.

“It’s not just an engine,” Jeongin insists, his voice firm but warm. “You just solved a fucking mystery like Sherlock Holmes. That’s badass.”

You glance at him briefly, unsure how to respond, and instead focus on brushing your hands off on a rag. “Alright,” you say, stepping back. “That should do it.”

“You’re sure?” Jeongin asks, his eyebrow raised.

“Test it,” you reply, crossing your arms as you nod toward the ignition system.

Jeongin turns to the panel, flipping the switch. The engine rumbles to life, smooth and steady. His eyes widen, and a grin splits across his face as he lets out an excited laugh. “Holy shit, you actually fixed it!”

You nod, your lips twitching into a small smile. “Told you it wasn’t that hard.”

Jeongin shakes his head, his grin full of admiration. “You’re a fucking genius. I don’t care what you say.”

You shrug, the warmth in your chest spreading despite your best efforts to downplay it. “It’s just practice.”

Jeongin watches as you gather your tools, his grin softening. “Thanks for letting me help, even if all I did was stand here and look pretty.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You weren’t that bad.”

Jeongin straightens up, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. “So coffee again? Maybe you can teach me more.”

You glance at him, his tone so sincere it catches you off guard. “Maybe,” you murmur, your cheeks warming as you adjust the strap of your tote bag.

Jeongin grins, his confidence returning full force. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jeongin bursts into the kitchen like a fucking tornado, the door slamming against the wall as his energy ricochets off every surface. Felix is at the stove, carefully arranging what looks like a chaotic cross between a gourmet dish and a culinary science experiment.

Minho sits on a stool nearby, fork poised mid-air as he waits impatiently to dig in. Both of them look up as Jeongin skips in, his grin so wide it practically splits his face in half.

“I fucking did it again!” Jeongin announces, throwing his hands up like he’s just won the lottery.

Felix raises an eyebrow, setting the pan down with a metallic clatter. “Did what again?”

“Worked my charm,” Jeongin says smugly, puffing out his chest like a victorious rooster. “I went to the college workshop, helped her figure out why an engine wasn’t working. You should’ve seen her. She was so fucking focused, explaining all the parts to me like an absolute badass.”

Minho snorts, shoving a forkful of Felix’s food into his mouth. “You know fuck-all about cars.”

“And that’s the beauty of it,” Jeongin says, pointing dramatically at Minho like he’s cracked some great universal truth. “I know jack shit, but I offered moral support. And guess what? It fucking worked.”

Felix sighs, shaking his head as he sets the plate down in front of Minho. “Alright, Romeo, what’s the problem this time?”

Jeongin hops onto the counter, his legs swinging like an overgrown child. “Felix, here’s the thing, I think we’re friends now. Or, like, something close to friends. But!” He leans forward, his voice dropping like he’s about to deliver the plot twist of a lifetime. “I do not want to get friendzoned.”

Felix opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Jisung and Hyunjin stroll into the kitchen. Jisung is mid-rant, his arms waving wildly as Hyunjin trails behind him with an amused smirk plastered on his face.

“…and that’s why vending machines are the fucking devil,” Jisung finishes with a flourish as they step inside.

Hyunjin chuckles. “You’re just mad it ate your dollar.”

“Not the point!” Jisung retorts, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a bite. “What’s going on in here?”

“Innie,” Minho says around a mouthful of food, pointing his fork at Jeongin, “is trying to woo a mechanics girl, but the problem is, she’s shy.”

Jeongin groans, dragging both hands down his face. “Why do you make me sound like a complete fucking moron?”

“Because you are,” Minho deadpans, smirking as he shovels more food into his mouth.

Jeongin waves him off, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anyway, listen to my great romance that would make Shakespeare weep”

He launches into a play-by-play of his interactions with you, pacing back and forth like he’s narrating some great epic. He describes the spark plug incident in painstaking detail, recounts the engine troubleshooting with theatrical flair, and even mentions the coffee he brought you- “because I’m thoughtful as fuck.”

Hyunjin leans against the counter, arms crossed as he listens with growing amusement. Jisung nods along, occasionally pausing to take another bite of his apple.

“So, basically,” Jeongin concludes, spinning on his heel to face them, “I’m making progress. But I don’t want to get stuck in the friend zone. I need strategies. Plans. Help me.”

Felix smirks, leaning back against the stove. “You’re really in deep, huh?”

“Like Mariana Trench deep,” Jeongin admits, running a hand through his hair, his confidence faltering for a split second. “She’s cool. And smart. And sweet. And she smells like parma violet candy.”

Jisung stops mid-bite, his eyebrows shooting up. “Parma violet? That’s a weirdly specific observation.”

“Not the fucking point!” Jeongin snaps, glaring at him.

Minho finally sets his fork down, resting his chin on his hand as he gives Jeongin his full attention. “Alright, let’s think this through. You’ve already somehow impressed her, don’t ask me how, so what’s next? You need something that keeps you close to her but shows you’re serious. No fuckboy antics.”

Jisung suddenly perks up, his eyes lighting up like a kid with a genius idea. “Oh, I’ve got it!” He tosses his half-eaten apple onto the counter and turns to Jeongin, gesturing wildly. “There’s this old car place on the edge of town. It’s basically a junkyard, but they sell old cars for dirt cheap because they’re considered scrap. What if you take her there, let her pick one out, and the two of you restore it together? Like a team project. Ultimate bonding shit.”

The room falls silent as everyone processes Jisung’s suggestion. Then Jeongin’s face lights up like he’s just been handed the fucking Holy Grail.

“Sungie,” Jeongin says, striding forward and grabbing Jisung by the shoulders, “I could kiss you right now.”

Jisung grins, puckering his lips dramatically. “Go ahead. I’m ready for it.”

Jeongin rolls his eyes but indulges him by pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand, which he then slaps over Jisung’s mouth. “There. That’s all you’re getting.”

Jisung pulls back with an exaggerated pout. “You’re no fun.”

Hyunjin bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “You two are fucking idiots.”

“But the idea’s solid,” Felix says, nodding thoughtfully. “It’s personal, low-pressure, and shows that you’re genuinely interested in her hobbies.”

“And,” Minho adds, his smirk widening, “it keeps you around her without making her feel like you’re trying too hard. Smart move.”

Jeongin grins, practically vibrating with excitement as he pulls out his phone. “This is fucking perfect. I’ll text her right now, see if she’s down.”

Minho points at him, his tone sharp. “Don’t fuck it up, Innie.”

“I won’t,” Jeongin insists, already typing furiously on his phone. “Thanks, guys. You’re the best.”

Jisung smirks, leaning against the counter. “I know.”

Felix rolls his eyes, returning to the stove. “Alright, go plan your little restoration project. Let us know if it works or if it crashes and burns.”

Jeongin looks up briefly, his grin wide and confident. “It’s gonna be amazing. Just watch.”

Hyunjin watches him leave, shaking his head with a chuckle. “He’s gonna make such a fool of himself.”

“Probably,” Minho agrees, stealing another bite of Felix’s food. “But it’ll be entertaining as fuck.”

Jisung laughs, already planning how to take credit for the whole idea if it works. “He’ll owe me for life.”

The familiar bell above the door jingles as Jeongin steps into Dewie’s auto shop, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. The place smells like grease, burnt oil, and metal. The kind of scent that clings to your clothes and hair, the kind of scent that feels oddly welcoming.

Somewhere in the back, the faint clank of a ratchet echoes, blending with the hum of a nearby air compressor. Dewie glances up from the counter, his weathered face splitting into a grin.

“Back again, huh?” Dewie says, setting down the car part he’s been inspecting. His sharp eyes flick toward the garage door behind him. “Kiddo’s in the back, like always. Thought you were just her spark plug guy. What’s the deal, kid?”

Jeongin grins, not missing a beat. “Might’ve upgraded to something more. Thanks, Dewie.”

He makes his way through the cluttered aisles of parts and tools, sneakers squeaking faintly on the polished concrete. When he reaches the back, he pauses for a moment, leaning against the doorframe as he takes in the sight of you.

You’re perched on a stool near a disassembled carburettor, hands streaked with grease as you carefully clean the delicate components. Your cropped white lace camisole looks almost absurdly out of place in the gritty garage, its delicate fabric contrasting sharply with the grime and chaos surrounding you.

Blue mom jeans sit high on your waist, snug but not too tight, cuffed at the ankles over scuffed Converse. A blue bandana ties your hair back, but a few loose strands cling to your cheeks, and Jeongin’s throat tightens at how effortlessly beautiful you look.

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep his voice casual but failing to hide the grin tugging at his lips.

You glance up, startled for half a second before relaxing when you realize it’s him. “Oh. Hi.”

“Busy?” Jeongin asks, nodding toward the carburetor as he takes a few steps closer.

“A little,” you admit, setting the part down and wiping your hands on an already-dirty rag. “Why?”

He pulls a slightly crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it, holding it out to you. “Found this place. Kind of a junkyard, but they sell old, beat-to-shit cars for almost nothing. Thought you might want to check it out.”

You take the paper, your brow furrowing as you scan the address and the details of the auction. Your fingers brush his for the briefest moment, and Jeongin’s heartbeat skips. Despite the grease smudges, your hands are soft, delicate in a way that doesn’t quite match the work he’s seen them do.

“What do you say?” he asks, his voice casual, though his eyes flicker with an unmistakable nervous energy.

Before you can answer, Dewie’s voice booms from the front of the shop. “She says yes! Off you go, kiddo! Take the clueless frat boy with you.”

“Dewie!” you exclaim. “I didn’t say anything yet!”

“No arguments,” Dewie calls back, his tone dripping with mischief. “You’ve been buried in this shop all day. Go out. Have some fun.”

Jeongin laughs, the sound warm and unbothered. “See? Even your uncle’s on my side.”

“He’s not my uncle,” you mutter, turning back around and handing the paper back to him. “Fine. But if this place sucks, you’re buying me dinner.”

“Deal,” Jeongin says instantly, his grin widening as he leads the way out. Dewie waves at the two of you, his smirk lingering as he watches Jeongin hold the door open for you like it’s second nature.

Jeongin’s car smells faintly of his cologne, a rich, woodsy scent that somehow manages not to clash with the faint lingering smell of fast food fries. The radio hums softly in the background, some indie rock song playing low enough to barely register.

You sit in the passenger seat, fidgeting with the strap of your bag, occasionally glancing out the window. Jeongin sneaks a look at you every few moments, but he doesn’t say much, letting the quiet settle comfortably between you.

When he pulls into the junkyard’s lot, your eyes widen slightly at the sheer scale of it. Rusted cars stretch out in long, chaotic rows, each one a monument to decades of neglect. The air smells of old rubber, engine oil, and faintly of wet dirt.

Some of the cars look like they’ve been there for years. Classic Mustangs with shattered windshields, a Cadillac with its hood missing, and even an ancient VW van so rusted it’s practically orange.

Jeongin parks the car, cutting the engine. “So?” he asks, stepping out and leaning casually against his door. “What do you think?”

You follow him out slowly, your gaze sweeping across the endless sea of potential. For a moment, he worries it might be overwhelming, but then he catches it. A flicker of excitement in your eyes. Your lips part slightly as you take it all in, and Jeongin can’t stop himself from smiling.

“This is…” you start, your voice soft, almost reverent. “This is fucking amazing.”

“Really?” Jeongin asks, his relief palpable. “I was half-convinced this was a dumb idea.”

You shake your head, your excitement bubbling over as you walk toward one of the cars. A battered blue Chevrolet Impala with peeling paint and a spiderweb of cracks in its windshield. “It’s not dumb at all. This place is incredible.”

He follows you as you weave between the rows of cars, watching the way your fingers lightly brush against the rusted metal. You pause at a faded red pickup truck, tilting your head as you examine its dented frame. Jeongin notices the way your eyes light up with every new discovery, and it makes his chest feel tight.

“See anything you like?” he asks, his tone teasing but genuine.

You glance at him over your shoulder, a small, soft smile tugging at your lips. “They’re all beautiful in their own way.”

Jeongin leans against the nearest car, crossing his arms as he watches you. “Okay, genius. If you could pick one, which would it be?”

You hesitate, scanning the lot again before pointing toward a sleek but battered 1967 Ford Mustang. Its red paint is faded almost to pink, one of its tyres sits flat, and the chrome bumper is hanging on by sheer force of will. But even in its sorry state, there’s something undeniably regal about it.

“That one,” you say with quiet certainty.

Jeongin whistles low, genuinely impressed. “Damn. A Mustang? Bold choice. So, you wanna take it?”

Your head jerks toward him, startled. “What? No. I couldn’t.”

“Why the fuck not?” Jeongin counters, grinning. “It’s here, it’s cheap, and if anyone can bring it back to life, it’s you.”

You bite your lip, glancing back at the car. “It’s a lot of work.”

Jeongin shrugs. “So what? I’ll help.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “You don’t know shit about cars.”

“True,” Jeongin admits, laughing. “But I can hold tools. And I’m excellent at standing around and looking hot.”

A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, and Jeongin’s grin widens at the sound. “Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But you’re not allowed to slack off.”

“Deal,” Jeongin says, sticking out his hand. You hesitate, then shake it, your grease-smudged fingers warm and soft against his.

He looks at the Mustang, his grin turning almost boyish. “Alright. Let’s make this beauty yours.”

The next month is a whirlwind of grease, sweat, and late nights spent hunched over the Mustang, and every single day, Jeongin shows up at Dewie’s auto shop with his sleeves rolled up and that goddamn grin plastered on his face.

The rhythm becomes natural. Him peppering you with endless questions about parts, tools, and processes while fumbling with wrenches like a clueless idiot and you, patiently showing him how to work through each repair, trying not to laugh at his complete lack of mechanical instincts. Jeongin is hopeless when it comes to precision, but his enthusiasm is undeniable.

By the time the sun sets, you’re both exhausted, covered in streaks of oil and grime, but there’s always a shared sense of accomplishment. And each night, when Jeongin stumbles back to the Alpha Phi house, he bursts into the kitchen or living room, rambling to his friends about every detail like a kid coming back from his first field trip.

The first week, Jeongin barrels into the kitchen, the faint smell of motor oil clinging to his hoodie. Felix is at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smells halfway decent, while Minho scrolls through his phone at the counter. From the living room, Jisung and Hyunjin’s voices carry through as they bicker over which shitty rom-com to stream.

“It’s happening!” Jeongin yells, throwing his bag onto a chair. “We’re fucking doing it!”

Minho doesn’t even look up. “Doing what, exactly?”

“Restoring the Mustang!” Jeongin says, grinning like an idiot. “We started on the engine today. You should’ve seen her. She’s so fucking smart. She was explaining all this technical shit, and I was just standing there like, ‘what the fuck?’”

“Not surprised,” Felix mutters, barely glancing away from the stove. “You’re an idiot.”

“Fuck off. Anyway, I held the flashlight like a goddamn pro. Didn’t drop it once. She even smiled at me.”

Jisung wanders into the kitchen. “You’re really out here bragging about holding a flashlight, huh?”

“Shut up,” Jeongin says, chucking a dish towel at him. “It’s progress.”

By the second week, Jeongin is full of even more stories. He bursts into Felix’s room one night, interrupting a casual gaming session. Felix is sprawled on the bed next to Minho, controller in hand, while Hyunjin sits on the floor beside Jisung, the four of them locked in a heated match of Mario Kart.

“Okay, okay, listen!” Jeongin says, plopping down onto the floor next to Hyunjin, his hair a wild mess and a streak of grease smudged across his cheek.

“Pause the game,” Minho mutters dryly, already guessing what’s coming.

“We replaced the carburettor today,” Jeongin says, breathless. “And get this, she let me tighten some bolts. Didn’t even double-check my work. Trust, you guys. That’s trust.”

“Or recklessness,” Minho deadpans, barely looking away from the screen.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jeongin says, though he’s grinning. “She even made me tea while we waited for a part to soak. It was kind of nice.”

Jisung snorts, not looking away from his kart. “Tea. How fucking romantic.”

“You’re just jealous,” Jeongin retorts, leaning back on his hands. “Bet no one’s ever made you tea while you fixed a carburettor.”

Hyunjin smirks, pausing the game and stretching his arms overhead. “You’re kind of adorable when you’re in simp mode.”

“I’m not fucking simping,” Jeongin snaps, his ears tinged red. “I’m just invested.”

“Sure,” Felix says, glancing up long enough to exchange a knowing look with Minho. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

At the end of week three, Jeongin stomps into the living room one evening, his hoodie streaked with grease and his expression sour. Jisung and Hyunjin are sprawled on the couch, while Minho sits nearby, his laptop open on his knees.

“Rough day, Romeo?” Minho asks, not even looking up.

“Fucking timing belt,” Jeongin mutters, throwing himself onto the couch between Jisung and Hyunjin. “We thought we had it, but the replacement part didn’t fit. She was so fucking pissed.”

Jisung perks up, his curiosity piqued. “Pissed at you?”

“No, dumbass. At the part,” Jeongin replies, throwing an arm over his face. “But honestly? It was kind of amazing. She gets all quiet and focused, and you can literally see her brain working overtime. It’s fucking unreal.”

Hyunjin nudges him with his elbow. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jeongin mumbles, though there’s no real heat behind it.

By the final week, the Mustang is nearly complete. You and Jeongin spend an entire day putting the finishing touches on it, working late into the evening. When the engine finally roars to life, the sound is deafening and so is Jeongin’s yell of triumph.

“Holy fuck!” he shouts, jumping up and down like a kid on Christmas morning. “We fucking did it!”

You grin, brushing your greasy hands off on your jeans. “Told you it’d work.”

Later that night, Jeongin practically kicks open the front door of the Alpha Phi house, his face flushed with excitement. The guys are all gathered in the living room, and they look up in surprise as he barrels in.

“It fucking works!” Jeongin yells, throwing his hands in the air. “The Mustang is alive!”

“No way,” Jisung says, sitting up straight. “You actually pulled it off?”

“We pulled it off,” Jeongin corrects, flopping onto the couch with a satisfied grin. “She did most of the work, obviously, but I was there. I tightened bolts. I replaced hoses. I got covered in grease. It was fucking awesome.”

Felix laughs from the armchair. “So, what now?”

Jeongin pauses, his excitement fading into something softer. “I don’t know. When the car started, she was so happy. Like, I’ve never seen her light up like that. It was kind of perfect.”

“Sounds like you’re ready for the next step,” Hyunjin says, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s the next step?” Jeongin asks, his voice quieter now.

“Ask her out, dumbass,” Minho says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been dancing around it for weeks.”

Jeongin hesitates, his grin faltering slightly. “What if she says no?”

“She won’t,” Felix says firmly. “She wouldn’t have spent all that time with you if she didn’t like you.”

Jisung claps Jeongin on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, lover boy.”

Jeongin exhales, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

The next afternoon, Jeongin stands in front of the small flower shop on the corner of campus, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. The display window is bright and vibrant, blooms of every colour arranged in chaotic harmony. Despite the cheerful exterior, his nerves are wound tight as a fucking drum. He stares at the flowers like they might offer advice, but they’re as silent and smug as always.

“Okay, Jeongin, you can do this,” he mutters to himself, earning a strange look from a passing student. He ignores it, takes a deep breath, and pushes the door open. The bell above the door jingles, its soft chime making his nerves spike further.

The shop is cosy, filled with the earthy scent of fresh flowers, damp soil, and just a hint of something sweet. Behind the counter stands a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a warm smile. She looks up from trimming stems as Jeongin steps inside.

“Hi there,” she greets, her voice bright and chipper. “Looking for anything in particular?”

Jeongin scratches the back of his neck, his usual cocky demeanour faltering under the weight of this new territory. “Uh, yeah. I need flowers for someone. Like, congratulations flowers but also romance flowers? Does that make any sense?”

The woman’s eyebrow quirks up, her smile tilting into something amused. “That makes perfect sense. Tell me a little about the person.”

“She’s-” Jeongin pauses, his voice softening as your image pops into his mind. “She’s amazing. She’s smart and shy, but when she’s working on something, she just lights up, you know? She’s been busting her ass on this project with me, and I want to celebrate her. But, uh, I also want her to know I like her.”

The woman chuckles, nodding as she steps out from behind the counter. “Sounds like someone special. Let’s see-” She pulls blooms from different buckets, her movements precise. “Pink roses, classic for admiration and love. And daisies for celebration. Thoughtful but not too overbearing. How does that sound?”

Jeongin grins, his confidence returning a little. “Sounds perfect. You’re a lifesaver.”

When Jeongin shows up at Dewie’s auto shop later that day, the bouquet feels fragile in his hands, like it might crumble under the weight of his nerves. He rehearses what he wants to say under his breath as he walks through the door, already sweating through his hoodie.

Dewie is at the counter, sipping what looks like a truly heinous cup of black coffee. He raises an eyebrow as Jeongin strides in, bouquet clutched like a goddamn lifeline.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Clueless Frat Boy,” Dewie says, smirking. “What’s with the flowers? You gonna apologize for breaking her wrench or something?”

Jeongin glares but doesn’t stop moving toward the back of the shop. “None of your business, old man.”

Dewie laughs, raising his coffee mug in mock salute. “Good luck, Romeo.”

When Jeongin steps into the garage, he finds you next to the Mustang, your focus entirely on sanding down the car’s exterior. You’re in black cargos again, snug and streaked with grime, paired with a fitted white tank top that clings to your frame.

Your trusty blue bandana keeps most of your hair out of your face, but a few strands escape, clinging to your cheeks from the sweat of the day. You don’t notice him at first, too engrossed in the repetitive motion of sanding, and Jeongin takes a moment to steady himself.

“Hey,” he says finally, his voice loud enough to carry over the faint whir of machines in the distance.

You glance up, startled, but your expression softens when you see him. “Oh. Hi.”

Jeongin steps closer, shifting awkwardly. “Busy?”

You set the sandpaper down, wiping your hands on a rag. “Kind of. Why?”

“These,” Jeongin says, holding up the bouquet like it’s a peace offering. “They’re for you. To celebrate the car. And, uh, just because.”

Your eyes widen, your movements faltering as you take the flowers gingerly. Your fingers brush his, and Jeongin swears his heart skips a beat. “They’re beautiful,” you whisper, glancing down at the delicate arrangement. “Thank you.”

Jeongin scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “You deserve it. You worked so fucking hard on this car.”

You look at him, a small smile creeping onto your face. “You helped.”

“Barely,” Jeongin laughs, shaking his head. “I mostly held tools and asked dumb questions. But thanks for pretending I contributed.”

You laugh softly, the sound making Jeongin’s chest swell with pride. Setting the bouquet carefully aside, you nod toward the car. “Ready to paint this thing?”

“Hell yeah,” Jeongin says, rolling up his sleeves like he’s about to walk into battle. “Let’s make this car look as badass as you.”

You quickly grab a can of spray paint, shoving it into his hands. “Just follow my lead,” you mumble, but the faint smile on your lips gives you away.

The next few hours pass in a blur of laughter, paint fumes, and meticulous work. You coach Jeongin through the process, showing him how to hold the can and keep the spray even.

At first, he’s all over the place, but he improves with your patient guidance. By the time the Mustang is coated in a sleek, gleaming red, your arms ache, and the garage smells like a paint factory exploded, but the sight of the car makes it all worth it.

Jeongin steps back, admiring the Mustang with wide eyes. “Holy shit. It looks fucking incredible.”

“It does,” you agree, a note of pride in your voice as you run a hand along the freshly painted hood.

Jeongin glances at you, his pulse quickening. He rubs his palms against his jeans, gathering his courage. “Hey?”

You turn to him, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah?”

“So,” He shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets, his confidence wavering. “You’ve spent all this time teaching me about cars and making me look less like a total dumbass. And I kind of want to thank you properly.”

You blink, confusion flickering across your face. “You already brought me flowers.”

“No, I mean,” Jeongin takes a deep breath, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Would you want to go out with me? Like, on a date?”

Your eyes widen, your breath catching for a moment. The garage feels deafeningly quiet, and Jeongin’s nerves spiral with each passing second of silence.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to,” he adds quickly, his voice softer. “I just thought-”

“I’d like that,” you interrupt as you smile shyly. “A date, I mean.”

Jeongin’s face lights up, his grin breaking into full force. “Really?”

You nod, fiddling with the edge of your tank top. “Yeah. I think it’d be nice.”

Jeongin pumps his fist in the air like a kid who just won his first carnival game. “Alright, it’s a date. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow sounds good,” you say, your voice still quiet but warm.

As the two of you clean up the shop, Jeongin can’t stop grinning, his excitement radiating off him. When he leaves that night, he’s already planning every detail of the perfect first date, determined to make it just as memorable as the month you spent building something extraordinary together.

Jeongin practically kicks the front door open as he bursts into the Alpha Phi house, his energy crashing through the quiet like a fucking tidal wave. His grin stretches so wide it feels like it might tear his face in half, and the squeak of his sneakers on the hardwood floors only adds to the chaos of his arrival. He darts straight into the living room, barely noticing the half-empty beer bottles and the faint smell of stale popcorn.

The scene is the usual mess: Chan, Changbin, and Seungmin are sprawled across the couch with beers in hand, mid-debate over something that sounds suspiciously stupid. Meanwhile, Minho, Jisung, Hyunjin, and Felix are crowded around the coffee table, shouting over the remote as a dumb action movie plays on the TV, paused mid-explosion.

Chan’s the first to look up, raising an eyebrow at Jeongin’s theatrical entrance. “What the fuck’s got you so excited?”

Before Jeongin can say a word, Jisung perks up from where he’s perched on the arm of the couch, grinning like the damn Cheshire Cat. “Oh, you three poor, oblivious bastards. You’ve missed some big fucking moves lately. And by big, I mean colossal.”

Changbin snorts, tilting his beer can. “What the fuck are you on about?”

Jisung gestures dramatically toward Jeongin. “Let the man speak.”

All eyes turn to Jeongin, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. He doesn’t waste a second. “I’m going on a date!”

The room erupts like a bomb went off.

“HOLY SHIT!” Jisung yells, leaping off the couch and pumping his fists in the air like a lunatic. “FINALLY!"

Felix and Hyunjin immediately bolt upright, whooping as they grab Jeongin in a bone-crushing group hug. Minho’s laughing so hard he nearly falls off the arm of the chair he’s perched on, while Chan just shakes his head, bewildered by the chaos unfolding before him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, calm down,” Seungmin mutters, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his tone. “A date? With who?”

Felix pulls away from the hug just enough to shove Jeongin back toward the middle of the room. “Tell them! Tell them everything!”

Jeongin’s practically glowing as he recounts it, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I brought her flowers, pink roses and daisies, ‘cause that’s apparently a thing, and we painted the Mustang today, and when we were done, I just fucking asked. Like, straight up. And she said yes.”

Minho claps him on the back, smirking. “See? The long game works. I told you.”

“Don’t inflate your own ego,” Jeongin says, laughing. “But yeah, it fucking worked.”

From the couch, Changbin raises a hand, clearly confused. “Wait, hold the fuck up. A date with who?”

“Y/N,” Jisung blurts, his tone smug as fuck. He shoots Jeongin finger guns like this is somehow his victory. “You know, Seungmin’s shy mechanic friend?”

Seungmin bolts upright, his beer almost toppling over. “Y/N?! You’re going on a date with Y/N?!”

Jeongin grins like a proud idiot. “Yup. She even smiled at me when I asked. Like, a real smile.”

Seungmin looks like he’s been hit by a truck. “You mean my Y/N? The one who overthinks everything and literally panics trying to order coffee?”

“Same one,” Jeongin says, still grinning. “And I met Dewie, too. He’s intense, but he’s cool.”

Seungmin groans, running a hand through his hair like he’s about to have an aneurysm. “Dewie? You met Dewie? That man will kneecap you if you so much as make her frown. I’m not exaggerating.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on fucking it up,” Jeongin says, shrugging. “Relax. I’ve got this.”

“Dewie aside,” Minho interjects, smirking, “this is cause for celebration. Do you even know how much fucking effort went into this? We’ve been working like the wheel dudes at the F1.”

“You mean the pit crew?” Seungmin deadpans, his tone flat.

“Yeah, that,” Minho snaps, rolling his eyes. “Point is, we made this happen.”

“You’ve been planning this for months?” Seungmin demands, glaring at Jeongin. “Without telling me?”

Jeongin shrugs, the picture of casual. “You’d have been mad.”

“I’m mad now!” Seungmin shouts, though there’s no real heat in his voice. “That’s my best fucking friend. If you hurt her-”

“I know the drill. Be nice. Don’t fuck it up,” Jeongin interrupts, grinning.

“You’d better,” Seungmin mutters, leaning back into the couch. “God help you if you don’t.”

Changbin leans forward, smirking. “So, what’s the plan for this date, Romeo? First dates set the tone, you know. You fuck this up, and it’s over.”

Jeongin’s grin softens, but his excitement doesn’t waver. “I’ve got ideas. I want to keep it low-pressure, something she’ll be comfortable with.”

Hyunjin whistles low. “Look at you. Planning shit out. I’m impressed.”

Felix claps Jeongin on the shoulder, grinning. “You’re gonna nail it. She wouldn’t have said yes if she didn’t like you.”

“Exactly,” Jisung adds, slapping Jeongin’s back so hard he nearly stumbles. “This is your moment. Don’t fuck it up.”

Jeongin raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I hear you. No pressure or anything.”

The room erupts in laughter and cheers again, and Jeongin feels his chest swell with pride. He knows the guys are rooting for him, and despite their teasing, their confidence in him makes him feel like he can actually pull this off.

As he settles into the chaos of the Alpha Phi living room, the thought of seeing you again tomorrow fills him with a mix of nerves and excitement. This date isn’t just a step forward. It’s the beginning of something he’s been quietly hoping for since the day you first knocked on the frat house door.

The classic car event is alive with the thrum of engines, the chatter of enthusiasts, and the faint scent of fuel lingering in the warm afternoon air. Rows of pristine vintage cars stretch out across the lot like an automotive museum brought to life.

Chrome gleams under the sun, polished to perfection, while proud owners lounge nearby, ready to swap stories or flex their hard work to anyone who stops to look.

Jeongin stands just outside the entrance, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. He’s dressed in black jeans and a crisp white button-up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows in a way that makes him look effortlessly put together. But the way he keeps fidgeting with his cuffs gives him away, his nerves are in overdrive. He tugs at the hem of his shirt for what feels like the hundredth time, scanning the crowd until he spots you weaving through the chaos.

When he sees you, it’s like the world slows down for a second.

You’re wearing lavender cargo pants that sit snugly on your hips, paired with a cropped black lace camisole that makes his heart stutter for just a moment. Black Converse complete the look, scuffed enough to suggest they’ve been with you through thick and thin. A lavender hair clip holds most of your hair back, though a few strands fall loose, framing your face in a way that Jeongin can’t stop staring at. Black sunglasses perch on your nose, and you adjust them as you walk, the motion so casual yet so captivating that Jeongin feels his nerves vanish in an instant.

“Wow,” he breathes as you approach, his grin widening naturally. “You look fucking incredible.”

You smile shyly, one hand fiddling with the strap of your bag. “Thanks. You look really good too.”

Jeongin chuckles, his fingers brushing through his hair in an unconscious attempt to play it cool. “Ready for this? It’s loud as hell and probably overwhelming as fuck.”

You glance at the crowd, taking in the swirling chaos of people and cars, and then back at him. “I’ll be fine,” you say softly, your voice a little unsure but determined.

“Good,” Jeongin says, his grin steady as he falls into step beside you. “I’ve got you if it gets too much.”

The two of you start making your way through the lot, the polished cars glinting in the sunlight. Jeongin’s eyes are half on the vehicles and half on you. As you stop in front of a sleek black 1967 Camaro SS, he notices the way your shy demeanour seems to melt away, replaced by something brighter and more confident.

“That’s a 1967 Camaro SS,” you say, your voice calm but laced with excitement. “It’s got a 6.5-litre V8 engine. Iconic in drag racing because it was built for speed.”

Jeongin whistles low, leaning slightly closer to get a better look. “Damn, you really know your shit.”

You laugh softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I grew up around this. Dewie used to drag me to events like this all the time when I was a kid. I guess it just stuck.”

“Lucky Dewie,” Jeongin says, his tone light but genuine. “Wish I had someone teaching me cool shit like this growing up. All I know about cars is, well, what you’ve told me.”

You glance at him, your lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re not a bad student.”

He grins at the compliment. “And you’re a damn good teacher.”

As the crowd grows thicker, the noise and press of bodies start to feel suffocating. Jeongin notices how your steps falter, your shoulders stiffening slightly. Without a word, he holds out his hand, palm open and steady.

You hesitate, glancing at his hand before slipping your own into it. His grip is firm but warm, and the way his fingers curl gently around yours sends a surprising wave of calm through you. He doesn’t comment, just squeezes your hand lightly, his silent reassurance louder than words.

The two of you stop in front of a low-slung beauty with gleaming chrome accents. A 1964 Chevy Impala.

“This one’s a 1964 Chevy Impala,” you say, your voice regaining its steady rhythm. “It’s iconic in lowrider culture. The hydraulics make it bounce, and it became a huge part of the aesthetic.”

Jeongin tilts his head, studying the car with a newfound appreciation. “So it’s not just about looking cool, it’s about the vibe, right?”

“Exactly,” you say, your face lighting up. “It’s like an art form. Every lowrider tells a story.”

Jeongin nods thoughtfully. “That’s fucking cool. See, this is why I brought you. If I’d come here alone, I’d just be walking around saying, ‘That one’s shiny,’ and calling it a day.”

You laugh, a soft sound that makes Jeongin’s chest feel warm. “You’re not that clueless.”

“Eh,” he says, smirking. “You give me too much credit.”

After a while, Jeongin steers you toward a quieter corner of the event, where a beautifully restored 1970 Dodge Charger gleams under the sun. He stops in front of the car, his grin turning mischievous.

“So,” he says casually, “after this, we’re hitting a drive-in.”

Your head snaps toward him, surprise flashing across your face. “A drive-in?”

“Yup,” Jeongin says, leaning against the Charger like he owns the thing. “We’re watching Transformers.”

You gasp softly, your sunglasses slipping down your nose as you stare at him. “You’re kidding. I love those movies.”

“I fucking knew it,” Jeongin says, his grin growing cocky. “Alien robots turning into cars? Totally your thing.”

“Shut up,” you say, laughing as you swat at his arm. “They’re amazing, okay? Don’t judge me.”

Jeongin holds his hands up in mock surrender, though he’s clearly enjoying himself. “No judgment. I’m a genius for guessing right.”

“Smartass,” you mutter, though you’re smiling.

“Alright, since I’m such a genius,” Jeongin says, nodding toward the Impala, “how about you teach me more about this lowrider thing? I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

You roll your eyes but oblige, diving into an explanation of the car’s history and cultural significance. Jeongin listens intently, his hand still clasping yours as he alternates between watching your animated face and the cars you describe.

By the time the sun dips below the horizon, casting the event in shades of orange and gold, Jeongin feels like he’s learned more about cars, and about you, than he ever expected. As you both head toward the exit, your hand still in his, Jeongin can’t help but grin.

Jeongin pulls into the drive-in as the twilight sky gives way to the inky darkness of night. The massive outdoor screen flickers with pre-show ads, casting faint colours across the lot filled with cars. The smell of popcorn and sugary snacks drifts through the air, mingling with the low hum of idling engines and the buzz of voices from moviegoers settling in. Jeongin parks dead centre, a perfect spot, not too close to the screen but far enough from the busier clusters of cars.

He hops out of the car with the enthusiasm of someone who’s been planning this moment for weeks. Swinging open the trunk, he starts pulling out a carefully curated collection of pillows and blankets from the back.

There’s a plaid throw he stole from the frat house couch, a ridiculously soft fuzzy blanket he bought specifically for tonight, and a mismatched pile of pillows he’s swiped from his own bed and, maybe, Seungmin’s without asking.

Jeongin hums to himself as he arranges everything, fussing over the setup like he’s decorating a showroom. Every so often, he glances over his shoulder to check on you. You’re standing by the passenger door, fidgeting with the waistband of your lavender cargo pants. The black cropped lace camisole you’re wearing hugs you just right, but Jeongin can tell you’re overthinking the outfit from the way you keep tugging at the hem.

When he finally catches your gaze, he grins. “Oi, stop stressing and come over here. I went full Pinterest on this setup. Tell me it’s not amazing.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you walk toward him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously prepared,” he shoots back, stepping aside to reveal the setup in the trunk. The space looks like a cosy little nest, the blankets layered with precision and the pillows fluffed to an absurd degree. “I’ve outdone myself, haven’t I?”

You peer into the trunk, your lips twitching into a small smile. “It’s a lot. But it’s cute. I’ll give you that.”

“Cute is the vibe,” Jeongin says, crawling into the trunk with exaggerated care. He pats the spot beside him. “C’mon. This trunk isn’t gonna appreciate itself.”

You climb in, settling cross-legged on the blankets as Jeongin sprawls beside you, legs stretched out. From his hoodie pocket, he pulls out a plastic bag crammed with snacks.

“Alright, check this out. I raided the store like a fucking professional. I’ve got chips, candy, those overpriced mini ice cream tubs, and even gummy sharks. Your wish is my command.”

You blink at the array, clearly impressed. “You didn’t have to go all out, you know.”

Jeongin waves off your concern, tearing into a bag of sour candy. “What’s the point of a drive-in if you don’t go all out? Now, pick your poison. I got, like, three kinds of chocolate and enough sour shit to ruin your tongue for days.”

Smiling shyly, you grab a bar of chocolate from the bag. “Thanks. For all of this.”

Jeongin shrugs, popping a gummy shark into his mouth. “Easy. You're worth it.”

The opening scenes of Transformers begin to roll across the massive screen, and Jeongin leans back on his elbows, his attention half on the movie and half on you.

You sit cross-legged beside him, nibbling on the chocolate bar as you watch the screen, your face lit faintly by the shifting colours of the film and Jeongin can’t stop himself from sneaking glances at you.

At one point, you catch him staring. “What?”

Jeongin grins, his voice soft but teasing. “Nothing. You’re just really pretty.”

Your lips part but instead of deflecting, you lean forward, hesitating only a moment before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

For a second, Jeongin freezes, his brain short-circuiting. But then instinct takes over, and he kisses you back, his hand cupping your jaw gently as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

The kiss is slow at first, tentative, but it deepens naturally. The muffled sounds of the movie and the chatter from nearby cars fade into the background until it’s just the two of you, wrapped in each other.

As his lips move against yours, Jeongin shifts slightly, reaching up to grab the trunk handle. With a soft tug, he pulls it closed, sealing you both in the cocoon of blankets and pillows. The dim light filtering through the tinted windows casts everything in a muted glow, and the sudden privacy thickens the air between you.

Jeongin rolls onto his side, balancing his weight on his elbows so he’s hovering just slightly over you. “What about your alien robots?” he whispers, his lips brushing yours as he grins.

You smile, your voice barely above a murmur. “I’ve seen it before.”

Jeongin laughs, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your chest. “Fair point.”

He kisses you again, his movements slower but more deliberate this time. One of his hands skims down your side, resting lightly at your waist, while the other brushes back a strand of hair that’s come loose from your clip. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging lightly, and Jeongin lets out a quiet groan that sends shivers down your spine.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, his forehead pressing briefly to yours as he catches his breath. “You’re fucking amazing.”

Your shy smile returns, but there’s a newfound confidence in the way you pull him back down into another kiss, your hands threading deeper into his hair. The heat between you grows with every passing moment, your breaths mingling as the kisses become more urgent, more consuming.

The movie continues to play in the background, the flickering light of alien robots and explosions casting faint shadows across the trunk. But neither of you pays it any attention. In the small, cosy space you’ve carved out together, nothing else exists. Just the softness of the blankets, the warmth of Jeongin’s touch, and the electricity sparking between you with every kiss.

The muffled explosions and grinding metal of Transformers fill the car as Jeongin’s kisses deepen. His hands rest on your waist, the tips of his fingers brushing just under the hem of your camisole. His touch is firm but unhurried, like he’s savouring every second.

Your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging gently when he leans closer. The world outside the car, the other moviegoers, the faint sounds of laughter and popcorn rustling, is nothing more than a blur.

Then, with an obnoxiously loud clunk, the trunk pops open.

“Well, isn’t this cosy as fuck,” comes Jisung’s unmistakable voice, thick with amusement. “We thought we’d join you. Make sure Innie isn’t fucking this up.”

Jeongin groans audibly against your lips, pulling back just enough to glare over his shoulder. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

But Jisung, clearly having no intention of leaving, hops into the trunk with the agility of a hyperactive squirrel. He sprawls across the carefully arranged blankets and pillows, his shit-eating grin so wide it could light up the entire drive-in.

“Not kidding,” Jisung says cheerfully, adjusting a pillow behind his head. “Someone’s gotta supervise. You have a history of being a horny little shit.”

“Seriously?” Jeongin mutters, exasperated.

To make matters worse, Minho climbs in behind Jisung, moving with the nonchalance of someone who gives exactly zero fucks about personal space. He flops onto the blankets, crossing his arms as he stares at the screen.

“Nice setup,” Minho says, smirking. “Mind if we stay?”

Jeongin turns fully to glare at them, throwing his hands in the air. “Yes, I fucking mind! Get out!”

“Can’t,” Jisung says, shrugging. “It’s a free trunk. Movie law.”

Jeongin groans again, louder this time, and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like I hate my life. But instead of wasting more energy on them, he turns back to you, his expression softening as he leans in to kiss you again.

You’re caught between embarrassment and laughter as Jeongin’s lips meet yours once more. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your face slightly to deepen the kiss. For a moment, it feels like the intruders aren’t even there.

“Aw, look at them go,” Jisung says loudly, his voice dripping with fake awe. “It’s like watching a rom-com but with more tongue.”

Jeongin pulls back just long enough to shoot Jisung a deadly glare. “Jisung, I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up-”

Jisung grins, completely unfazed. “What? You’ll make out harder?”

Minho snorts, finally pulling his attention from the screen to deadpan, “Ji, stop being a noisy bitch for five minutes. Optimus Prime is talking.”

Jisung ignores him, sitting up and stretching his arms. “So,” he says, looking at Minho with exaggerated seriousness, “should we make out too? You know, balance the energy in here?”

Minho doesn’t even blink. “Shut the fuck up.”

“C’mon,” Jisung presses, leaning closer. “You know you want to. I see the way you look at me.”

Minho sighs like he’s carrying the weight of the world, finally turning to glare at Jisung. “If I kiss you, will you shut the fuck up?”

Jisung’s grin widens. “Probably.”

Without a word, Minho leans in, planting the world’s fastest, most unimpressed kiss on Jisung’s lips before pulling away and returning his attention to the screen. “There. Happy?”

Jisung pouts. “That was barely a kiss. Where’s the passion, Minho? Where’s the fire? The tongue! I need tongue!”

Jeongin, who’s been watching this unfold with equal parts horror and amusement, finally breaks. “Holy shit. I fucking knew it. You two are into each other.”

You stifle a laugh, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. “Honestly,” you say, your voice soft but amused, “I thought they were already together. My gay radar must be slightly off which is mildly embarrassing considering Megan Fox in this movie was my gay awakening”

Jisung gasps dramatically, turning to you with wide eyes. “Another queer! Oh my God!” Without warning, he scrambles across the trunk and into your lap, throwing his arms around you like a particularly clingy cat. “We’re besties now. Sorry, Jeongin. She’s mine.”

Your laughter bubbles over, bright and uncontrollable, as Jisung snuggles against you. “You’re ridiculous,” you manage between giggles.

Jeongin stares at Jisung, his jaw slack. “Are you fucking serious right now? Get off her!”

“No can do,” Jisung replies, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth like this is all perfectly normal. “I’m keeping her. She’s officially my emotional support gay.”

Jeongin throws his head back, groaning. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Minho, clearly done with the entire situation, mutters, “So do us straights just go fuck ourselves, or what?”

“Minho,” Jisung says sweetly, leaning his head against your shoulder, “you’re heteroflexible. Which means you live in the glorious denial glass closet where your gay thoughts stay nice and cosy.”

Minho deadpans. “I’m two seconds from throwing your ass out of this trunk.”

“Promises, promises,” Jisung replies with a wink.

You’re laughing so hard now that you’re practically crying, and Jeongin just shakes his head, his lips twitching into a grin despite himself.

“This is the weirdest fucking date I’ve ever been on,” he mutters, though there’s no missing the affection in his tone.

“Same,” you reply, resting your head against his shoulder. Jisung remains draped across your lap, happily munching popcorn, while Minho continues to glare at the screen, occasionally pelting Jisung with stray kernels.

Despite the chaos, there’s a warmth in the air that feels like belonging. It’s messy, loud, and a little ridiculous, but it’s perfect in its own fucked-up way.

general taglist: @nightmarenyxx

[kotton-kandy953]

━ 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙻𝚈 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙳

➛ various!yandere!male oneshots x fem!reader

title page┆word count: 2.3k┆warnings: dazai behavior, death, forced touches (kinda), manipulation, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, suicide, yandere themes┆a/n: the plot for this one-shot was actually the plot I had for a hanako-kun x reader fic that I never got to finish because I lost interest in tbhk soon after. plus, I’m a big procrastinator. (btw “bella” means “beautiful” and “belladonna” means “beautiful lady.” It is also the name of a flower)

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀

yandere!osamu d. x fem!reader

⤷ ❝ 𝕺𝕳,

my elegant flower…” Dazai breathily muttered into your ear, his right hand traveling down your body to secure itself onto your waist. The other lightly sliding down your arm until it met with yours, your hands mending together almost perfectly.

He began taking slow, steady steps with you in his firm, yet ever so delicate, arms. You hated the way he made you feel; and the heat rising to your cheeks didn’t make it any better.

The way his hands held onto you like nothing else in the world mattered made you sick. Like he was so deeply in love with you, that he never, ever wanted to let you go.

And this this hell felt like heaven for him.

So much like heaven, that he’s made you forget how and why you’re even in this concerning situation.

You and Dazai danced together as if you both were lovers, destined to always find each other in whatever universe God puts you in.

But it was quite the opposite.

Take where you are for example, atop the roof of an abandoned 5 story building at the dead of night.

Why are you even here, you ask? Well let’s go back to the beginning.

You and Dazai are coworkers at the Armed Detective Agency (ADA), and have been for the past few years. And because of that, you’re practically around the man 24/7.

But what’s so wrong with Dazai? Well, not only is he extremely irritating and obsessed with suicide, but it’s so painfully obvious that he’s obsessed with you as well!!

He’s overwhelmingly clingy and flirtatious, not to mention his constant attempts at suicide and begging for you to join him in a double suicide drive you mad. He can also be a tad bit controlling and manipulative when it comes to spending time with others.

“Oh, bella…” Dazai sang as he kneeled in front of you while you sat in your desk chair, his hands keeping a firm grip on yours. “…I can just imagine how beautiful your hands would look around my neck, finally granting me the sweet gift of death I crave so muc—“

“-Quit flirting with L/n, Dazai! Get back to work!!” Kunikida shouted at the suicidal brunet before dragging him away from you by his shirt collar.

You sighed at the scene before you, quickly turning back towards your desk and returning to your job. But your peace and quiet didn’t last very long until you were assigned the job to check out an old, abandoned, warehouse that is suspected to be the hideout for an unknown organization kidnapping certain people around the area of Yokohama.

Of course, you agree to the job and the partner assigned to you… but you declined the last part. You insisted that you did not need anyone’s assistance in this job, mainly because you didn’t want a certain bandage-waster recommending himself as the perfect candidate for the position.

You left the ADA building, ready to save the captives and go home and sleep. But someone had ulterior motives…

Once arriving at the warehouse, you pulled out your gun and hid in a blind spot from anyone inside the abandoned building.

Your eyes scanned the perimeter and the entrance it’s self and… “Is no one in there?” You quietly muttered to yourself; there was absolutely no sign of life anywhere.

What the fuck? You thought.

You were about to walk over there before you were stopped by your gun being snatched right out of your grasp.

“I doubt you’ll be needing that, bella.”

Gasping in shock, you spun around on your heel, meeting eyes with… him. “Wha… what are you doing here, Dazai!?”

“Call me Osamu,” he added rather quickly, “and what’s so wrong with a fellow member of the agency taking the time out of their evening to assist their dear colleague?”

You angrily glared at him but he seemed to not care. It’s almost like he loves getting a reaction out of people, especially you.

“I thought I told you I liked working alone…“ what made you trail off of your sentence short was Dazai reaching for your hand and gently holding it in his.

He didn’t dare to break eye contact as he kissed your knuckles. You grimaced at the feeling, cursing yourself for not snatching your hand away and shoving him away from you.

“I could be trying out a new method of suicide right now, but I decided to spend my time with you.” He added with a small pout.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Wow, how selfless…! Now leave, I’m trying to do my job here!! Now give me my gun back!!!”

You jumped to reach the black weapon but he held it over your head, “Ah, ah, ah! I told you that you won’t need this, haven’t I, my dear belladonna?”

You tightly pressed your lips together, already knowing that Dazai won’t give in that easily. Shit, he probably won’t even give in at all!

“You know, I might reconsider that offer of strangling you to death right about now…” you muttered under your breath.

“Oh really?” He leaned over towards you a bit, you didn’t exactly expect him to hear you. “Sorry, but I prefer my deaths to be painless and knowing you, that probably won’t happen.”

Sighing, you reached out your open hand in front of him, “My gun.”

“Well that’s not a complete sentence now is it, Belladonna?” Laughing softly to himself Dazai, sat up straight. “I’m getting sick of this back and forth banter, let’s just go inside the place already.”

Dazai threw his hands back, the gun flying back even further. You watched in horror as it disappeared into the overgrown vegetation.

“You fucking—“

The bandaged brunet grabbed onto your wrist and forced you into the warehouse.

The second you both ran through the door, you pried your wrist off of his hand, “What the hell’s wrong with you, Osamu!? There could’ve been a bunch of armed men in here trying to kill us!!”

“But there wasn’t.” He stated bluntly, not even wanting to touch on the fact that you have just referred to him as “Osamu.”

Seething, you tore your gaze away from him and looked around the empty space around you. No one’s here either.

“You’re right. There… isn’t…” You looked around for a good 5 seconds before a loud gasp echoed through the room.

“What? You… you lied about the- the everything didn’t you!? The kidnappers and—”

“-I didn’t lie, okay.” He raises his hands up In defense. “All I did was tell you the wrong address, the kidnappers are somewhere on the other side of Yokohama but who cares!!” He laughed uncaringly at the situation.

“You cannot be fucking for real right now…” you rubbed your temple at the mere thought of this. It was absolutely unbelievable.

You and everyone at the ADA might know this already, but it’s becoming more and more evident as the days go by: Dazai is fucking insane.

“Come on, Y/n!! Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights!!” You must’ve zoned out for a moment because now Dazai is climbing the stairs up to the next floor as he urges you on to follow him.

Already mentally drained, you wanted to turn around and go home, but something about this intrigued you so you went along with it.

That was your first mistake.

This went on for another twenty or so minutes until you both have reached the roof. Quite frankly, you were tired and out of breath. Panting as if you had just ran a fucking marathon.

“You made it!” He claps his hands together, “Barely…” he adds on under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

“Why… did you bring me here…?” You said as you finally got a hold of your breath, noticing that it is already dark outside. The only light source being the bright, half-moon in the sky.

“Bring you here…?” Dazai slowly stepped closer to you, chuckling darkly to himself, “What do you mean? You followed me all by yourself. You could’ve turned around and went home whenever you wanted.” As if he’d even let you do that in the first place.

“Uh- well…” you stuttered, “Whatever.” Crossing your arms you, turned away from him.

The bandaged brunet stepped closer to you, “C’mon, bella…“ He whined, shoving his hands into his pockets; a strange smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What’s the matter? Are you mad because I lied to you?” He teased you in a mock baby voice, desperately trying to get a reaction out of you.

You turned around, ready to give him a piece of your mind, but his brown eyes looking right through your soul silenced you. There was a look on his face that you couldn’t make out. Was he frustrated? Maybe amused?

Whatever it was, you didn’t want any parts of it.

“I don’t even know why I followed you up here. I’m leaving.” You swiftly turned around again, and began walking away. But a firm grip on your forearm stopped you right in your tracks.

“Hey, what are you-“

He didn’t respond. He only yanked you into his arms. His, that you won’t admit, warm and loving arms. His arm was tightly around your waist while the other gently rested on top of your head.

“Dazai,” you paused, horribly frustrated with yourself for finding somewhat enjoying his embrace, “what are you doing?”

“Y/n, you know how I just love the idea of committing a double suicide with the beautiful lady I fall in love with?” He whispered to you, his arms securely around your waist.

“Uhm, yeah? I guess? What does any of this have to do with…?”

“I have another question,” he continued, “You do know I’m in love with you, right?”

“You what!?—“

Suddenly, Dazai released you from his embrace, you would’ve lost balance if he didn’t secure his grip on your waist.

“Oh, my elegant flower…!” he breathily whispered into your ear as his hand firmly grasped onto yours. You looked into his brown eyes that sparkled like stars in the beautiful moonlight. You hated the way he looked at you. You just hated absolutely everything about him. Why did he of all people have to fall in love with you?

At this point, you have no idea what the fuck is going on. Feeling weird by not doing anything with your free hand, you awkwardly placed your free hand on his shoulder.

You’ve never slow danced with a man before, but this what they do on movies, right? This is good enough.

He began taking slow, steady steps with you in his firm yet ever so delicate arms. You couldn't help but divert your gaze away from him whilst your face flushed a soft red color. Why am I blushing like crazy right now? Why won’t it stop!?

“Did you not hear me?” He continued the previous conversation, momentarily stopping his movements, “I said that I’m in love with you.”

“You’re… in… in love?” You felt so stupid at this moment. Has it not been obvious since the beginning? He constantly compliments you on a daily. He’s even expressed his interest in committing a double suicide with his lover, and you just happen to be the person he bothers with the question the most. I’d have to be stupid to never realize it, shit.

“No, that’s not true…” his grip around your waist now becoming hellishly tight. A gasp escaped your lips but it was quickly overrun by his words, “I’m obsessed with you. Why else would I lie about your current mission? I just needed this alone time with you. There’s something really important I needed to tell you.”

“I- are you crazy!?” You shrieked, your last pieces of sympathy for him instantly shattering into oblivion.

“Only crazy for you, my beautiful flower.”

“Dazai, are you seriou-“

Before you could get a word out, Dazai pressed his soft lips against yours. The kiss was only a few seconds, but for you, it felt like an eternity.

Once he finally pulled away, you caught your breath. In a melodramatic manner, nonetheless.

An amused smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he stared straight into your eyes, “I doubt it was that bad, Y/n.” He chuckled softly.

“You can’t hate me that much, my dear bella.”

You didn’t respond to him, only diverting your gaze away from him. “I do, I really do…”

He laughed quietly before beginning to take a few steps with you. You became more and more embarrassed each time you slipped up and stepped on his feet but still not feeling obligated to mutter a quiet apology.

But then, there was a sudden stop. You could feel Dazai’s heart pounding faster than usual. He redirected his gaze and bit his lip nervously before looking straight at you.

He placed a soft kiss against your forehead, and muttered a quiet declaration of love before hugging you tightly. Embracing you with all of his might.

And leaning forward. At first, you thought that he was passed out or something and that you both were stumbling to the ground, but that wasn’t the case. It was quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.

Now it all makes sense. Why he stopped dancing; Because you were on the edge of the roof, perhaps?

Why he grabbed onto you; So you wouldn’t fight against him, maybe?

His decoration of love… he was going to kill himself.

And bring you along with him.

Tears ran down your face as sobs ripped through your throat. You couldn’t believe it, despite how surprising that sounds. It just feels like some kind of act of betrayal to you, even if he is dying as well.

The moment before you and Osamu hit the rock-hard pavement, he let go of you and muttered a phrase you may never forget, even in the afterlife:

“Thank you.”

back to title page ┆cingulomania (noun): ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴏɴᴇ'ꜱ ᴀʀᴍꜱ

[zielemeczennicy]

Okay I'm probably going to sound insanse but please hear me out, as I try to say what I totally didn't overthink just now.

So the walking stick or whatever that is, appears to have a wolf sculpted on it. Now, as we know this is a rich family, I wouldn't be surprised if they had a family coat of arms/crest. Now what I'm suggesting is that a wolf is a part of their family's heraldry as decorating items with your heraldry makes sense.

And by the wolf being present in the heraldry, I think it would makes sense if Officer was symbolised by one. (cuz who cares about his family. If they want they can make a different symbols for themselves) By a lone wolf to be exact! Yes he's edgy but we're not delving into alpha male/emo meaning of lone wolf.

Wolves are pack animals, they don't separate. How is one supposed to hunt successfully and thrive, while alone? There were many attempts to mould Officer into the perfect man, however no matter if in the end his parents were satisfied or not with how he turned out, they still rejected his personal, human parts. (Not allowing a child toys when you clearly can, just don't want to, sounds like stripping the kid off of their right to feel or want to me..........)

And about the plushie- if the servents never knew what Officer liked (because so far it seems to me he didn't get to express himself) giving him something that he at least is familiar with probably sounds better than whatever else.

Also his parents burning the plushie (a wolf. A lone wolf I might even say, as there were no other toys) is a symbolic scene of how they dont care for him, only fir what can be gotten out of him later on. (eee better family status and shit. If he's successful, more monayh) When you burn logs, you don't care about the wood. You care about the warmth they will give back when burnt.

Okay sorry for being insane in reblogs, in my defense I am currently sick and probably talking out of my ass because of the illness. Buh bye

Pt 1 of "Little Wolf" otherwise my Karl angst comic

CW: Themes of child abuse, bad parenting

TW: you all are stupid and don't deserve a colored comic you only get blinding gray

(I tried my best to make the actual panels under the cut for anyone who doesn't want to see)

Guys I finally finished it I FINISHED THE FIRST PAGE‼️‼️‼️ expect a new one after the next extinction event

Also this was going to be full color but I lowwkey didn't want to

Karl is around uhhh maybe 6-8??? Haven't decided yet

This is related to the stuffed animal post so go check that out too 🤑 (I can't figure out how to put links into my posts)

Update: This seems to be an arising issue because of my dumb friends so I need to clarify that they are speaking GERMAN, I just didn't put it into a translator because I know it's inaccurate most of the time. Karl is reciting the ENGLISH alphabet.

[aro-paladin-pidge]

I feel like most of my problems with the characters of Lance and Hunk is that Lance got a lot of a little, and Hunk got a little of a lot.

[pa-pa-plasma]

hey i feel like we're really sleeping on that time Danny possessed Vlad & framed him for assaulting a minor

Editing with the clip because people don't believe me. Episode is 41: Eye for an Eye.

[ririsasy]

Varadha's goofy ass boyfriend.

.

.

(Also it's so funny the way I didn't realize in the first watch the reason that Deva was wearing long sleeve on his left hand the entire time was in fact to cover Varadha's demon seal tattoo and not just to cover his electrocution scars or fashion statement only lmao his goofy ass made that tattoo by himself and then later used it as a brand for Varadha 😭 if this wasn't the kind of devotion at the highest order. He literally offered Varadha his demon persona for him to use as some kind of guardian devil watching over Khansaar bringing fear to all his enemies. Also that's why you shouldn't be tattooing anything on your skin that's related to your lovers when you're drunk in love with someone because when you two became ex-lovers it's too freaking embarrassing to see or show those tattoos to the public eyes lmao)

[captainsjack]

in the next mission impossible movie there better be a scene where the one (1) female agent they have has to seduce/flirt with a guy to get information out of him except when she tries, he makes it clear he’s not interested and says something implying he’s gay. so she walks away and into the comms tells the team it didn’t work because “i’m not his type.” then we get semi-frustrated team members telling her “well then become his type, we need the info” etc only for her to interrupt with “i think one of you boys will have a better chance.” then the comms go silent and it cuts to each team member’s reaction of “😳” and the “oh”s as they realize he’s gay. except when it cuts to ethan’s reaction, he’s already sauntering over to the guy and we just hear him say “i’m on it” and then we get scenes of ethan seducing the bad guy and he gets to gay kiss him. if this doesn’t happen i will riot

[fujii-draws]

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.

[evocatiio]

if chibnall was the one writing this season you lot would be talking VERY differently

[skullsandcorals]

https://www.tumblr.com/skullsandcorals/738285799236321280/im-dyslexic-im-not-stupid

1. Holy shit I am so happy I found another person who gets how smart Percy is, and gets that every instance of Percy looking/getting called stupid is due to his dyslexia or people not telling him anything.

2. Which book/chapter is this from? I need to bookmark it ASAP and start shouting it from the metaphorical tumblr hills.

3. We really don't talk about how good a mom Sally is? Like yeah she's badass and gentle but like. She respects Percy. When the school system failed Percy, she's the one who still not only believed that he was smart but still acted like it and probably taught him too. Queen mom Sally Jackson right there.

1.) YEAHH EXACTLY. Or his ADHD 😭 It drives me NUTS whenever Percy is treated as the dumb + comedic guy. Like I get what they're saying and why they're saying it, but sometimes his character gets reduced to JUST that and it hurts my soul. I get that he's funny as a narrator and as a character and sometimes he can be a little "clueless" but it just feels like some people like to think of that as either all he is or a huge part of who he is. I believe I've also seen Leo get this treatment despite literally being insanely smart at such a young age so. that's...fun. They can be funny and smart too 😞

2.) It's from the 10th Anniversary edition of The Lightning Thief! It's Rick's cover letter for the first readers of the manuscript & a note from the narrator. I don't have a copy of that edition myself, but I've seen some pictures of it on Rick's blog and someone posted one of the pages on Reddit (where I got it from).

Here's the full page from Reddit (source) & the picture from Rick's blog where the page is visible (source):

3.) YEEEAHHHH I LOVE HER SO MUCH!!! What I would do to get adopted by her rn. The way she talks to him makes me kinda teary-eyed because she's just so...you can just tell how much she loves Percy and that she would do anything to make sure he grew up resilient and kind in a world that's always out to get him. She believes in him so much that it just makes me lose my mind a little. It's just so sweet and I can't help but feel so moved by it.

I'm not sure if you've read Chalice of the Gods, but there's this scene where (spoilers, kinda) Sally talks to Percy after the whole thing with Hebe and honestly this scene makes me want to sob and cry and weep

“You are a lot of things, Percy. But helpless isn't one of them.”

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[licorishh]

I'm sorry but the complete and utter lack of appreciation on the internet for the 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice is just absurd. WHERE IS YOUR ENTHUSIASM. WHERE IS YOUR APPRECIATION FOR SUPERBLY-CRAFTED MEDIA. Sure, the 2005 one is fine. Whatever. But the 1995 one??? HELLO???

'95 Mr. Darcy is the biggest simp on the face of the Earth and I will hear no objection to the contrary. My guy spent the first three episodes doing nothing but whining about how dumb and lame everybody was except for him 20% of the time and just staring at Lizzy like a big stupid idiot the other 80% of the time. My guy invented yearning.

My guy yearned so bad he finally bothered to do the self-reflection he'd never cared to do before when she eviscerated him to such a degree because she wouldn't stoop to marrying someone for whom she had not a shred of respect. My guy yearned so bad he was willing to risk his station in life, his livelihood, literally everything just to save her family from ruin, something he would never have dreamed of doing in the beginning of the show. My guy yearned so bad he recognized his deepest flaws and put in the work to change them and become a better person not so that she'd give him what he wanted, but because he realized she was right and that he was in the wrong and needed to make those changes literally just in order to actually have a happy and fulfilling life.

My guy literally created "I love my wife so bad I'm gonna explode and she could kill me on the spot and I'd thank her for the opportunity to be involved"-ism and you people ought to show more gratitude for him singlehandedly altering fandom culture.

[harrowscore]

Sasha Samokhina + Farit Kozennikov, Vita nostra & Assassin of Reality